As You Write It

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE

2009-04-12T12:55:00.000+05:30

“What do you want to be”? A perpetual question that I answered all though my childhood. All my relative whether they were paternal or maternal or even just family friends were asking the same question again and again. There was actually fixed questionnaire that most of them had from the time I was 3 years old and started going to a local kindergarten. It always started with “what is your name”. Most of the times I used to make up a lot of funny professions and told them ambitions like “engineer”, pilot , “doctor” etc depending on my moods. When mood was bad I just used to tell them things like “Ask my mom”, “bus conductor”, “crematorium dead pusher”. Well, I think you guys must have known the kind of bashing I used to receive from my parents. Now that I have started to regress back to my childhood days sometimes all these small things is what I remember.

I was born in an academic family. My father a scientist and mom was a teacher. And as I was the only one I had to go through most of the childhood rigors and expectations alone. I loved it actually. May be I was a loner. A very interesting thing happened when I was studying on class six. I was alone at house in a weekday noon. The resident domestic help was somewhere nearby to our house chatting up with his kin. It was the month of May when generally all types of irritating exams were over and I was actually engrossed in my small Pentium 2 PC writing a bit of my homemade BASIC code as well playing some video games. I heard a crashing noise at the end of the long verandah which actually was the connecting passage between all the rooms within our E-shaped duplex in the south of the city. I was afraid, thinking of the sound and kept quiet. Being all of 12 years old and a very active reader of all action cartoons, I just got hold of the only weapon that I could find and tiptoeing I went ahead to check the source of the sound. My vaunted weapon was a small cricket bat that I was given recently as I was admitted to one of the umpteen cricket training schools in South Kolkata. I mainly came from the end of the passage where we had our living room adjacent to the kitchen. Moving towards the kitchen I can now seen pieces of glass littering the passage right in front of the kitchen door. It was actually a glass flower vase that was kept there on the stool and must fallen and broken in pieces when some one have tried to use the window on the passage beside it to force in. The grill on the window was precisely nipped with some tool leaving out a square hole within the framework.

Reading only cartoons have always earned me the ire of my parents and other people. I was totally addicted to all of them starting from Amazing Spiderman, The Hulk etc and used to love animated films – although there were not many in those days. And one more reason for my parents distaste for my penchant was actually the cost factor. I used to really scour through lot of bookstalls for the latest cartoon strips and sometimes they used to cost a bomb for my government employee parents. As unfortunately two times in my school my parents had been summoned up. My teachers always complained that instead of reading worthwhile matters like text books I used to carry my whole gamut of cartoon and animated treasure along with me to school. Well, what I could have done, I wanted to be like the Hulk – remember my father was a scientist. And sometimes when he really used to give me lots of “do you know” lectures I always used to compare him with the Hulk’s aka Bruce Banner’s monster dad. But then unfortunately for me I never turned green. The only part of my body that used to change color to my utmost shame was the pair of ears when they were boxed mercilessly by my parents. But then I was finding solace in the fact that, Hulk was not a “hulk” when he was a kid. And secretly I used to think that I will eventually turn into a “hulk” when I grew up. Some wishful thinking I had.

After looking at the square for the first time I had the feeling that something is not right. This is not the neighborhood cat trying to steal a joint. Or even some of the street urchins from the nearby slums on some mischief. It registered in my small brain that something much bigger than anything I might have come across is actually happening. I remembered overhearing a conversation between my parents about burglars on prowl and my parents were really worried about the fact that I was always alone for about 3-4 hours during noon time, now that my exams are over. Suddenly I heard a sound like something being dragged along the floor of the living room. Clutching the bat tightly with my sweaty palms I hid just behind our big double door refrigerator, trying to be calm.

A very frail boy of about my age and with mole on the nose, came out the living room dragging in what looked like a make-shift sack made out of the bed sheet that adorns the divan in our living room. He put that sack in front of the holed window and gestured to some outside the same way teacher in our lower kindergarten use to teach us numbers. And the gesture signaled three. I was not sure whether that meant three minutes or three to go. But I was actually looking at the sack. It was loosely tied. And consisted of whatever was there in living room including my father’s astray. I was happy about that part as my father always gave me the bad looks whether I got near that thing. Looking at the sack more intently from my hidden position, I saw a small portion of the Incredible Hulk comic book peeping out. Hmmm… so, Baba had actually hidden the comic book under the living room divan bed sheet and was sitting on that whole day when I was actually combing the house for the same. This was the latest issue where the Bruce the Hulk was actually trying to use Captain America’s body tissue to control the powers within him.

There are some moments in your life which actually makes you do things you never would have done. The next few moments in my life were like that. I picked up my fathers Gillette shaving gel canister from above the fridge and started shaking vigorously. While doing that with my right hand and holding the bat in my left I moved just like I saw Hira – our cat do when she moves in to steal fish. I did not go into the living room, but waited patiently crouching near the door. I again heard the familiar sound of fabric scraping the mosaic floor. I think this time it must be designer curtains that was being used. As the sound came nearer I moved to left of the door in order use the door frame as a small cover. I can see the boy perspiring. He was wearing nothing but just a black brief. Just when he was about the approach the door, I flipped the lever of the shaving gel canister to full flow and jumped in front of him without a noise. I will never forget the look in his eyes. It was sheer terror. Without wasting any more time I aimed the nozzle of the shaving gel towards his eyes and pressed with full might and sideways so that I can hit both the eyes. The scream he gave was really something which again I will never forget. Catching hold of his eyes he was actually writhing on the ground with pain. Hearing his piercing scream, the domestic help Ganesh came running along with the kin that he was chatting just outside our buildings entrance. Now that the rush of adrenalin was gone, I almost fainted in Ganesh’s arms.

Sir…. Sir… SIRRR!! My orderly was now bellowing in my ears. I was snapped out of my afternoon reverie. Looked at the watch and found it was edging towards 4 PM. Me, Punit Narayan Chakroborthy, the Asst. Commissioner of Police, Kolkata now would have to go to the Writer’s Building to meet the politicians for the upcoming general election. I have to report the state security brief to the state home minister Bolai Gope. He knows me. The effect of pure Gillete shaving foam for the eyes is not that good. And Bolai now wears RayBan sunglasses always to hide the discolored pupils. He won the last state assembly election last time while contesting it as an under trial. So I do have to put up a salute for him and address him with reverence. But then he knows me and I think is still afraid about my capability to change colors as in the Hulk. Wandering about how it would feel to change color again I started on towards my scheduled meeting.

Life of a DBA

2009-02-13T01:24:00.003+05:30

It was a dark and stormy night
The winds rampaged asunder;
To the world was born a DBA
It was a miracle, a wonder!

As he grew up, a thoughtful child
He recorded every session,
Of life, of love, of moments true,
Every guilt and confession.

His parents spotted his charming habit
Of cloning instances;
For he had the temper of his father
And the face of his mother
With minor version changes.

Every sysdate of his early life
Was spent in performance tuning,
His superior user environment parameters
Had the women swooning.

For he was handsome, charming and nice
And his pockets were full of money.
His cost based optimizer ensured
That his days were always sunny.

Then once day his calling came
And he leaped to join the forces,
Of the exalted men and women
Who make Tables, indexes and sequences.

He copied data from schema to schema
And cleared the buffer cache.
His queries never had full table scans
His joins were always hash.

Thus progressed the perfect life
Till he was sent onsite,
The world proclaimed the mighty DBA
Had finally arrived.

This is where our DBA
Was laptoped and anointed
He was on call for a week each month,
His slumber was to be disappointed.

For every time he dozed off at night
The environment would act on its whim;
His troubleshooting skills were tested
SLA's were second nature to him.

Loading data, procedures and packages
Synonymns triggers and indexes,
He partitioned the diskspace and granted privileges
The watermark levels were never in excess.

Thus our DBA labored on
With only his work in sight,
He never noticed the pretty programmer
Seated to his right.

They never met, they never spoke
Though one cube did they infest
For when she turned to him, he was just a number:
Issue, Remedy or Change Request.

Then one day, our DBA
Set his eyes on her and rested his case,
Love fluttered like a silent beast
And filled up his tablespace.

He queried after her alright
He committed with autosave,
In his heart's rowid
Her name did he engrave.

But she implored him to rollback
For she was besotted to another,
He dealt with pointers, methods and classes
A Sun certified Java Developer.

In grief, he tried to kill v$session
And delete the audit trails,
Meanwhile he prepared to format the hard drive
For they say it never fails.

Our story ends here so far
For when database there was no more,
Our DBA's contract was terminated
They sent him packing back offshore.

Disgrace by J.M. Coetzee

2008-11-20T08:34:00.004+05:30

Set in post-apartheid South Africa, Nobel Prize winning author J.M. Coetzee’s second novel ‘Disgrace’ won the Booker Prize in 1999, the same year in which it was published. Such illustrious credentials and sheer curiosity prompted me to pick up the book from a local book-store a few months ago. What I did not expect was a hard-hitting, no-bones-spared story of a Cape Town University College professor, David Lurie, whose life would take a sudden dip into the murky waters of ethical conflicts, post-apartheid violence, and insecurity, finally sinking into a vast lake of disgrace before emerging stronger and more resilient.

David Lurie, who has long been planning to write a chamber opera on the life of the poet Byron, is fifty-two, divorced, lonely and bored. His classes evoke no response from his students and teaching is a mere means of livelihood. A chance meeting with an attractive student in his class leads to an affair, which upon discovery provokes a suspension from the university on grounds of misconduct. As the nNews spreads round the university campus and makes it to the newspapers, the disgraced professor leaves town to join his young daughter Lucy in the town of Salem where she has chosen to live alone and raise a farm. Life in the farm is sedentary and un-eventful until an incident of unimaginable terror rips apart their lives. Father and daughter are attacked by a band of natives who rob the house, nearly kill him while raping the daughter and leaving her pregnant.

As they struggle to pick up the remaining bits of their lives, David Lurie is tormented by Lucy’s indifference to the incident. She knows the culprits and yet neither she nor her neighbors try to denounce them. As the father of a daughter who has been subject to such a heinous crime, David Lurie is helpless because he was unable to protect her then and avenge the atrocity now. Instead, he watches impatiently, as life gets back to normal in the farm and Lucy decides to go ahead and give birth to the child she is carrying.

Disgrace portrays the angst ridden world of the white population in post-apartheid South Africa. Once the powerful class, they are now the centre of a backlash which they cannot withstand. David Lurie’s inability to come to terms with the power shift and his daughter’s acceptance of the ways of the new country is the totem pole of the novel. The novel examines the sentiments of the native population that is friendly with the white on personal terms but has no generic empathy for the community. Coetzee’s novels typically push the protagonist with their back to the wall only to watch them fight or come to terms with the humiliation and indignation of their circumstances. In this novel, Lucy’s rapist turns out to be the fifteen year old brother-in-law of her neighbor. After the incident, the neighbor offers to marry Lucy even though he has two other wives. He wishes to own her land in dowry and in exchange, protect her from such miscreants in the future. David Lurie who has sufficient money to send his daughter to Holland where she can go back to a normal civilized life has to reconcile with this unusual situation when his daughter accepts the offer.

The analogy between strange twists and turns of David Lurie's life and that of the poet Byron influences the opera that he is composing. Where he once planned to write about the eternal love between Byron and his mistress Teresa, he now depicts pain and agony as they separate and their desires remain unfulfilled. As Allegra, Byron’s five year daughter lies dying of malaria and cries for her father, David Lurie’s own helplessness and frustration at his daughter’s condition creeps in front.

Disgrace is an excellent novel written in a mere two hundred and twenty pages. Coetzee’s deep understanding of Romantic literature and lucid language ooze the right emotions and provide the perfect setting for the story of a father and daughter who learn to put the past behind, after their lives have been shattered by disgrace.

Daylight Savings Time

2008-04-24T23:18:00.002+05:30

Daylight Savings Time it has been argued has many benefits in countries in the northern hemisphere where advanced economy and work conditions demand such an adjustment. Suddenly, you wake up one morning at 7am and realize that its after all only 6am and go back to sleep or worse wake up at 7am to realize that it is 8am and you are horribly late. Over the years, people have got used to it and accepted it. But it is not so in India. In a country which spans across three time zones – literally Manipur is to the east of Bangladesh which is half an hour ahead of us and Gujarat is below Pakistan which is half an hour behind IST – we have shown lethargy akin to inertia in implementing this concept. So what would happen if suddenly one day we implemented DST?

The ruling party would lose the next general election. Minorities would move to Supreme Court crying foul over discrimination because many would have never seen a digital watch in their lifetime. The government would pass a law that by March 31st everyone should buy HMT manufactured DST compliant watches which the CPI(M) would oppose as being as being pro-America. Mamata Banerjee would declare a 24 hour bandh in Kolkata which would be supported by all opposition parties. Meanwhile, Titan would protest over the deal to grant HMT the right to manufacture DST compliant watches. Several MPs would resign and go to jail over the DST contract scam.

When DST would actually be implemented, there would be a grand launch party where Shah Rukh Khan would dance to the songs of his latest movie and say “Kuch aur wish karo, DST karo!” and Amitabh Bachchan would hold a platinum wrist watch in his hands and smile “Do DST ke boondh, zindagi ke liye” The annual Filmfare awards would be held twice a year on DST implementation days which Aamir Khan would not attend because he never believed in such awards while Arundhati Roy and Medha Patkar would stand outside the auditorium and protest that DST would harm the environment. Ekta Kapoor would modify the script of Kasauti Zindagi Ki where Prerna would marry Bajaj in one DST phase and Anurag in the other. Rohit Bal, Neeta Lulla and Sabyasachi Mukherjee would design a DST line of clothes for the next fashion week where Shahid Kapur and Saif Ali Khan would walk the ramp while Kareena Kapoor would cheer from the sidelines. Dev Anand would make a new movie called “Love in DST” starring a 16 year old girl who was born when 6am became 7am.

Our day and night cricket matches would be scheduled by DST and senior cricketers would not play test matches citing injury, while junior captains would declare that only young cricketers whose bodies can adjust to DST will be a part of the team. The hockey and football federations would protest that in addition to giving preferential treatment to cricket, DST was another means to make these sports unpopular. Sania Mirza would be sued for wearing a DST compliant watch sporting the Indian tricolor that would fall from her wrist during a match. Leander Paes and Mahesh Bhupati would once again team up to face the challenge of playing under DST circumstances. The Indian Olympic Association would declare that with DST, India is now truly world standard, and therefore demand that ‘pittu’ be made an Olympic sport.

The common man would be totally confused because Doordarshan would forget to adjust the clock as per DST while the private channels would remember. Aaj Tak would interview people about how they felt about DST. Vodafone and Airtel would face a network outage on DST days and nobody would know the time. Anil Ambani would buy a Rs. 10,000crore DST clock that he would install outside his corporate office and name it after Tina. The Mumbai Stock Exchange would lose an hour on DST days and people would howl in distress because they lost crores in a bullish market. Government employees would demand and be granted overtime in winter. The chief agenda in the opposition party’s election manifesto would be to have two new national holidays on DST implementation days. Well, thank God! No one’s thought of DST as yet!

Disclaimer:
This piece was inspired during a conversation with the great Oirpus. Not only is this piece dedicated to him, all litigators are requested to contact Oirpus.

The return of the prodigal (sic) administrator

2007-12-29T01:11:00.000+05:30

Oh my god!! It is cloudy and snowing heavily in Minneapolis. I have some work to do. But the key board is trying to bite my fingers. My mind is lingering. It is lingering over so many things. But then when I came to this blog by ordinary people with extraordinary senses / feelings, I felt alive again. I can type now. Thanks to all of you for listening/reading my gibberish. But I am back and this time I am sure about it..

On a saner thought, great show guys... keep it up..

ON A LEECHY TRAIL….

2007-10-30T10:42:00.000+05:30

One of the brightest members of the trek club – The Initiator had an idea to conduct a trip to this unexplored and inaccessible place. He shared his vision with another bright member – The Dependable, and that is how idea was born and as is said great achievements are a result of great ideas and rest they say is history…..

For conduction of the Trek cum Camping cum Rock Climbing cum crossing the river activities a well know mountaineering firm(Chandannagar Mountaineering Association) was roped for technical assistance – Camping, Rock Climbing, Crossing the River sessions. There were a lot of speculations and hindrances and eve of our departure came closer. Initially it was rain lashing the Eastern and North-Eastern part of the country, when the weather started to look good few days before we were about to start another bomb dropped – the remarks made by a privately owned Delhi based FM channel regarding Indian Idol -3 Prashant Tamang’s Nepali origin. It spread like fire and it rocked our expectation’s boat so hard that it was nearly capsizing. But we put our fears and pessimism aside and started for the even which we have been waiting for.

Finally 18 of us made to the Sealdah station, to board the train to New Jalpaiguri. The author was in constant touch with the support team which had already reached the source of the trek a day ahead regarding the situation at that place. Lot of the dust and panic created had already settled down by the time we reached New Jalpaiguri Station. The Vehicles were already waiting for us to take us from the hustle-bustle of the Siliguri town. Off we went to our destination for the day- Aritar. It’s a small village in Sikkim at 5050 ft. We camped at the banks of very enchanting and beautiful lake “Lambpokhri” (meaning: lamb – long, pokhri – lake). It was a great experience and we matched the occasion with a huge enthusiasm. Our guides from CMA told us about the camping discipline, how to pack our rucksacks, protection against leeches and intricacies of trekking. Evening was to be remembered with Swinging dance from all of us, a calm walk across the “Lambpokhri” to the silent Monastery and the night was dedicated to our very own renowned singer “Kishore Kumar”.

Spending the night in a tent was a first experience for most of us; excitement was in the air as we all receded to our tents. No pillows for the night-Need to sleep tight inside the sleeping bag.

Next day morning some of us (early-risers) went to watch the sunrise from watch towers nearby while rest (lazy-bones) of us went for a warming up session. We then had a quick breakfast not to mention people attended their nature-calls at a record time. Then we were ready to go ahead with the trek.

We started very slowly – we were able to trek only 1.5 km in the first hour but eventually we gained speed and then we were doing well even in rough patches. Few of us had a leechy welcome. We rested at a few points during the trek to appreciate the nature and study the local customs and their daily life.

By 1 pm in the afternoon we reached Mulkharka, a village in West Bengal at a height of about 8550 ft. We were about to go ahead with camping in one of the rice fields but leeches had already made life difficult. Finally we decided to stay in a villager’s house that had 3 spare rooms. The sense of humanity at this height touched us deep inside. They a quite a few toddlers and few grown up children; who became a part of our group. It was a great evening for us all we sang beside the camp fire singing Nepali, Bengali and Hindi songs. Some of us even took to tap a few steps. Meanwhile leeches had done a good job to toast the evening with our blood. Nights were cold and had a lot to offer. An innumerable lot of pranks were played if written; this article would take seven nights and seven days to complete.

In the morning around 4-30 am we started for the “Mulkharka Lake” , its one of the places where you would be able to see a reflection of the Kanchendzonga range on the lake. It’s a sight to behold. Just as we were about to start for the lake we saw a wonderful sight the clouds uncovered the Kanchendzonga range and white peaks were visible. There is only one word describe the scene –“Exhilarating”. This sight motivated us a lot and initiated a jump and eagerness to see the reflection on the lake.

Things were not rosy for all of us. Few of us who started late had a terrible experience. Looking at terrain and less visibility in the wee hours of morning added to it the cloud cover which decreased the visibility even further got lost in the way. Basically there was no trek route as such it was steep climb. It was a very frightening experience with leeches crawling around making its way to your legs and you have lost the way in between. Mobile phones came out and help was sought. Finally one of the guides came and ended the ordeal- showed the correct path to the lake.

Once we reached the lake there was a hide and seek game being played by the clouds which alluded some us the glimpse of the Kanchendzonga peak. But the experience was very fascinating. There was a lot of shutterbugs clicking near the lake. Once we reached our base in Mulkharka, it was “Remove all Leeches” that was being telecasted in all channels. I mean everybody had a leech as souvenir. Everybody has been struck by 10-20 leeches at least.

Few of our guides did the first aid and attended to all of us though they too had been beaten badly. We were in for a long haul then – attend to our injuries, have breakfast and take the way back to Aritar and then to Reshi. The trek back to Aritar had a look of “Come what may”, after our leech ordeal everybody was tough enough to take up any challenges. On the way to Aritar we met another canine friend aptly named “Tuffy” and he followed us upto the resort where we had light refreshments. After refreshment we board a vehicle to reach Reshi.

The name of the place “Reshi” come from the river “Reshi” which flows through the banks of the town. We went to the Green Valley camp in Reshi Valley. The path was through dense grassland which made the walk even more thrilling. Finally when we reached the resort it was a delightful sight. We couldn’t believe that we were supposed to camp beside the river.

Before the trainers from CMA called us for rock climbing most us had quick splash at the Reshi River. The water was cold but once one gets used to it was a very enjoyable. After a quick bath we went for the rock climbing session, the rock was not high enough but it gave us a good opportunity to learn the basics as most of us were novices in this field. Few of us went in deep thought by gazing in the river. It helps in introspection of our deeds.

As the sun went down festivities followed, a camp fire was made and we all sat beside it singing and cracking jokes. Eventually we shifted to a more appealing place – The watch tower in the resort. Without saying “Antakshari” followed with some special clues and conditions. It was really of great fun, we enjoyed to the hilt. As night set it, few of went to tents few decided to spent the night in the watch tower itself.

Early morning, we woke up with a heavy heart. After all, the fun filled days were coming to an end. We still wanted to make the most of our last day. We had a crossing the river session for us and if the river was ravaging Reshi it was sure going to a awesome experience. We rushed to the spot where the session was to held.

Now it was time to have the rush of blood run through the brain. It was a fantastic experience for all of us. First few moments hanging from rope gives one a big “High”. Then one has to cross the river monkey crawling while the river rages below. The sense accomplishment is at its all time high once one crosses the river. Few of were so ecstatic that they made it twice across. Finally it was turn of the trainers to show their skill – they were terrific.

After the session it was time for river splashing and lunch. Then it was time for us to leave this heavenly abode and proceed to our home. We had a saddened feeling while leaving, most of us wanted to stay on for another day but that was not to be. On our way back we stopped at Rangpo and few of bought Tea from the famous Temi gardens of Sikkim. As we left Rangpo we found ourselves admiring the effervescent and meandering Teesta. By evening we reached New Jalapaiguri from where we took our train to reach Sealdah.

There were few things worth remembering namely “gaon walaon”, “maine sab paudhe me pani pata diya hai" and above all as commented by one of our very own treekers “maine do raat se soya nahi hai”.

A 1955 Good Housekeeping Article

2007-08-08T11:41:00.000+05:30

Rabindranath Tagore Vs Shivaji the Boss

2007-07-13T20:04:00.000+05:30

To me Rabindranath Tagore is The greatest poet to have lived my country and I believe this solemnly. I even get into fights over this with people who might say that perhaps Galib or Tulsidas or even Thiruvalluvar was a greater poet to have lived. I have no hard feelings for anyone with such beliefs and they might even be true in their own ways but somewhere inside I am a very stubborn Bengali who would stand up to anyone when it comes to defending the Bengali valour. Moreover, Rabindranath and his wealth of works are by no means matched by anyone. His complete works would take years to just copy word to word, let alone match them with some original work. The varied themes and the various emotions exhibited by the writings of this great poet knows no limit. Every human emotion has been penned down by this great poet.

So, when Appu Rao spoke with the most indifferent and incredulous voice and with an expression of complete mistrust and disbelief and a shade of disdain on his face -

'Who is this chap Rabindranath?',

I could not take it any more. I bounced back with all the vengeance I had, giving him the facts and figures about the hero, I almost look up as a superhuman supreme being.

In the flow of this heated discussion I even pointed out the fact that Rabindranath Tagore was and is the only nobel laureate in the field of literature from India that he reluctantly accepted the greatness of RT. He left with a deep frown and I heard no more from him in a few days.
Almost 3 weeks later Anna, as we used to call him, came up to me and declared with a finality:

'I was indeed mistaken... Rabindranath is a great hero of our country and we should all salute him...'

Failing to see the ways things are scheming up I decided to be a bit content with my admonitions about Anna's ignorance. It seemed that Anna had said some wonderful words to make my day. Soon a feeling of deep suspicion overcame the feeling as I was dismayed as to how Anna had been so gracious on Rabindranath Tagore. As if in a reflex action, which I regret later, I asked

'How come this change of Heart Anna? You seemed pretty confident that Rabindranath wasnt so great after all.'

'Arrey yesterday I saw Rajanikant praying before a picture of Rabindranath Tagore...'

I did not hear the rest and walked off.

2007-07-10T11:06:00.000+05:30

The Other Woman (concluding portion)
_____________________________

It happened suddenly one day. Tamal had to come home suddenly in the afternoon because he had forgotten to carry some important document to office. He caught Taniya and Neelesh by surprise, and the situation was handled by an explanation that Neelesh was an old college-mate who was passing by and had come in to chat. But a seed of suspicion was sown in Tamal’s mind. Soon he was spying on his wife and it was not long before he spotted them holding hands near the doorway, and there was the angry confrontation. Taniya listened calmly to the burst of profanities and allegations, she provided no explanations, she had spent enough years with her husband to know that he would never understand her point-of-view. In a way she was even relieved that the whole thing was out in the open, it was a terrible burden for her to carry on with her husband without having any feelings for him in her mind.
Neelesh rubbished the allegations that Tamal leveled against him outright. He was a smart guy and managed to handle the situation so that it would not turn into an ugly scene. He accused Tamal of being overly suspicious, said that Taniya was just congratulating him on his promotion, and well, if it was to be misinterpreted thus, he would not meet Taniya in future.
For the next few days, Tamal fretted and fumed all the while, and Taniya carried on her day-to-day activities like a mechanical robot. She had secretly phoned Neelesh and said a painful goodbye to him. They had agreed not to maintain regular contact, but to have a meeting once or twice a month if possible. Taniya realized now that she loved Neelesh too much to put his family life and reputation to risk, she had to sacrifice her fleeting stolen moments of happiness for the larger good. After sometime, Tamal recovered his regular nonchalant ways, but it was a very difficult life for Taniya. It was as if something in her had died. She felt no animosity towards Neelesh’s wife Priya, and yet she felt an unreasonable anger towards the rules of society which provided no solution to her sufferings. She even secretly visited a psychologist but the 30-minute session just flew by with what seemed like a monotonous question-and answer exercise which provided no result. The doctor just gave her some tranquilizers and sleeping pills to “ease out” her mind, which Taniya promptly flushed down the toilet immediately after she returned home. She had never believed that such medications could be useful in the long run. She wanted to run away from the house, but she was not financially independent and so could not make the decision. The few telephone calls with the sympathetic Neelesh made her feel even worse, because there did not seem to be any promise of a happy tomorrow for her. Everyone except her seemed to be able to cope with the situation without any problem, even Neelesh!

The days were passing by and Taniya was going through on and off periods of depression. Tamal did not pay much heed to her periods of depression which she put as “sudden painful headaches” and left her alone on such days. One day when she was having a bad depression bout, she was forced to leave her bed to move towards the kitchen on hearing the sound of suppressed crying her maidservant Gita. Gita hunched in a corner sobbing uncontrollably. Seeing Taniya, who had always been kindly towards her, she burst forth her sorrows. Her daughter Chutki, was not doing at all well in her school, and there was more. She was only 13, and had been all but rescued from being molested by some hooligan boys with whom she was loitering after school hours, by a schoolteacher. It was a scandal, and the headmaster had threatened to throw her out of the school if she did not behave herself and did better in her studies. Taniya knew how hard Gita had to work in order to pay her daughter’s fees and provide her books and amenities. Her husband Govind was a mason, and together they barely could provide for their daily food, but they had doggedly resolved to provide their daughter with education. There had been a son Moni, but he had not survived from an attack of malaria when he was 3 yrs old. Even though illiterate, they had not gone ahead with having other children and had persisted with bringing up Chutki to be “educated”. Taniya sometimes felt rather amazed at the mental strength and perseverance of these simple illiterate people and secretly provided Maya with monetary help and gifts whenever possible, which Tamal detested as “increasing the servants’ greed”. But Tamal never tried to understand them as Taniya did. At the moment, Taniya’s heart went out for Gita, and she took a decision. Gita had been lamenting that being illiterate they could not help Chutki with her studies, and they simply could not afford to get a “master” for her. Taniya said that she would be glad to tutor Chutki with her studies.
It became a dedication of sorts for Taniya, who made it a challenge upon herself to get Chutki to pass in her Class VI exams which she had failed last year. To her amazement, Chutki was an above average student, who had just been indiscipled, and soon Taniya was enjoying her role as a tutor thoroughly. It not only helped her forget her troubles, but filled her with a sense of fulfillment when Chutki passed the Class VI exams with flying colours. The fact that Tamal resented this whole affair made her relish the success even more. It was now evident to her that her innermost “values” differed radically from Tamal’s, and that she wanted an escape from this “prison” in order to live life on her own terms. She had an Honours degree in English Literature, and now she applied secretly for a job as a teacher in the neighbourhood Kindergarten school. She got an ugly shock when she was informed by the school authorities that without a B.Ed. degree, the chances of her getting a job were remote. She applied for a B.Ed. correspondence course and the study materials started arriving within a week. It was at this point of time that Tamal detected that something was wrong and things were not going on as he would have liked. He had always disliked the concept of working women, and tried to dissuade her from studying further saying this was surely going to increase her headaches. But Taniya did not yield to his tactics, and instead immersed herself in her studies like she were back in her college days. Neelesh was happy for her when he heard the news, and phoned to encourage her. After two gruelling years, Taniya finally reaped the fruits of her labour. At the same time, she realized the folly of applying for a job in the neighbourhood kindergarten. She had to escape from the burden of her joyless marriage, and for that she had to escape to a faraway place where her husband would not be able to trace her. Not even Neelesh should be able to trace her. She would contact Neelesh, but only after she had settled in her new environment as an independent woman. She wanted to make it on her own.
On days that followed, there had been so many visits to internet cafes and libraries where she would scan the Jobs section like an eagle scanning the landscape for food. There had been so many frustrated days and nights when she had vainly waited for the postman and courier service. She had even recently started fearing that her husband might be collecting and destroying all her correspondence at the post office itself, and that was how nothing managed to reach her. She was at the point of losing all her hope again!
But today, holding the offer letter in her hand, she could finally rest easy. She felt vindicated at last. The salary was not going to be much, but what the heck? She was going to be free! She felt so very grateful to Chutki. On an impulse, she opened her locker, and gathered together all her gold ornaments and silver coins in a batua bag. At any rate, she did not relish wearing heavy jewellery, and today she felt like the benevolent queen. She was going to give all these to Maya for Chutki. Suddenly Taniya felt ecstatic. She had to celebrate this pure happiness, she burst out singing :- “Aaj ujar kore lou he amar ja kichu shombol”...

Another Short One

2007-05-30T15:30:00.000+05:30

Manomita was unhappy. The dark clouds that had gathered from the evening reminded her of the distance that were between her happines and her misery. She remembered that day when the call had come... it was a dark December evening and the winds were chilly. She was returning home from college, IIM Ahmedabad and the phone rang. What followed next was a shameful episode that she could gladly forget but the fear had struck in her heart and she dreaded if it would ever leave her alone. She shuddered to think of it... How could he have known? How could a person sitting hundreds of kilometers away know of that? She was careful not to speak of it even in her dreams but... how?!Sunil was very precise about it ... no beating round the bush, no small talk but a direct and confident accusation that made her heart skip a beat. She stopped her walk to lean on a parked car to steady herself from the growing empty feeling in her gut. Her voice was unsteady and she had no conviction in what she replied.... but how? who had been speaking? And when Sunil had declared with a finality that he was very disappointed and disconnected she knew she could never call him back. Before she knew she was crying and regretting every moment of the past. Someone passed by and stopped for a moment to see a girl in distress... shook his head and continued on his way... "What a sad world" he thought. What the person did not know was that the girl was not sorry for what has happened but for the fact that she had been careless.Manomita had been ulrta cautious since then. She kept her secrets well and to herself. She walked out of the imposing Building that housed one of the more prestigious Bank near the GPO and started walking briskly as the wind began to grow stronger and cooler dropping the temperature suddenly. She could sense the huge shower which was due and hastened towards the parking lot in the viscinity of the famous Lal Dighi...
Gautam Sinha was a small person, well built and a very good footballer. He had played football for his school in Ahmedabad and was considered to be the best defender of his class. He also have been very successful in interpersonal relationships and had a charm about him that made him a very likeable person to be with. His job for the State Bank Of India was a token of his immense talents as a sportsman and he played football for the Mohunbagan club. It was late in the afternoon when he had finished his day on the field and was going out of the club when the winds picked up. This was the obvious signs of the nor-wester that he has come to witness in this part of India. The temperature has already dropped and the sweltering humidity has suddenly been replaced with a cool dryness. The sky over the Eden Gardens looked pitch black and by the look of it the showers were due any moment. He paused, feeling uncertain about his immediate future plans of riding on his Motor bike home. He decided to take his chances knowing fully well riding in this weather would be very risky and recovering from an ankle injury it would worsen his chances for playing against the arch rivals East Bengal the following week.
Manomita made it to her car just when the first drops of rain hit the roads. She gathered her breath and stared at the hazy windscreen, the drops of water pouring now in splatters. The shower had not picked up yet. She started the car and drove out into the city road taking Outram Road and heading for the south. She passed the Indoor stadium to her left and negotiating the heavy rain which had already made the busy pedestrian infested roads clear of people. She approached the roundabout near the ferry services all the while thinking of the day when she had met...Bang!
The car swerved at the roundabout and skidded off the road and onto the pavement hit a pedestrian and rolled over.The pillion driver who was at the roundabout skidded to avoid the collision and the rider was thrown over... rolled a couple of times and lay still just off the pavement. There was a sudden flare of activity. men came rushing over from the shelters and a bus screeched to a halt.
Manomita could hardly move when she felt gands groping at her... people were shouting and she felt herself pulled out of the car onto the pavement. She regained her senses as the rain hit her face drenching her. Somebody asked whether she could move and she mumbled a faint yes. She tried to sit and then painfully stand up. Hands supported her and she realized that she had a stinging pain in her chest and leg. She could remember faintly the last few moments when she watched in horror as ther car hit a pedistrian. She looked around with an urgency trying to figure out what had happened... then she saw him!
Sunil was being carried away in a waiting taxi blood dripping from his shirt and head. Manomita could not move for what seemed to be an eternity. Then she saw something else... Another man was being carried into another waiting taxi and she faintly remembered the face. She almost stood there shocked! the face came back to her as a flash of lightning tore the sky. She forgot her pain and almost in a trance moved forward and fell unconcious.
Four weeks later when she joined office she was greeted with flowers on her desk. There were a buch of cards and a gathering of colleagues. Hasan the accountant stood there with a twinkle in his eyes which she at once realized... it was a twinkle she had seen many times before and she felt a sudden rush of blood in her face. She thanked everyone for their well wishes and smiled back at Hasan. Lunch was not long and she agreed to have it with him.
Finally when everything had settled down she thought of the incident. Sunil had succumbed to his injuries and was declared Brought Dead at the SSKM. The pillion driver, Gautam... had a head and spinal chord injury and was in a coma. Police had been very helpful. Her front left tyre had burst and they understood that she could have done nothing to prevent what had happened... But deep down Manomita felt a relief... her secret is safe.

The Other Woman

2007-05-29T18:27:00.000+05:30

Taniya sighed. Suddenly she felt very light-headed and giddy. It must be the nervousness combined with the excitement. With slightly shaking hands, she folded and placed the offer letter from the Nursery School on the table. She had to take out the suitcase now, she had to flee before her husband returned from office, she had another 3 hours to pick-and-choose the necessary items and pack. The phone rang abruptly. She glanced at the caller-id and smiled tenderly, fighting against her desire to pick up the receiver. It was Neelesh, the love of her life. There would be time later on… it would be better… she let the phone ring on, resisting her urge…
Neelesh, the man who had turned everything upside-down in her life. He was 6 yrs younger than Taniya, but that had not done anything to limit the magnetic attraction she felt towards him, and the love-affair that had followed. She was a seemingly happily-married housewife with an uneventful marriage life of 11 years. He was a happy-go-lucky salesman with dark, intelligent eyes, a quick manner and a glib tongue. To the world, it might seem a very unlikely relationship, but to Taniya, it had seemed the most natural course, as if this was destined to be. Try as she might, she could not think of this affair as illicit, her love for Neelesh was instinctive, natural, and she did not feel guilty once.
After all, she had been lonely, she did not know how much lonely till she met Neelesh. She realized that she had never loved her husband, and the compromise and acceptance of a dutiful Indian housewife had slowly but surely marred her soul. She had nothing to complain in particular. Tamal was a well-paid government official and he had got them a good flat in Lake town, a posh area in Kolkata. Taniya had a servant who scrubbed the floors, and did all the heavy washing and cleaning, her regular duty consisted of cooking and buying groceries when needed. She spent her idle hours in her passionate hobbies - singing and reading paperback fictions. Tamal detested these hobbies as worthless time-pass. But he had been a dutiful husband, providing for her requirements and looking after household needs. They had absolutely nothing in common. Tamal was a conservative guy who never questioned laid-down rules and principles, was a thorough unromantic and disciplinary, and his only interest seemed to be in the game of cricket. Taniya had been an adventurous, rebellious child and the streak still remained even after years of conditioning in convent school; and, she was a thorough romantic. Though she was a good-natured girl who went out of her way to be kind to others, she did not think much about breaking rules when it needed be, or sometimes just for a little innocent fun. But there was no chance of any fun with Tamal, he was wary of fun as triviality, his life consisted of only grim duty.
In short, Tamal and Taniya were poles apart as individuals, and their life was thoroughly dull and colourless after 11 years of marriage. A child might have brought some happiness into Taniya’s life, but the doctor had ruled that out…she had this tumour which prevented her from becoming a mother ever… Taniya had gone into depression for sometime after receiving the doctor’s verdict, but her adventurous nature had made her suggest to her husband that they go for an adoption. To Tamal, this suggestion was a sacrilege never to be accepted, it went way beyond the social norms. Taniya had rebelled furiously but in the end she had had to give up, after all, she was just a housewife, and Tamal had repressed her from the beginning so that she would remain in her “position”. It had always been a fight. In fact, Taniya had rebelled after just 2 days of her marriage, she wanted to break free immediately after she understood her predicament, but she was not supported by her parents, and even emotionally blackmailed. Being of a kindly nature, she persisted. Over the years, her lively spirit was crushed, and she had come to accept her uneventful, boring life as normal. Till Neelesh came. Like a burst of monsoon rain after a parched summer.
For Neelesh, it had been just a casual fun-affair in the beginning. But with time, he found himself liking Taniya more and more. Neelesh was a city guy who believed in having fun and letting go. His boyish, handsome look and intelligent nature attracted women easily, and he had had several affairs before with “no strings attached”. But he found himself caring about Taniya earnestly and could not break up with her even after his marriage was fixed. They stuck up a deal to maintain their “friendship” for as long as possible and both were very earnest in maintaining their end of the deal. They maintained the secrecy with utmost care, and the relationship had continued for 5 long years.
to be continued...

Ramblings of a mind trying hard to concentrate on important things of forced interest

2007-05-24T14:30:00.000+05:30

Hi everyone! This is Dewdrop.

You must all be surprised to see this entry bcoz I never wrote anything for a long time. To be honest, I have viewed this site very rarely, and I have no better excuse to give than the lame - "I was too busy with work, u see!"
Well, better late than never to become a blogger if not for anything else, for sorting out my mind.

Anyway, now that I am in a writing mood, (and have resolved to write regularly, God help u all! ;-) , I will come to the point directly.

I was recently browsing the profiles in this blog-site along with a friend, & he asked me whether I was listed. I said - "Of yes! I am listed as dewdrop."
"Why dewdrop?" - he asked.
I said, "U see, at that point of time, I was getting ready for a major change, I was in a transient, temporary phase, much like a dewdrop."
"Oh!", he said, nodding his head. I guess he understood, being my closest friend.

But later that night, trying hard to study for an exceedingly boring professional course that I had enrolled myself into, I felt my mind drifting away to answer such lazy, pleasant & totally useless questions such as :- "Why did I really list myself as Dewdrop in that site?"

"The reason I gave to my friend must not be the correct one!" - I mused.
"Actually, dewdrop brings to my mind a sense of freshness & vivacity, much like the Liril ad. And memories of my childhood days in the small hilly township, where I used to collect shiuli flowers from under the short, fully-flower-laden shiuli bush. The ground and the grass and the bush itself used to be covered with dewdrops, & I loved to see them & marvel at how tiny and fragile these were, clinging to the corners of the leaves and giving off that fresh, fresh feeling..."

Ah! Childhood memories! How revered and innocent and pure! How I wish...
But isn't it ironic? This perpetual longing of mankind to be what they cannot be at present!
I remember the zeal with which I wished in my childhood to become an adult, to get "freedom".
And alas! Now that I am an adult, far from the illusory freedom, I find myself getting more tightly bound in duties & responsibilities than ever before, I crave for my childhood days and those seem to be the free days, after all!

Anyway, back to the present. And to the current predicament regarding the name "Dewdrop".
As I think more critically, I get the feeling that the name does not seem right, after all.
Does not it imply a transient, temporary & weak personality? A dewdrop just stays for a short time, drying up quickly under the bright sun, & leaving no impact at all on the world!
"So should I consider changing this name?" - I muse.

"Oh, C'mon! Stop your idle thinking & time-passing, better go off to bed instead, if u can't concentrate on studying!" - I severely reprimand myself.
Coz after all, what's in a name? If I were named Queen Victoria, would I become a queen? With the same logic applied in reverse, I propose to be solidly around for quite some time, though I have named myself as Dewdrop!

Adieu for now, though. Must not tire myself out & squeeze out all the literary juice the first day itself! Peace be with u all!

dessert

2007-02-24T18:23:00.000+05:30

So i was sleeping one night and suddenly felt this void all around me. it was magical. the whole world had been painted black and there was no trace of a second colour anywhere else apart from what i bore on myself. and then you came from nowhere, with a palette and a brush and started painting all around me. the darkness changed to light; there were rich hues and contrasts and a melange of colours all around me, it was magical. i woke up with a start that warm summer night in the united kindom's desolate town of warrington. i found the same void i had seen in my dreams, the same pitch dark night, only the leads from my music system and laptop shining amber and green....like sources of inspiration amidst an utter dark age. how i longed for you to barge right in and change the room with your 'magic' brush. i realised what i had been missing for almost more that 3 years now, the absence that grew with each day, till a time when it couldnt be contained anymore. till a time when it decided to show up and scream at me, hysteric and passionate, ringing in my head all the time, making my senses numb, and reminding me of the person missing but not deserving to be missing, or rather deserving to be missed at most. not that i hadnt searched for you. the only virtual links that still remained were all explored, all of them led to dead ends and brought memories of the dreaded null pointers in the programming language i so hated. i believe i still try to chase shadows and unearth their reality, i still try to uncover the mist in front of me, to seek what i want, to salvage the corroded, unkempt and dank corners of my memories and dig out images and information that deserved to be carefully contained. at times the pressures of the immensely demanding world dominates my senses; with each passing moment new relations creep up, new commitments and newer responsibilities, and with them the earlier ones get shaded, take a back seat, lay left behind unattended, and at times, forgotten. this is human nature in its cruellest form, in its competitive best, in its rationally correct attitude. and i was human all these days. at least i tried to be. tried to earn my bread and provide for my family, tried to be dependable, tried to fulfil the wishes of my parents, grandparents, siblings, tried to walk out of meaningless relations and build fruitful ones, tried to hunt for success, for gains, profits, accomplishments and medals, tried to create an identity of my own, unshaken, firm, successful, happy! but true as it may seem, the irony of life shows you that whatever you do seemingly right is, in reality, wrong, and whatever you are going to do right to rectify it, in the long run would again turn out to be yet another wrong. and the race to get things right continues, takes new shapes, new forms and new definitions, but the race goes on with the metaphorical carrot ever dangling right in front of you. and the world turns dark, desolate, silent and not worth exploring. not atleast till you come along again with your colours and shades and contrasts and strokes, not atleast till you wave your magic brush and things turn bright again. with that in mind, i still seek you, lookout for you, hope to find you near, ready to paint the world for me, like you did before...

Main Course

2007-02-24T18:20:00.000+05:30

She was my life, and she also happened to be a famous danseuse. We had known each other for a decade now. There were days when time wouldn’t move without us seeing each other, talking our hearts out and feeling each other in our arms. But unknown to both, time did move on, and so did we. The mediocrity of our lives had forced us both to leave home in search of the daily bread. Soon we were living in two distant parts of the country, the only ray of hope shining through the optical fibers of telephone lines. The occasional letters, albeit long and detailed, soon started disappearing as the monotony of the monstrous metropolis manifested the meanings of our lives. I started to dive deep down the dark dungeons of despair to drown the deepest desires of being with her.
Soon as it was, I returned to my city as an engineer busy building bridges and boulevards. I also came to know she, by now, had her claim to fame by becoming a notable dancer of an eastern dance form. She was now busy touring the world, performing to please the spellbound spectators and critics alike. Her life now was framed in calendar. She had grown big, and busy. Too busy for me too, maybe? She had promised to meet me in our city two years back; I had come all the way to just catch her glimpse, but her silver sedan had sped past me, not even braking for a glance. Since then I haven’t seen or heard from her. Since then I have moved a step closer to lunacy every passing day. I have spent many a sleepless night and disdainful day yearning for her, wanting her, just the look of her at least. But she has remained as elusive as her correspondence address and telephone number.
But today it was not to be. Today I knew for sure she would be back in the city. I knew the city she was coming from, the flight she was to take, the hour of her arrival and the route she would take to her next destination. Here I was, half past eleven at night, atop the foot over bridge, looking down at the road she was to take any minute now. My eyes frantically checked for signs of her sedan, the beam of whose headlight was to shine on me any moment now. It was an unusually empty road, and hardly a couple of cars had crossed this path in the last infinite hours of what seemed to be my wait. Was there a light in the distance? Was it that of a car? A sedan? Maybe even a silver one? It sure was! It was her! Speeding down the road. I had no time to climb down the bridge to intercept. The windows were closed and I couldn’t even shout out. What was I to do? Will He give me such a chance again? I jumped.
The driver slowed down briefly and looked around to check for eye witnesses. There was blood on his windshield. The wiper could take care of that, though, with some water. The body had bounced off his bonnet and landed in a bush nearby, away from public sight. Chances of survival were out of question. What was he to do, after all? A hard day’s work, followed by a binge drinking session at a friend’s place and then a tiresome drunk drive back home. Even if he did report, who would believe a drunk driver claiming a man had literally fallen from the sky on top of his car? He had already decided to let this be a nightmare for the rest of his life and sped off. Nightmares in one’s own bed were better than those in a prison cell any given day!
At the same time there was an announcement in the airport. All flights landing in the city that night had to be cancelled because of bad weather and foggy conditions. All arriving flights for that night have been delayed and are expected at least 24 hours late.

starter

2007-02-24T18:13:00.000+05:30

The thermometer read 104 degrees Fahrenheit. A touch of concern, for a twenty year old. But to his mother it was a state of panic. She had always protected her son from every turmoil, every problem. She had shielded him from the world outside, and his slightest sneeze would be enough to have her running around for medicines and doctors. Mrityunjay had never for once lived without his mother. He had never gone to hostel, and in fact he had never set foot outside Calcutta in all his twenty years. He was born and brought up in his quaint north Calcutta house, studied in the school just 10 feet away, and ran to college at the other end of the lake behind his house. A 4-square kilometre of under-privileged urban Calcutta was what he knew as the big bad world. Mrityunjay was a man with a rare talent - he could read minds. He could look into the eyes of any man and tell what the man had in his mind. He didn’t really practice it on men, though - the effect seemed to be better if the subject was a woman, and even better still if she was young and pretty. Of course, he did pick up the odd bet with his friends and confront an arbitrary man on a dull Sunday afternoon by the lake, and bewilder him by announcing the man was contemplating suicide as he recently lost his job and had a family of 7 to support. Well, this incident actually happened to be the last time he tried the trick, and this revelation had led him into almost 7 years of depression. On coming out of it, he merely kept his talent as a hobby to attract and woo pretty ladies. He had once fallen in love with the prettiest girl in all college - after he had looked in her eyes and revealed the girl was thinking of slapping him! The girl obviously got very embarrassed, but nevertheless she reserved a small awe for his amazing talent. To the class he was known as ‘Mental’, as many thought his was clearly a case of mental instability rather than a gift. His mother, ironically, knew nothing about it. She would have known, had he told her he had seen the extra-marital affair in his father’s eyes - and his intentions of dumping them and going off to Delhi with another woman. Maybe his father did leave them after all because he was too afraid to tell this to anybody. He had thought about this all his life; two incidents, both truth, but one when told caused agony while the other, when not told, caused the same. He was in a dilemma as to which path to take. His seven years of depression was a battleground of thoughts for him, the fight between what to and what not to, the realisation of whether what he possessed was a gift or a curse. He had, for a while, decided to say only pleasant things that he saw, while keep the bad things to himself. But that did not hold out to be a good argument - his father’s motive was unpleasant, but had to be told, and he hadn’t. He remembered what Death had said to Nachiketa - “The good is one thing, the pleasant another; these two, having different objects, chain a man. It is well with him who clings to the good; he who chooses the pleasant, misses the end”Soaking with sweat, his body burning and head splitting, he was pondering the over the same thought. Was it good, or the pleasant? Did mother need to know? He had fumbled with his decision on many occasions, and he was fumbling rather bad on this one. Mother was trying to put damp swabs on his forehead to reduce the temperature. “Mother,” he started mumbling, “I saw it in the doctor’s eyes today”...

A Short Story

2007-02-23T22:14:00.000+05:30

Partho watched another train go by… It was the 3:15 local that was late. The turn near the station was always something of a treat to watch. The trains made a sort of loop before entering the small station of Payera Danga and that turn made the train look amazingly like a snake or a centipede in motion. His train was late again and he was restless. He would miss the ferry and would have to depend on the conditions of the road before he could reach Burrabazaar. Ratan-da would be waiting for him to come and deposit the cash, he safely carried in the bag that he clutched tightly…
Weather was another concern for him, it was dark and wet. Even at that hour of evening it seemed almost late evening. The drizzle had presently stopped and he felt drenched. This money was all he had.
Four months back he had loaned a handsome amount of money… 10 thousand to be precise from Ratan-da. It was with this money that he wanted to start his sweet shop in the lines that Ratan-da had advised him. After all Ratan-da was an accomplished sweetmeat seller in Burrabazaar and had profits close to a lakh per month. Partho had learnt the tricks of the trade from none other than his idol Ratan Shau, once a local gangster and a friend of his father. After Partho’s father passed away a couple of months back, the only source of steady income for his family that comprised of only him now, has come to a full stop. His father used to work as the accountant at a local grocers’ and made just enough to make a living for the two of them. It would be unwise to say that Partho had a way with the local people. Twenty-three years of existence under his belt, he was a terror of the local people. He worked alone albeit under Bishu and spearheaded various acts of vandalism and fistfights in Payera Danga. But after his father passed away and he was left with nobody to abstain him form his rogue lifestyle realisation in the form of sanity dawned upon him. He saw Ratan Shau turn into a moneylender with his business flourishing and wanted to replicate the success story. The day the cremation got over he had gone straight to Bishu and expressed his willingness to turn into a sweetmeat seller. Bishu had obviously been very amused at first and tried persuading him to continue with his older profession but Partho was adamant. Bishu tried entreating him even offered him a full salary of Rs. 800 a month to continue working for him but that was not to be. Finally when nothing seemed to have come out of the discussion Bishu threatened Partho of dire consequences to which Partho laughed at and walked straight out. That was days ago. He had heard nothing from Bishu since.
He had in the meantime set up his own thatched roof shop near the station and sold sweets. Business was not good initially for he was a marked goon, but it slowly picked up and by the end of his second month it was doing well. Being the only sweetmeat shop near to the station people often brought sweets on arrival or while departing for a visit to some relations. He had spent only a thousand for his shop and bought it from the old fisherman who dreaded Partho. Investment was minimal and with a couple of thousand more he had the full furniture ready complete with a glass display and a couple of benches. Raw materials arrived from the neighbouring Madanpur and he made the sweets himself. He had been able to save about 7 thousand from his sales in four months and decided to return the money he had borrowed.
He presently moved out of the platform shade and strolled impatiently and pointlessly looking every now and then at the large electronic clock at the platform. Another couple of intent eyes scanned him from a distance.
The platform was mostly deserted. It was after all a very murky day with intermittent drizzling. There were very few unfortunate people who had some important assignments in other places waited for their trains to arrive.
-*-
Bishu needed money… and urgently. He had never thought that of all people Partho would desert him. Now that he needed some fresh blood to take care of his fast waning popularity; he was stranded. He knew the day Partho had walked out on him was the start of his fall. He had resented Partho since then and vowed revenge. He had sported a new look with a complete beard and a back-brush, which indeed changed, how he looked. He wanted to start afresh but he needed money now… needed it bad for there was his sister’s wedding and it should be some affair for everyone to speak about. He had been to Ratan-da after he came to know that he had helped Partho. He expected honour amongst thieves but to his dismay he returned empty handed. The collections from the local shops were of not much help either… moreover he has lost a good amount of territory after Partho left and had no longer the muscle power to regain his territories back. But one good thing he learnt from his visit to Ratan Shau, Partho would be in next week to return the money… and he made up his plan.
He watched from a distance covered in a raincoat as the tall figure moved about the platform. He knew what was in that bag. His new henchman Ali stood a bit further away from where Bishu stood and was drawing on the beedi intently. He was hardly in his twenty… This lad has promise, thought Bishu looking at Ali… But what he was about to do would test the steel in him. Partho was no ordinary target. He was well versed with all of this.
Somehow Bishu could not accept his present situation and believed axiomatically that his present woes are the direct consequences of Partho leaving him. He froze. Partho looked at him and then past him and he breathed again…
There was a distant whistle of an approaching train and he moved… Ali followed his motion and together they started approaching Partho.
-*-
The train snaked past the loop and approached the station decelerating. The announcement sometime back relieved Partho that his train was approaching. He let out a sigh of relief and walked towards the edge of the platform and again watched the train snake by the loop. It never failed to remind him of the childhood thoughts of a giant snake making its way towards the waiting preys…
The train was close now. He truned to move away from the edge and bumped into someone…
He felt a tug for his bag and before he could realize what was happening someone pushed him off the edge of the platform. Time seemed frozen for a moment as Partho helplessly tried to grab something in the thin air. He felt his bag gone. And in split of a second he saw a face that looked somewhat familiar. He knew who it was! But then it was too late… The train has come into the station and he fell as if for an eternity…

Paris Travelogue

2007-02-22T17:36:00.000+05:30

A small excerpt from a mail I had sent after my paris trip to my mother... Please forgive the spelling mistakes that you might encounter... :-)

২৩শে ডিসেম্বর প্রসেনজিত , হিমাদ্রি, অভ্রদা ও তার বউ সংগীতা আর আমি রওনা হলাম প্যারিসের উদ্দেশ্যে। আমরা অফিস থেকে বেশ তাড়াতাড়ি বেরিয়ে পড়েছিলাম। সিটি সেন্টার থেকে লন্ডনের বাসে প্রথমে গেলাম লন্ডন। সেখানে একটা য়ুথ্‌ হস্টেলে উঠলাম। সকাল ৫:৩০ এ আমাদের পিক্‌আপ ছিল, তাই ৪:০০ এতে ট্যাস্কি বোলে রাখা ছিল। ভোর বেলা ঠান্ডার মধ্যে রেডি হয়াটা বেশ চাপের কাজ। অনেক কষ্ট করে শেষবেশ বাস স্ট্যান্ড এ এলাম। আমরা একটা দোতলা বাসে প্যারিস ঘুরেছি। বাসটা লন্ডন থেকেই আমাদের সঙ্গে সঙ্গে ছিল। বাসে করে প্রথমে আমরা ডোভার গেলাম। ডোভারের পথে অনেক সুন্দর দৃশ্য আমার দেখা হল না। অত সকালে উঠে আর জেগে থাকতে পারছিলাম না। ডোভার হল ইংল্যান্ডের দিকের ইংলিশ চ্যানেলের একটা বন্দর। সেখান থেকে বড় বড় ফেরি ছাড়ে। আমাদের বাসটা একটা বড় ফেরি নৌকায় উঠিয়ে দিল। সেটায় করে আমরা ইংলিশ চ্যানেল পার করে পঁৌছলাম ক্যালে, ফ্রান্সের বন্দর। আমাদের সঙ্গে যারা ছিল প্রায় সকলেই ভারতীয়। সেরম ভাবে কারুর সঙ্গেই আলাপ হয় নি, আমরা আমাদের নিয়েই ছিলাম। ক্যালেতে ভেবেছিলাম হয়ত আমাদের পরিচয়পত্র দেখতে চাইবে কিন্তু তা নয়। পরে জেনেছিলাম যে ফ্রান্সে প্রবেশের সময় পরিচয়পত্র দেখাতে হয় না, বেরনোর সময় দেখাতে হয়। ফ্রান্সে প্রথমেই যেটা চখে পড়ল তা হল যে ওখানকার সব গাড়িরই লেফ্‌ট হ্যান্ড ড্রাইভ আর রাস্তায় গাড়িগুলো উল্টোদিকে চলছে। ভেবে নাও আমাদের বাড়ির সামনের রাস্তায় বঁাদিক থেকে ডানদিকে গাড়ি যাচ্ছে, তাহলে যেরম অদ্ভুত লাগবে ঠিক সেরম অদ্ভুত। ইংল্যান্ডেই বল বা ফ্রান্সে, এখনও অবধি কোনো গিড়িকেই হর্ন দিতে শুনি নি। এত ভদ্রভাবে এখানে লোকজন গাড়ি চালায় যে হর্ন দিতে হয় না। ওভারটেকিঙ্গের জন্য পরিষ্কার নিয়ম আছে। ইংল্যান্ডে যদি সিংগ্‌ল লেন রাস্তা হয় তাহলে ওভারটেক করা চলবে না। দুটো বা বেশি লেনের রাস্তা হলে সবসময় ডানদিক দিয়ে ওভারটেক করতে হবে। শুধু তাই নয় যদি তুমি দেখ যে অনেক দুর অবধি কোনো গাড়ি তোমার সামনে নেই তাহলে তোমায় আবার বঁাদিকে চলে আসতে হবে যাতে তোমার পেছনের গাড়ি তোমায় ওভারটেক করতে পারে। ফ্রান্সে অবশ্য পুর ব্যাপারটাই উল্টো, যেন একটা আয়নার মধ্যে দিয়ে দেখছ। ক্যালে থেকে আমাদের বাস রওনা দিল প্যারিসের দিকে। সবমিলিয়ে বাসে লেগেছিলো ১০:০০ ঘন্টা লন্ডন-প্যারিস তাতে ৫ ঘন্টা শুধু ক্যালে থেকে প্যারিস। বাসে ভিডিও দেখাবার ব্যাবস্তা ছিল। নতুন ডন সিনেমাটা দেখলাম। মাঝে বাসটা একটা হটেলে থেমেছিলো সেখানেই দুপুরের খাওয়া খেয়ে নিলাম। ফ্রান্সে আসার পর ওই প্রথম ভাষা নিয়ে অসুবিধায় পড়েছিলাম। ইংরাজিও বঝে না। ইশারায় কাজ সারতে হলো। খাওয়া দাওয়ার পরে আর একটা সিনেমা দেখলাম, ধূম-২। প্যারিস পঁৌছলাম প্রায় বিকেল ৫টা নাগাত। প্যারিসের সময় আবার ইংল্যান্ডের সময় থেকে এক ঘন্টা এগিয়ে সুতরাং প্যারিসে তখন বাজে ৬টা। হটেলে ব্যাগপত্র রেখেই বেরিয়ে পড়তে হল ডিনার খেতে। আমরা যে ট্যুরের সঙ্গে গিয়েছিলাম তাজ ট্যুর, সেই গাইড আবার রেস্তরঁাটা চেনে না। সে এক কান্ড। ১ঘন্টা এদিক ওদিক ঘুরে শেষে সে একটা ট্যাস্কি ঠিক করল। ট্যাস্কিটা বাসটাকে চিনিয়ে চিনিয়ে রেস্তরঁাতে নিয়ে গেল। ২৪শে ডিসেম্বরের রাতে প্যারিস যা লাগছিলো তা ঠিক বলে বোঝাতে পারবো না। এত ঝলমলে শহর আর এত লাইটিং যে চোখ ধঁাধিয়ে যায়। প্যারিসে যে রাস্তার দুধারে গাছ আছে সেই রাস্তাগুলোর নাম হল এভিনিউ যেমন ধর রাশবীহারি এভিনিউ, আর যে রাস্তার ধারে গাছ নেই সেগুলোর নাম হল রোড। এভিনিউগুলো দিয়ে গেলেই চোখে পড়বে অবিস্বাশ্য লাইটিং। সমস্ত গাছে ছোট ছোট লাইট দিয়ে ডালগুলো সাজানো। রাস্তার উপরে আলোর ঝালড়। সে যেন দূর্গাপুজোর লাইটিং আর তুমি যেন একডালিয়া এভারগ্রীনে পুজো দেখতে বেরিয়েছো। এরই মধ্যে বাটার একটা দোকান দেখে বেশ মজা লাগল। মনে হয়েছিল যেন চদ্দ নং বাসস্ট্যান্ড থেকে বাড়ির দিকে ফিরছি। রেস্তরঁাতে যাওয়ার পথে একঝলক আইফেল টাওয়ার দেখলাম। প্রানে যেন একটা অদ্ভুত আনন্দ হল। কত সিনেমায় দেখা সেই অদ্ভুত টাওয়ারটা সত্যি সত্যি যে কত সুন্দর তা হয়ত ছবিতে বোঝা যায় না। রাতের প্যারিসের আকাশসীমায় সে যেন এক সোনার জ্বলজ্বলে বিশাল তরবারি। চারিদিকের বড়দিনের সজ্জা আর তার সঙ্গে আইফেল টাওয়ার মিলে যেন অকটা রূপকথার জগত্‌। সন্ধ্যা ৬:৩০শে আমাদের ডিনার বুক করা ছিল সেখানে রাস্তা গুলিয়ে ঘুরে টুরে আমরা শেষ বেশ ৮:০০টার সময় রেস্তরঁাতে পঁৌছলাম। রেস্তরঁাটা ভারতীয় খাবার দাবার বানায়। খাবারের ব্যাবস্থা বেশ ভালই ছিল। সব্‌জি, নান, পোলাঊ, মুর্গি,ডাল ও শেষে আইসক্রিম। ভালো করে ঠঁেশে খেয়ে আমরা আবার বেরিয়ে পড়লাম আইফেল টাওয়ারের উদ্দেশ্যে। প্যারিস নিয়ে অনেক কথা লেখা যায়, এরম সুন্দর শহর আগে কখনো দেখার সৌভাগ্য হয় নি। সাধারন বাড়ি গুলোও যেন পৌরানিক যুগের কনো দারুন শিল্পীর হাতে বানানো। শহরের সবকিছুই যেন শিল্প। ছবি দেখে কতটা বুঝতে পারবে তা বলা শক্ত, হয়ত অনেকটাই বুঝবে না। চোখের দেখা আর ছবিতে দেখার মধ্যে অনেক পার্থক্য। চিন্তা কোরো না সুযোগ সুবিধেয় থাকলে তোমাদেরকেও হয়তো প্যারিস ঘুরিয়ে দেখাবো এটাই আমার ইচ্ছে। ঠিক আইফেল টাওয়ারের সিমনেই বয়ে চলেছে Seine(শেন) নদী। সেটায় সকাল থেকে রাত ১টা অবধি ক্রুজ ট্যুর হয়। আমরা রাত ১১টার ট্যুরটা নিয়েছিলাম। আইফেল টাওয়ারের সিমনেই জেটি থেকে আকাশ খোলা একটা বড় ক্রুজ নৌকায় আমরা উঠলাম। শেন নদীর ছবি হয়ত দেখবে এবং বুঝতেই পারবে যে নদীটা বেশি চওড়া নয়। সমুদ্রতল থেকে মাত্র ২৪ মিটার উচুতে বয়ে চলার জন্য নদীটা বেশ শান্ত। নদীটার উপর অসঙ্খ ব্রিজ। সবকটা ব্রিজই আর্চ করা আর প্রত্যেকটাই সুন্দর। প্রত্যেকটারি কোন না কোন ইতিহাস আছে। আর্চ-এর পিলার গুলোয় পাথরের উপর সুন্দর সুন্দর নক্সা করা। নদীর ধারেই সমস্ত বিখ্যাত বিখ্যাত সৌধ, মিউসিয়াম, চার্চ। ক্রুজ ট্যুর শুরু হওয়ার এক মিনিটের মধ্যেই হঠাত্‌ আইফেল টাওয়ারের রূপ একেবারে পাল্টে গেল। সে এক অদ্ভুত দৃশ্য, যেন আইফেল টাওয়ারের গায়ে অসঙ্খ যোনাকী পোকা লেগে রয়েছে। ঝিলমিল করছে আইফেল টাওয়ার। অসঙ্খ ক্যামেরার ফ্ল্যাশের মত আলো জ্বলেই নিবে যাচ্ছে পুরো টাওয়ারের গা জুড়ে। আমরা হৈহৈ করে ছবি তুলতে লাগলাম। প্রসেনজিত আর হিমাদ্রি দুজনেই ভিডিও তুলেছে। কাজলের হাতে আমি যে ডিভিডি টা পাঠাবো তাতে ভিডিওগুলোও আছে। নদীপথে যেতে যেতে বঁাদিকেই পড়ল Grand Palais (গ্র্যান্ড প্যালেস) আর Petit Palais (পেটিট প্যালেস)। এক সময় গ্র্যান্ড প্যালেস ছিল প্যারিসের মিলিটারি বেস এখন এটা একটা মিলিটারি মিউসিয়াম, পেটিট প্যালেসও এখন এটা একটা মিউসিয়াম। নদীর উল্ট তীরেই হল Esplanade des Invalides (ইনভ্যালিদেস্‌ মোড়) এবং Hotel des Invalides (ইনভ্যালিদেস্‌ প্যালেস যেটা এখন একটা হটেল)। একটু এগিয়েই বঁাদিকে পড়ল Champs Elysees (শঁৌঔ দে-লিসে)। এই শঁঁৌঔ দে-লিসে জায়গাটা ঠিক ময়দানের মত, Fort William থেকে ধর্মতলা যেতে যদি ধরে নাও রেড রোড দিয়ে যাচ্ছো আর দুপাশে বড় বড় গাছ, রেড রোড যেখানে শেষ সেখানে যদি একটা ইন্ডিয়া গেট থাকে (Arc de Triomphe আর্ক দি-ট্রায়াম্ফ্‌), সেরম খানিকটা। আবার যেখানে রেড রোড শুরু সেখানে ধর্মতলার মনুমেন্টের মত দেখতে Obelisque (ওবেলিষ্ক), একটা ২০-২২ মিটারের প্রস্তর খন্ড যেটা গ্রীসের রাজার ফ্রান্সকে উপহার। একটু এগিয়ে বঁাদিকে Musee du Louvre (লুভ্‌ মিউসিয়াম) আর ডানদিকে Musee d'Orsay (অর্সা মিউসিয়াম) আর Assembly Nationale (বিধান সভা)। নদীপথে আরও খানিকটা এগিয়ে বঁাদিকে হল Saint Michele Notre Dame (নটার ডেম)। এখানথেকে অমাদের নৌকটা ঘুরলো। নটার ডেম একটা ব দ্বীপের উপর। অমাদের নৌকটা সেই ব দ্বীপের ওপাশ দিয়ে ঘুরে ফিরল। ব দ্বীপের ওপাশের তীরে পড়ল Hotel de Ville (ভিল প্যালেস যেটা এখন একটা হটেল)। দেখতে দেখতে কখন এক ঘন্টা কেটে গেছে টেরও পাই নি। রাত ১২:১০ এ আবার আমরা আইফেল টাওয়ারের সামনের জেটিতে ফিরে এলাম। ঠান্ডায় হাতপা জমে যাচ্ছিল আর কুয়াশার জন্য আইফেল টাওয়ারের চঁুড়াটা দেখা যাচ্ছিল না। সেদিন আর কিছু দেখি নি। হটেলে ফিরে গরম জলে চান করে শুতেশুতেই ঘুম। সকালে ব্রেকফাস্ট হটেলেই দিয়েছিল। পঁাউরুটি, জ্যাম, মাখন, চিজ, ফলের রস, চা, কফি, দুধ, কর্নফ্লেক, হ্যাম ও বেকন্‌ স্লাইস। দেড়েমুষে খেয়ে অমরা অবার বাসে করে বেরিয়ে পড়লাম, দিনের বেলায় আইফেল টাওয়ার দেখতে। সেখানে পঁৌছে আমরা আইফেল টাওয়ারের দর্শন পেয়ে মহিত হয়ে গেলাম। একটা পায়ের থেকে অন্য পায়ের দুরত্ব প্রায় ১৫০ ফুট। আমাদের বাড়ির দরজা থেকে ওপারের তেলেভাজার দোকান যতখানি, প্রায় ততটা। আইফেল টাওয়ারের উচ্চতা ১২০ মিটার। ঠিক ১৫০ মিটার পেছনে হল Champs de Mars (শঁৌঔ দে-মার), একটা মিলিটারি স্কুল। ১৫০ মিটার পেছনে থাকার কারন:- যদি কোনদিন আইফেল টাওয়ার পড়ে যায় তাহলে যেন স্কুলটা বঁেচে যায়। আইফেল টাওয়ার তিনটে ভাগে বিভক্ত, চারটে পা থেকেই লিফ্‌ট উঠেছে দোতলা অবধি। এখন শুধু উত্তর দিকের পায়ের লিফ্‌টটাই চালায়। প্রথম তলায় একটা বড় রেস্তরঁা আছে। অত্যন্ত দামি। দোতলায় কয়েকটা দোকান আছে, ছবি, ম্যাপ ইত্যাদি বিক্রি করে। আমরা একেবারে দোতলায় চলে গেলাম। সেখান থেকে আবার আরেকটা লিফ্‌টে গেলাম একেবারে উপরের তলায়। পুরো প্যারিস শহরটা একটা প্রকান্ড ম্যাপের মত দেখাচ্ছিল উপর থেকে। আমরা অনেক ছবি তুল্লাম। দোতলা ও একতলা থেকেও ওনেক ছবি তুলে অমরা সকাল ১২:৩০ নাগাথ রওনা দিলাম (Château de Versailles)ভারসাই প্যালেসের উদ্দেশ্যে। ভারসাই প্যালেস পঁৌছলাম যখন তখন প্রায় ১:০০। মনে পড়ে মাইশোর প্যালেস? এটা সেটার থেকে প্রায় তিনগুন। প্যালেসটাতে ১০০০টা থাকার ঘর আছে আর প্যালেসের পিছনের মাঠটার কোন শেষ দেখা যায় না। প্যালেসের নিজস্ব একটা জঙ্গল আছে যেখানে রাজারা শিকার করতে যেত। এই প্যালেস মিত্তাল ভাড়া করেছিল মেয়ের বিয়েতে !!! লোকের কত টাকা হলে সেটা করতে পারে তাই ভাবি। আমরা প্যালেসের একটা গাইডেড ট্যুর নিয়েছি। প্যালেসের এক একটা ঘরের এক একটা গল্প। সেসব লিখতে পারলাম না, একটা গোটা উপন্যাস হয়ে যাবে। ৩:৩০ নাগাধ আমরা অকটা দোকান থেকে একটা করে বড় বার্গার খেয়ে দুপুরের খাওয়া সেরে ফেল্লাম। প্যারিস ফিরতে ফিরতে ৬:০০ বেজে গেল। এবার আর ভুল না করে আমাদের গাইড সোজা সেই ইন্ডিয়ান হটেলে নিয়ে গেল। আগের দিনের মত ঠঁেশে খাওয়া দাওয়া করে আমরা ৮:০০ নাগাথ বাসে করে প্যারিসের বিভিন্ন যায়গা ঘুরতে লাগলাম। প্রথমেই যাওয়া হল Champs de Mars (শঁৌঔ দে-মার)। সেখানে আমরা নেমে ছবি তুল্লাম। আইফেল টাওয়ারের আরেকবার দর্শন হয়ে গেল। তারপর আমরা গেলাম Invalides (ইনভ্যালিদেস্‌ প্যালেস যেটা এখন একটা হটেল)। এখানেও নেমে অমরা ছবি তুলেছি। তারপর যাওয়া হল Ritz Hotel (রিজ্‌ হটেল)। এই হটেলেই ডায়না তার জীবনের শেষ রাত কাটিয়েছিল। হটেলের ঠিক সামনে একটা চৌক মত জায়গা বরং বলতে পারো যে হটেলটা একটা চৌক মত জায়গার এক কোনে। সেই জায়গাটাতে নেপলিয়ন-এর স্ট্যাচু রয়েছে। এখানেও নেমে অমরা ছবি তুলেছি। তারপর আমরা গেলাম Palais de Chaillot (শ্যালো প্যালেস)। এখান থেকে আইফেল টাওয়ারের সবথেকে সুন্দর ভিউ পাওয়া যায়। সেখানে ক্ষনিক সময় কাটিয়ে আমরা গেলাম Arc de Triomphe আর্ক দি-ট্রায়াম্ফ্‌ । এখানে Gateway of India র মত অকটা সৌধ আছে। এটা আবার প্যারিসের সবথেকে ব্যাস্ত মোড়। ১০টা রাস্তা এখানে মিশেছে (খানিকটা শ্যামবাজারের মত)। নেপলিয়নের উদ্দেশ্যে তৈরি এই সৌধের মাঝখানে অকটা আগুন সবসময় জ্বলে। যদি Day of the Jackal সিনেমাটা দেখে থাকো তাহলে এটা সেই জায়গা যেখানে চার্লস্‌ দি গলকে মেরে ফেলার কথা ছিল। একটা জিনিস দেখে বেশ তাজ্জব হয়ে গেলাম যে ঐ মোড়ে কোনো ট্রাফিক সিগনাল নেই যেটা ঠিক করে দেবে কোন রাস্তার গাড়ি কোথা দিয়ে যাবে। সেখান থেকে আমরা সেদিনের মত ঘোরার শেষ ঠিক করে হটেলের পথে পাড়ি দিলাম। রাস্তায় লুভ্‌ মিউসিয়ামের একবার দর্শন পেলাম। সব ছবি তোলা আছে। পরের দিন সমস্ত দিনটা আমরা প্যারিসের ডিসনিল্যান্ডেই কাটালাম। সকালে যথা রীতি গান্ডে পিন্ডে ব্রেকফাস্ট করে নিয়েছিলাম কারন সেদিন আর ডিনারের ব্যবস্থা ছিল না। ডিসনিল্যান্ডে আনন্দ প্রচুর হয়েছে। নানারকম রাইড ছিল। নিক্কো পার্কের মত জায়গা তবে একটা বেহালার মত বড় জায়গা জুড়ে এই যা তফাত। দুপুরে এখানেই বার্গার খেয়ে খিদে মিটিয়ে নিলাম। পুরো পার্কটা দেখতে দেখতেই রাত ৯:০০ বেজে গেল। আমরা একটা ছোট রেস্তরঁাতে রাতের টুক টাক খাওয়া সেরে আমরা হটেলে ফিরে এসেছিলাম। পরের দিন ফেরার কথা। সকালে খানিকটা সময় ছিল তাই সকাল সকাল একটা প্রকান্ড ব্রেকফাস্ট সেরে আমরা গেলাম Saint Michele Notre Dame (নটার ডেম) দেখতে। ২৬শে ডিসেম্বর বলে নটার ডেম চার্চ বন্ধ ছিল। আমরা বাইরে থেকেই ছবি তুল্‌লাম। তখন বাজে প্রায় ৯টা। সেখান থেকে আমরা গেলাম Musee du Louvre (লুভ্‌ মিউসিয়াম)। লুভ্‌ মিউসিয়ামও বন্ধ ছিল তাই আমাদের আর মোনা লিসার সেই বিখ্যাত ছবি আর দেখার সৌভাগ্য হল না। মিউসিয়ামটা এতই বড় যে লোকে বলে পুরোটা দেখতে গেলে ৭ দিন লেগে যাবে। আমরা বাইররে থেকেই ছবি-টবি তুল্‌লাম। লুভের সেই বিখ্যাত কঁাচের পিরামিডের ছবিও তুলেছি। লুভের তলায়, মানে বেসমেন্টে অনেকগুলে খাবারের দোকান ছিল। সেখান থেকে আমরা ফ্রেন্চ ফ্রাই আর অকটা করে বড় বার্গার কিনে নিলাম দুপুরের খাবার হিসেবে। বেলা ১২:০০ নাগাথ আমরা ফেরার পথে রওনা হয়ে পড়লাম। সেবারের মত শেষ বার আইফেল টাওয়ারের দৃশ্য দেখে নিয়ে প্যারিসকে জানালাম বিদায়। ক্যালেতে পঁৌছলাম সন্ধ্যা ৬টা নাগাথ। সেখানে ইমিগ্রেশন্‌ হল। আমাদের পাসপোর্টে ফ্রান্সের ভিসার ছাপ পড়ল। আবার সেই একি রকম লন্চে করে আমরা ডোভার পঁৌছলাম। আমি ডোভারের থেকে লন্ডনের পথে আবার ঘুমিয়ে পড়েছিলাম। লন্ডন পঁৌছলাম রাত ১০:৩০ নাগাথ। প্যারিস যাওয়ার সময় যে য়ুথ্‌ হস্টেলে উঠেছিলাম সেইখানেই আমাদের বুকিং ছিল। বাস স্ট্যান্ড থেকে ট্যাস্কি নিয়ে সেই য়ুথ্‌ হস্টেলেই উঠলাম। আমরা সবাই একদিনের ছুটি নিয়েছিলাম, পরের দিন তাই প্ল্যান করা হল গ্রিনউইচ্‌ ঘুরে আসা হবে। এই গ্রিনউইচ্‌ দিয়েই আমাদের পৃথিবির মুখ্য দ্রাঘিমা রেখা (Prime Meridian Longitude 0 degree) যায়। সকাল সকাল বেরিয়ে আমরা প্রথমে গেলাম সেন্ট্‌ পলস্‌ ক্যাথেড্রাল চার্চ। সেটার সঁিড়িতে বসা অবস্থায় আমার একটা ছবি পাবে। তারপর সেখান থেকে আমরা গেলাম লন্ডনের বিখ্যাত টাওয়ার ব্রিজ দেখতে। ব্রিজের পাশেই লন্ডন টাওয়ার, একটা পৌরানিক ক্যাসেল্‌। সেখান থেকে আমরা একটা লন্চ নিয়ে আমরা টাওয়ার ব্রিজের নিচ দিয়ে পাড়ি দিলাম গ্রিনউইচের উদ্দেশ্যে। এখানে অবশ্য নদীপৃষ্ঠে সেরম দেখার কিছু ছিল না। গ্রিনউইচে পঁঁৌছে আমরা গেলাম গ্রিনউইচ্‌ মুখ্য দ্রাঘিমা অবসারভেটরি। সেরম কিছু দ্রাষ্টব্য ছিল না ঔ অবসারভেটরি থেকে একটা লেসার বিম বেরোয় মুখ্য দ্রাঘিমা রেখার প্রতিক হিসাবে, সেটার ছবি তুল্‌লাম। ফিরতে ফিরতে ৫:৩০ বেজে গেছিল। আমরা য়ুথ্‌ হস্টেল থেকে আমাদের জিনিষপত্র নিয়ে চলে গেলাম ভিক্‌টরিয়া কোচ স্টেশন। সেখান থেকে ৬:৩০এর বাসে করে ব্রিস্টল ফিরে এলাম রাত ১০:০০ নাগাথ।

FREAKONOMICS: Book review

2007-02-08T15:57:00.000+05:30

Here goes my review of "Freakonomics - A Rogue Economist explores the hidden side of everything" by Steven D Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner. Freaknomics, as the name suggests is about Economics taking a freak out journey. The exciting sojourn would take you in for surprise for it shows the reasons behind very not-so-thought-kind of questions. The content is like a consortium of various uncommonly thought common occurrences and things that we probably get to see around us.

One thing that I like about the book is it is not written in the conventional way by confining it to a particular topic. The Author has done an almost detective kind of job in unraveling the conundrums in questions ranging from Sumo Wrestlers to Ku Klux Klan. Essentially Levit's every chapter starts with a question that doesn’t make much sense like, What do Sumo Wrestlers and teachers have in common? Which is more dangerous, a gun or a swimming pool? Is there anything called the art of good parenting? Connection between the Ku Klux Klan and Real Estate Agents. Drug peddlers living with their mothers etc.

The book has some interesting statistics and fascinating numbers, which provide really intriguing answers to the questions. The book enlightens on some of the soft realities of life. One goes like this. Whatever be the philosophy, be it, liberalism, socialism, capitalism or objectivism, people strongly react to incentives. There is a motive behind anything or everything, though not necessarily in monetary or materialistic or objective terms. This deep answer is a key driver to one of the questions presented in the book. Freakonomics could leave you with the reminiscences of a beautiful mind with unconventional and logical thinking to anything and everything that you see around. Observation would become more intriguing and rewarding now. Whoever said, its true that a person is known for the questions that he doesn’t have the answer for. People who have read A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking, another genius, could identify in this book the similar simple and lucid writing style offered on complex issues.

The solutions to the questions have been treated with an innovative fashion. The matter has been presented in an interesting way. On the flip side, though there are chances that you might get bored at times, with some of its pedantic stuff; nevertheless, it isn’t tiring at any time. The research is mind-blowing and makes the reading an intellectual and fascinating experience. Go for it you want to do some quality reading ahead.

Note: This post has also been crossposted at www.raconteurkasi.blogspot.com

The World is Flat: Book Review

2007-02-07T17:31:00.000+05:30

Thomas Friedman's The world is Flat is a compelling read and inarguably the best pick of the season. It is indeed a brief history of the 21st century with Information Technology (IT) in focus.

People in the IT have come across broadly two types of books - one with all technical information relating with a domain/ platform or the management books which least deals with techie stuff. Not many attempts have across the third segment striking a fine balance between these two. Friedman's work is more of the third category which essentially traces the evolution of IT. With the advent of modern communication (like Fiber Optics, Internet and associated technologies), the world has started becoming a Level Playing Field for all the countries that are in the IT race. And it is in this context, Friedman describes the World is Flat. In fact, the title is also inspired by the Infosys’ CEO Nandan Nilikeni, who makes the author understand that the world is indeed flat during his conversation with him.

Friedman takes you on an exciting journey covering the phases of Globalisation 1.0, 2.0 and 3.0. It has also links to historical references such as Collapse of Berlin Wall, Disintegration of Soviet Union, India's Abolition of License Raj etc. He poignantly describes the ten flattening forces which made a Flat World i.e. level playing field. The ten flatteners which he listed are: 1. Fall of Berlin Wall 8/9/95, 2. Netscape going public, 3. Work Flow Software, 4. Uploading, 5. Outsourcing, 6. Offshoring, 7.Supply-Chaining, 8. Insourcing, 9. In-forming and 10. The Steroids: digital, mobile, personal, virtual. He writes in depth about the emergence and impact on these ten flatteners to the world and in lots of ways to our lives as well. The author delves into the emergence of India and China into the IT market and praises the indomitable spirit of Indians and Chinese' entrepreneurial spirit. Towards the end, he discusses in depth about the future of IT in America, the threatening forces and the sustainability issues.

The book is sure gonna make you more enlightened on your perspectives in IT and globalisation. The book is not for only those IT geeks, which you might mistake otherwise, but is addressed to a large and diverse audience. Rich with anecdotes, The World is Flat has an encyclopedic assortment of Who's who in the IT world and the companies. The language is vivid and more of a conversational type. The explanation is so clear and lucid that even a lay man could easily comprehend.Finally, I would say, go and grab your copy if you haven’t read.

Note: This post has also been crossposted in www.bibliophilesattcs.blogspot.com

MERA BHAGAT SINGH

2007-02-02T19:35:00.000+05:30

Ek baar hum pati patni me jhagra ho gaya,
Ki beta bada ho kar kya banega – is pe baghera khara ho gaya.
Mai thehra kavi , mujhe kuch khas fark nahin hai,
Lekin meri patni ko doctor ke niche razamand nahin hai.

Yeh sun ke mai ho gaya fire,
“Maine kaha ki badal do tum yeh desire.
Aur sath hi tumhe ek aur decision lena hoga,
Mujhe abhi aur isi waqt talak dena hoga”.

Patni ko yeh dialogue thori khal gayi – thori kya ji puri khal gai,
Aur uske hath ka belan turant chal gayi.

Adhe ghante tak usne jam kar ki meri dhunai,
Tab kahin ja ke woh normal ho pai.
Fir boli “haan priya, aab batao tum kya keh rahe the”,
Maine kaha “ji kuch nahin vichar aise hi bah rahe the
Tu agar pyar se sune to sunao nahin
Nahin to bekar dobara mar kyon khaun”.

Woh boli “acha pyar se sunti hoon sunao”
Maine kaha-“ji agar bete ko doctor hi banana hai,
To koi dalit var le le.
Aur usse abhi aur isi waqt shadi kar le,
Nahin to tere sapno ka mahal chakna chur ho gayega
Itne reservation hetu – bete ka future bigar jayega”.

Aab ja ke meri patni ko meri baat samaj me ayi,
Bhagwan ka shukr hai , bach gayi meri pitai.
Bechari ke to chut pare rulai-
Aur boli, rote hue, “ki batao humara beta kya banega ?”
Mai bola “ki agar extraordinary nahi hua to bhuka marega”.

Woh boli “to thik hai mai extraordinary beta paida kar dungi”
Maine kaha – “kyon TV me Ads aye hai kya -
KICKS Action 500 lo Beckham paida karo”

Aur par gayi dobara – kya ? belan aur kya,
Fat gaya kurta utar gayi patloon- bas tuti nahin to haddi,
Lekin hum bhi nahi the fisdaddi .
Usi fatichar halat me kaha-
Is vyavastha ko naya ayam dena hoga,
Ek baar fir bhagat singh ko janm lena hoga.

Woh boli – “tum kaho to bhagat singh paida kar doon”,
Mai tatmata gaya, lekin kuch kahne se pehle sambhal gaya.
Pitai yaad thi, dard se halat patli thi.

Maine kaha “tu to paida kar degi,
Fir yeh sardardi teri maa mol legi ?”
Woh puchi “kaun si sardardi”
Humne kaha “hai bedardi,
Agar bhagat singh ayega to kya chup chap baithega ?
Har chauthe din naya bawal khara machayega

Sting operation specialist kahe layega .
Shakti Kapoor se leke George Fernandes tak na jane kitno ke pole kholega.
Aur yeh Police – kya use aise hi chor degi ?
Ek hi baar me hadddi passli thor degi.
Aur thane har chauthe din bail karane kaun jayega,
Marham-patti aur bail ka kharcha kahan se ayega.”

Is pe- patni aag babula ho gayi,
Kahne lagi, “kya yehi hai tumhari desh bhakti.
Desh bhakti naam me kalank ho,
Bas kavitao me dinge hankne ke layak ho.

Dusre ke bete ki maut chahte ho,
Apne bete ki maut se darte ho.”

Patni ki yeh baat samaj me aa gayi,
Maine kaha –“ tu bhagat singh paida kar de bhai.
Par jo karma hai jaldi kar,
Woh boli 6 mahine sabr kar.”

6 mahine baad, mai hospital me khara apne baal noch raha tha
Apne bete ki future ke bare me soch raha tha.

Antatah who khhan aa hi gaya,
Nurse ne mere hath me ek parcha thamaya.
Aur kaha- aapke bete ke paas se yeh baramad hua hai,
Aapka beta murda paida hua hai.

Us parche me likha tha,

‘Mai is vyavastha ke virudh vidhroh kar raha hoon,
Maa ki kokh me hi atm hatya kar raha hoon.
Magar kaam mai bhagat singh wala hi karunga,
Ajanme shishuon me barud bharunga.
Vyavastha bigari hai jisne , ve hi ise sudharenge,
Hum kisi bhi halat me dushit hawa me sansh nahi lenge.’

Tabhi mujhe patni ki chikh sunai pari,
Aur meri neend tut gayi.

Kavita ka saar yehi hai – kahin aisa na ho ki hum hawaon me is kadar aakrosh bhar de,
Ki bache Hindustan ke sar jameen me paida hone se mana kar de.........

SRK Rocks

2007-01-31T12:39:00.000+05:30

The curious thing about being Shah Rukh Khan is that the character he plays always slips into his skin. Raj Malhotra in DDLJ was acting as Shah Rukh Khan, so was Veer in Veer Zaara and Raj again in Kuch Kuch Hota Hain, and the injured footballer in a forgettable movie my memory has bidden Alvida to. When Don was bombing the place, in his mind he knew that he was only pretending to be Shah Rukh Khan and when a ghost in a deserted drinking place in Rajasthan pretended to be a living trader who was pretending to be SRK, he had his comeuppance!

So what happens when SRK tries to act as SRK in KBC? While we juggle with acronyms, he gives away his wrist watch to a participant who was winning 3.2 lakhs and gave a wrong answer to slip to twenty thousand. His uncanny ability to dole largesse is not confined to green backs alone, he hugs men and women in the hot seat again and again kyoonki "main logon ko bahut pasand karta hoon" The shrill scream of delight when he phones a friend is real and he revels in it.

KBC is fast becoming the show that actors are trying to host to reaffirm their popularity with the masses. Amitabh Bachchan's fading career zoomed into the stratosphere with KBC and Shah Rukh who needs a hit badly has realized that selling laptops and washing machines may not give him the boost he requires. Hence KBC. Under the pretense of exposing IQs the Baadshah upthrones the Shahenshah. Skeptics who had written off King Khan will eat their words. SRK is finally acting himself and what's more he is doing a good copy of Amitabh Bachchan!

If the 70's generation is alarmed at the idea of the little guy trying to fit into the shoes of the Big B, they forget that SRK is an acquired taste. He grows on you till you learn that you have no choice but to accept him. He is everywhere. Greeting Ladies and girls and aunties and gentlemen and boys and uncles SRK is an epitome of chutzpah. The panache with which he wears a denim blue suit with tomato red stripes over an equally colourful shirt and beckons you from a billboard is breathtaking. Black satin tie over bare neck and a white shirt unbuttoned for as long you can see and a blazer over it - no one can carry it off like SRK.

Watching SRK is fun. Like the way he pretends that his wife is calling him back home when the hooter blows at the end of the show, or his "Freeze It' call. The nicknames he uses for the contestants and the completely unfazed look on his face when he reads a question he clearly has no idea about. SRK is taking over the game in a way AB never did. Even though AB was the chief attraction of the show, he never let himself grow bigger than the game itself! With SRK it seems, things are about to change! It’s less about knowing the answer now and more about being feted by Shah Rukh in the hot seat, rolling with laughter with his gimmicks and getting hugged by him and telling him how much we love him. The quiet dignity of show is suddenly gone and with the infusion of young blood KBC's character suddenly resembles a day in office when the boss is away.

The last word will rest with my father. A diehard SRK allergic, I was astonished after one particular episode of KBC. Dad just said "O Paarbe!"

GURU

2007-01-29T18:06:00.001+05:30

I have a topic to post for bibliophiles, the review for Guru! The movie though wasn’t that great for all the expectations and hype it had created; nevertheless, it is worth giving a shot. While I write this, as I started to have enough time and energy, I decided to go for an enhanced review unlike my usual ones where I place a quick review a la the tea-time kind read.

But beware; couple of things:
1. This shall be a spoiler exposing the story. So read at your own will if you haven’t seen the movie and you are most welcome if you are of the kind who reads spoilers and go to movies!
2. Statutory Warning: This is going to be a long affair, so go ahead if you have enough time and patience.

A sneak preview before that. Maniratnam, as always, brings the first of any kind credit to his movies, be it technical or trivial, and so this interesting piece of trivia for Movie Buff’s: Guru became the first Indian movie to have a World wide premier straight from Toronto, Canada. As it happens most of the times, Mani and controversies walk together hand by hand when it comes to the pre-course of his movie release, and GURU too is no exception. GURU, is largely inspired by the rags to riches story of the real life Business Tycoon Late Dhirubhai H. Ambani. Though the movie begins with a standard disclaimer of it being a work of fiction and that the characters bear no resemblance to anyone living or dead and if it does it is pure coincidence, it is blatant from the movie that it clearly internalizes the life and times of Ambani.

The story begins with an old Gurukant Desai (Abhishek Bachchan), neatly clad in a business suit, speaking to the audience from the podium of an empty stadium with a Namaste note, "Sapne mat dekha karo. Sapne sach nahin hua karte. Mere Bapu kaha karte thhe. [pause] Magar maine sapne dekha aur sach banana ki himmat kiya”, which translates – “My dad used to say don’t dream as they never materialize. But, nevertheless, I dreamt and had the courage to make them real”. You may now wipe out from your memory the remains of this first scene as it is bound to repeat again after gaining the relevance, very typical of the likes of Alai Payuthey or Yuva, Mani’s previous films.So you know now what do you have in store for the next 2 hours and 50 minutes or so or more.

Next as the movie unfolds, the location changes to the surroundings of a school in a little village in Gujrat, in black and white shades where a young boy summons before his father, a school teacher after failing his school exam. He expresses his desire to leave studies for an offer he got in abroad. The father though doesn’t like the idea, he gives away the consent and the boy packs his bags and leaves to Istanbul, Turkey. He takes up a menial job selling old petrol cans there. The boy is inherently shrewd and once by his observation makes his friend win a small coup with a gambler. Few years down the line, he matures to become the protagonist Gurukant Desai (Abishek Bachchan). You next have a dance sequence by belly dancer (Mallika Sherawat) in a bar in Istanbul, where Guru and friends spend some quality time. Guru, by his astute skills, gets an offer to become Sales supervisor from a Gora Saab (white man) in his factory. Guru turns down the offer and returns to India instead to set up a business of his own.

Cut. Camera next swivels to a countryside location in India, where Sujatha (Aishwarya Rai) is introduced in Barse re Barse re song (like Madhubala in Chinna chinna aasai in Roja). She tries to elope with her boyfriend and in the railway station where they plan to meet, finds herself deserted by him. A train arrives to the platform and she quickly boards into it and stumbles upon Guru (whoelse!), who becomes aware of her situation. Sujatha then is accompanied back home by a relative of hers who came in search of her. Meanwhile Guru is given an aplomb welcome by his home members and Guru tells his proposal to start a business, to which his teacher-dad straightaway refuses as he had burnt his fingers once. Guru now needs capital and lures his childhood friend (Arya Babbar) into a deal where he would marry his elder sister and with the dowry money he would start a business offering him a handsome partnership. Incidentally, the girl happens to be none other than Sujatha and with the mutual consent of their parents he marries her.

Guru comes to the aspiring city of Bombay with his wife and brother-in-law, where he intends to do the cotton business. Guru seeks the approval for his application to become cotton yarn agent from the person in authority, one Mr. Contractor. Though the rich and influential Mr. Contractor is impressed by Guru’s wit, he does nothing to his application. The dejected and frustrated Guru then happens to meet Nanaji (Mithun Chakravarthy), a socialist-nationalist who vents his feeling towards the system through his daily Newspaper, The Independent after scrutinizing the facts. It becomes beneficial to Guru, who overcomes the initial hiccups and establishes himselves as a successful Cotton dealer. He befriends Nanaji who lives with his handicapped teenage grand daughter (who would later become Vidya Balan).

With his fine business acumen and knack of dealing with people and those in power, he wins the trust and hearts of his fellow men. But Guru isn’t satisfied; he is hungry to devour big challenges and his independent decision to advance further becomes a subject of disagreement with his brother-in-law and they part their ways off. Undeterred by risks and impediments, Guru raises capital through public shares and shapes his ambitious project in the form of a Polyester factory. After a couple of photo shoots with his staff in the fast forward mode, Guru becomes the ultimate rich Big Boss of Shakti Parivaar, his business conglomerate where he has major stake. You now have the large and bit older Gurukant Desai bespectacled with a thick golden frame and a neatly shaped out belly, mostly clad in a Blue Safari suit, who loves playing with the rules of the game in business. He becomes the darling of his stake holders, the hero of the middle class and favorite of media.

In a turn of events, Guru uses Nanaji’s Press machinery and media contacts to garner business mileage and image in public when Nanaji was away in an entourage. But, Nanaji is an idealist who lays extreme emphasis in values and principles and does not tolerate Guru’s designs in manipulative business. Because of their ideological differences, he launches a campaign to expose the real Guru through Shyam Saxena (Madhavan, in a cameo role), a daring reporter vows to weed out the wrong practices of Guru’s business. Guru still respects Nanaji as a fatherly figure; nevertheless, he develops a grudge against Shyam but has immense affection for VidyaBalan, who marries Shyam later. Guru is unfazed by the allegations leveled against him by the paper and by his share holders’ base of over 30 lakh people mantles challenges further.
At one point of time, he eventually is accused of manipulating the licenses and even of smuggling and an Inquiry Commission is set up by the judiciary. The commission finds him guilty and levels a score of charges against him which could lead to imprisonment. Gurukant gets paralyzed and his health fails but not in spirits; he raises up and gives voice to what he thinks is just. In the climax court room scene, the enquiry bench gives a kind hearing to Guru for 5 minutes. Guru saves all his energy for this moment and being aware that he is in front of media and people, he justifies his actions and wraps up within 4 and a half minutes circa, giving a 30 second profit to the bench! The commission shares considerate empathy in the largest interests of people. It ends up putting a fine amounting to the loss incurred by the state exchequer for the violation of procedures.

Gurukant Desai thus emerges out as a winner again and you may now go back to scene 1 of the movie. He now faces the full packed stadium with the share holders of his Shakti Parivaar and amidst loud applause, with his charisma and finesse tells them that the Parivaar would have no stopping and that he dreams to expand the buzinezz beyond the boundaries of the nation to make it the world’s numero uno!

Now coming to the other side, the criticisms, the movie goes at a horrifically slow pace. The only fast thing perhaps is the conceptualization of rags to riches transformation in a fast forward mode. You don’t have answers many of your questions. Like, what the role of Vidya Balan has to do with the plot? She came and died leaving no trace of relevance to the main track of the story. What happened to Guru’s brother-in-law, who supposedly was roped in to become Guru’s partner? Why Guru always says that he came to Bombay only with a pair of dresses (and nothing else) and built the business empire, when he actually brought the capital (Dowry money) as well. Watch the movie yourselves to get the same questions or more, sans the answers. After all it is Mani’s movie; the answers are not transparent and characteristic by their conspicuous absence. You have to imagine and substitute with the answers yourselves.

The other characteristics of Mani’s films such as, subtle emotions by the characters, soft-naughty-romance, witty dialogues, frequent use of dark background and foreground are noticeable in many occasions. I liked in particular, the dialogues – “Nazar. Theen glasses mein ek choti thhi” while winning the gambling coup, “Gurukant Desai thha Nahin, hae aur rahega”; “Mein to chalna nahin bhaagna chahta huun” when confronted whether he is careful in his steps; “Yeh to race hae aur jeetna ke liye to tej hi jaana hei” to reporters on his fast fortune; “Bus Ek Cheez. Namaste”, “Lo, maine aapko diya 30 seconds ka profit” to the enquiry commission. The characters have been portrayed well which bring life to the characters. Bachchan Junior has donned the role well and has done a commendable job with his mettle. Literally he has carried the movie on his shoulders. GURU, personally I feel leaves not a great impression, but nevertheless, it is worth giving a one time watch.

byabsayi o kukur( a writing in bangla)

2006-10-26T22:31:00.000+05:30

ayk chilo byabsayi.tar chilo ayk kukur.

ayk din ratre byabsayi bari ese bollo,shon shon aj ami darun khusi,aj amar hoyeche awnek amdani

kukur to shune allade atkhana,na jani lyaj narlo kawkhana

rat barle byabsayi khete boslo
mangso polao misti- se ayk bishal listi

kukur thai bose thaklo
byabsayi jawtokhon khelo aykta mawsao na kache gheste dilo

byabsayir khaowa shesh hole kukur nijer khabar khete gyalo
khete giye kukur thaw
dyakhe mangso polao dur -thalai sref dal bhat

kukur byabsayir kache giye bollo,eta ki holo?
roj thake haddi ghyat ,aj khusir dine o sawb-o bad?

byabsayi bollo,dyakh bhai,eta thik je ajke amar hoyeche awnek amdani,kintu
ajke mach mangser bishal dam,tai aj tor jonne sref dal bhat
tachara tui paser barir kukurtake dyakh,ota to dal bhat-o pai na

rat barlo
byabsayi nak dakte dakte ghumiye porlo

pawr din sawkale byabsayir ghum bhangte chokh chhaw
dyakhe ghawr-dor faka - churi gyache sawb

byabsayi rege kukurtake bollo,ki re shoitan !!
ratre chor elo ar tui daklio na amai?

kukur bollo,dekechilam to
kintu dal bhat kheye gawlar jor kome gyache bhison

A travelogue in transit

2006-10-10T18:00:00.000+05:30

Hi Bibs and fellow book lovers, It has been quite sometime that I had actually found some time out of the schedule that has left me pressing for time... and to be absolutely honest I had been going through some bad patch…. (hmmm … sounds familiar doesn’t it? : experts in cricket attribute the failures of our heroes’ to perform well and blame it on such Bad Patch)… I had written a small travelogue for the family and friends in my country about the wonderful experience of flying for the first time and thought that you might like it as well:
I boarded an aircraft for the first time in my life and it was really some mind-blowing experience watching the landscape like a contour map right below... The flight was from Kolkata to Delhi in a Jet aircraft. The landscape of Kolkata with lights (it was 8:45 in the evening) was amazing. Dotted lights of cars and street lights looked very much like the army of ants marching through the network of paths that crosses and formed a mesh… I was staring intently out of the window like a school kid of four watching as the view of his parents receded on the bus stop when the school bus gathered speed. I felt a pang of grief, which was interrupted by the singsong voice of an airhostess who was offering some sort of handkerchief roll to the passengers with a pair of tongs. Unsure about what to do I looked at my adjacent passenger and he was unrolling the hanky and looked pretty sure about his surroundings… "Cold towel Sir" insisted the airhostess and without further ado I took one. As if quite confident, I unrolled it, all the while watching the person wipe his hands and face with it… I proceeded t do the same making sure I finish after him and do as he does… I felt silly. But it was too late and I had nobody to turn to for help… The person next to me folded the towel and pushed some switch above his head. A small light lit up and I hear a faint ring somewhere in the back. As if by magic an airhostess arrived and switched off the light … this did not seem to bother the fellow passenger and he proceeded to order some fruit juice… It suddenly became clear…the switch was some form of a calling bell and the light indicated who pressed it… Fancy gadgets I wondered and proceeded to look out the window…
Much of that flight was then uneventful, except for the fact that I did… what my fellow passenger did; making sure that I do not arouse the suspicion that I was a first time flier.… Oh yes I did not call the airhostesses once during my flight while my fellow passenger seemed to have taken up an oath to not let the pretty girls off the hook for a moment. Fruit juice, water, blanket, pillow, magazine, water, fruit juice… and he was constantly on to something… Antd then there was this "hot towels" and another bout of "cold towel" game…
After almost four hours (one hour behind the scheduled arrival time as there was no clearance) I landed in Delhi… A bus awaited the disembarking passengers and took us all to the Baggage collecting area of the Indira Gandhi International Airport Domestic terminal. Then after another wait for about half an hour I finally collected my luggage and stepped out of the airport gates… Delhi. My first visit to the capital.
Delhi had lived up to its reputation of being the most corrupt place in India other than the fact that it was also the capital... I finally got out of the airport to meet this Sikh swindler (could you believe it? and we joke about them on their lack of intelligence!!) ... He was about to mug me when I realized something was utterly wrong and this person was no prepaid taxi driver as he had claimed. I managed to get hold a cop at the airport premises and the cab driver (or whatever he was) just vanished in no time. Then there was this genuine prepaid taxi driver who did not know where he was supposed to take me... again a cop came to my rescue and guided me to the USI residency (the place that was booked for my overnight stay). The taxi driver bragged for some tip (on a prepaid taxi!) and it was only when I gave him some twenty bucks that he finally let go of the last of my luggage!
The stay at the hotel was good... and then they had a complimentary drop at the international terminal of the Airport... then on, it was a piece of cake.... After all domestic flights teach you everything about aeroplanes and you can rest assured that I had a good teacher in my fellow passenger….
Checking in took almost an hour as there was this high alert for the recent sub-way bombings in UK and on top of that some senseless Delhi airport personnel tore off my through check-in tag from my luggage. I was dismayed when I got to know that my coveted window seat was no more available. I quarrelled about it and finally sympathetic personnel upgraded my economy class seat to a flat-bed one. I was not sure what that meant though but I was satisfied with the words… "We are sorry sir, I will upgrade your seat to a flat-bed one"… I felt victorious. The whole process of immigration check and finally boarding the plane took more than 2 hours. It was then to my utter surprise and joy, I understood what a flat-bed seat meant. The flat-bed was a single seat with a small stool to rest your feet… with a personal folding table, your very own video screen and your very own reading light… There were some fancy switches and after some investigation and help from the airhostess I realized that the seat could be aligned to meet the stool and form a full-length bed! I could want nothing more… after such tiring journey last night and arriving to the airport at 6:30 in the morning all that I could possibly think of was a sleep… Before the British Airways flight was even fifteen minutes into its flight I was sound asleep under a very comfortable blanket and a soft pillow.
I rose with a start realizing that a British airhostess was calling me. I woke and groggily saw that breakfast was being served… I looked at my watch and realized that it was 10:30 and I have slept for over two hours. I was ver unsure about what t take and finally decided upon a full English breakfast with Ham and scrambled eggs served with freshly baked loaves and butter. Having finished the breakfast within minutes (I was really hungry for I had no opportunity to have any food in the morning). Coffee was served and having finished that too I felt the need for a wash room. I proceeded towards one and it was only then that I had a view through a window… and I let out a gasp! The landscape below was incredible…I realized that we were perhaps flying over Sindh for the landscape matched very much like the one I had seen so many a times in the Atlas. The snow-capped mountains in Pakistan and Afghanistan, with channels of rivers flowing between them like the strings, looked more like some geography drawings from up above. It was amazing.... Finally I found a wash closet … The aeroplane wash closets are great (I mean to say that they are very efficiently and cleverly designed but a bit claustrophobic). I had some trouble finding the right kind of tissue paper for the right job…
I had champagne for the first time in my life. It was wonderful... (they serve that on BA but I am not so sure about AI) I had three glasses before I felt I was becoming tipsy and out of bounds... with complimentary drinks... it is always a problem with people like me :-) you can never have enough.... ;-)
My flat-bed seat allowed me to sleep for about 4 hours which had definitely put me in the right groove...(I hardly had any jet lag and adjusted effortlessly into the different time zone). All thanks to the stu**d personnel at the Delhi airport who accidentally tore off my check-in luggage tag and as a result I had the upgrade into the flat bet from a normal window seat (chuckle).
Finally, I landed in Heathrow… on the land where the sun never used to set… I collected my luggage from the baggage collection conveyer and proceeded for the clearance… The immigration was very quick and before I realized what was happening I was cleared and I was out of the airport. It was almost 1:40 p.m. GMT and I felt relived to have arrived to this country at last after such a wonderful experience of riding the plane for the first time (second if you consider the break at Delhi).
Bristol, the city of my destination, is a nice small town in the Avon district of UK (South-South-East of London). The closeness to the sea attributes to the moderate climate of this place... There is a city centre with a memorial like the martyr memorial in Delhi, where people place poppies and orchids on national holidays to salute the brave soldiers who died fighting to subjugate the other nations (sic). There is a central bus station named Marlborough (like the Dharmotollah but much too small and much too sparkling in the appearance and cleanliness). This was where I disembarked first on Bristol after a 3-hour bus journey from Heathrow (I had been sleeping a good 2 hours on that journey).
There are a lot of pubs in the city centre and some of them are pretty interesting (now dont jump to conclusions... I have only heard). Then there is a railway station by the name Templemeads that offer train links to various parts of London and UK. The Heathrow has a train station too that links Bristol via Paddington St. On an average each of the houses (a maximum of three storeys high, ours is a two storey one) has a lawn… and a backyard the size of a badminton court. The one we have has been cared in ages and now tall grasses adorn the backyard adding to the misery of having moths and other such birds (sic) flying in the house at night.
Immigrants drive most of the cabs here and an Iraqi drove the one, which I took from the bus stop. He was a very friendly guy in about 40s and was very generous in offering me a lighter as a gift when I asked for a light. He was genuinely impressed at the statement that I was on a company deputation from India and that I have a Master's degree in Computer Science at such a (according to him) "tender age" (lol). He was kind enough to offer me some good advice on how to get about living in the UK and where all I could get good bargains. He even advised me to get a bicycle and use it as transportation to and from the office. He was all praises for the Indian Mango pickle and how his lunch is incomplete without it! And the spices that make his curry mouth-watering...
I had reached my house (the one I would share with 3 others) at about 5:30 in the evening and had to wait outside for everyone was at the office (I arrived on a weekday). Finally, at around 6:15 people came back and I moved into the warmth of the house.

dui matal- philosophy prolap

2006-10-05T10:21:00.000+05:30

ora dujon emnite khub bondhu kintu mal khele bejai shotru
tawkhon ke kake ki bawle kichchu kheyal thake na-kichu sotti awnektai faltu

ayk din oder jhawgrai ki holo shonachchi darao tomai

sedin ora mawder neshai bejai chur,ayamon sawmoi sunil bollo-
anil,tui aykta bekar bogus,philosophy-hin faltu

kyano re??? anil hichki tule bollo

-kyano abar ki ? tor kono philosophy ache?policy ache kono?
aj ei bolis kal oi - tor sathe kaj kawra bhison shawkto

besh korechi ! anil ayk dhok gile bollo -ami tor mawton noi bhawndo
tor kono philosophy ache? any moral values?

-amar nei ? chaw amar barite
amar sobar ghawrer almarite dyakhabo amar diary
okhane ami amar sawb philosophy policy likhe rakhi
ja likhi tai mene choli- tor mawton noi faltu

jaja ,Anil bollo,policy dyakhachche amai
tui to roj mal kheye bari giye almari khulis
tarpor diary-r pata chhire bathroom-e jas
bathroom theke fire notun pata likhis
ami jodi faltu hoi tahole tuio aykta hypocrit written faltu

Puppy love

2006-09-26T16:24:00.000+05:30

Friends,

Thought I'd share a new story from 'Chickensoup for the soul'...quite liked it myself :)
Enjoy !!

At age thirty-two, I had just about given up on ever getting married. Over the years, I’d had numerous relationships. Some were wonderful - and some were real disasters. About the only thing they had in common was that they all ended. The entire relationship and dating scene was wearing me down. I was tired of relationships with no potential. I was weary of putting my heart out there and getting it smashed. Getting married was starting to look like it wasn’t in the stars for me. Giving up on marriage was one thing. But I wouldn’t, and couldn’t, give up on my heart. I wanted to love and be loved. I needed to nourish my heart in a way that even my best-intentioned friends and family members hadn’t done for me. I needed a dog.

Soon, on an afternoon in early May, I found myself peering into a pen on a friend’s farm, studying a litter of eight black and white puppies who were playing on and around their mother, a champion Border collie. The puppies were six weeks old and as cute as only puppies can be. I slid through the door and sat down. The puppies, wiggling with excitement and apprehension, quickly jitterbugged over to the safety of their mother’s side. All except one. The tiniest one, an almost all-black ball of downy fur with two white front paws and a white breast, came sidling over to me and crawled into my lap. I lifted her up and looked into her puppy-hazy brown eyes. It was instant love. “Just remember, Puppy, you chose me, okay?” I whispered. That was the beginning of the longest successful relationship I’ve ever had. I named my puppy Miso. The next weeks of a glorious early spring were spent basking in the glow of literal puppy love while housebreaking, training and establishing new routines. When I look back, that whole spring and summer was spent incorporating her into my life and me into hers. Miso’s Border collie heritage dictated lots of time outdoors, preferably running. I’d been eager to have company while I ran my almost-daily three to five miles in predawn darkness, and now I had a running buddy. Miso and I were out in all kinds of weather, rarely missing a day. Weekends and evenings were spent in quiet, loving solitude with Miso. At my writing desk or art table, Miso would lie relaxed at my side and sigh with contentment. Anywhere I went, Miso came too: camping, swimming at a local lake on weekends, long car rides to my parents’ home in the summer. If an activity precluded taking a dog along, I wasn’t much interested in it anyway. We were a happy couple . . . inseparable and self-sufficient. My heart was nourished, and I felt content and full. We spent two years this way.

Looking back, it’s remarkable that I met my husband-to-be at all. I certainly wasn’t looking for Mr. Right anymore, not when I was so happy being a “single mom” to Miso. Bob just kind of popped into my life, or rather, our lives, because Miso was definitely impacted by Bob’s appearance on the scene. At first, Bob accepted Miso as part of the “package.” Our dating consisted of lots of outdoor activities where Miso accompanied us easily. But as fall and winter approached, and Miso needed to be indoors more due to cold and wet weather, trouble brewed. Bob wasn’t enthusiastic about dog hair or mud on the furniture and insisted that Miso stay outside when we spent time at his house. Since the amount of time spent there was increasing, it bothered both Miso and me that she was required to stay outdoors. This was an uncomfortable blip on the radar screen of an otherwise growing and loving relationship with Bob. A crisis point was reached one particularly cold January night. Bob insisted that Miso bunk out on the enclosed porch for the night, a location Miso and I felt was unacceptable considering the temperature. I argued that anything less than Miso’s admittance to the basement was cruel and inhumane treatment. He argued that I was being unreasonable, and he felt I should respect his “house rules.” We went back and forth like two lawyers arguing a Supreme Court case. Things got heated. Tempers flared. We reached an impasse and stood, staring steely-eyed at each other. The next thing I knew I heard my own voice, thick with emotion, declare, “Don’t make me choose between you and Miso, because you may be in for an unpleasant surprise!” Bob looked shocked, and in the face of my determination, wisely backed off. Miso was admitted to the warm basement for the night. The entire indoor/outdoor Miso arrangement was renegotiated over the next couple days and we reached a satisfactory compromise for all three of us. That crisis was a turning point. I realized I had issued my ultimatum in all seriousness. Bob realized that I did not solely depend on him for love and affection - I had loyalties beyond him. And Miso found her new place in my life, no longer my one-and-only, but as a beloved member of a family for that’s what we became. Bob and I married, and soon our threesome became a foursome with the birth of our daughter. Eleven years later, Miso is over fourteen years old. Partially blind and deaf, she suffers the infirmities of old age now, enduring diabetes and arthritis with dignity and grace. The relationship between Bob and Miso has undergone an amazing transformation. Now I watch Bob tenderly guide Miso to find me when she has “misplaced me” in our house, and lovingly help her up the front steps on a rainy night. I believe Bob has grown to respect the debt he owes Miso. For Miso held a place ready in my life for Bob. She gave love a foothold. There was never any need to choose between Bob and Miso - both had already laid claim to my heart. Sometimes now I look into Miso’s eyes, which see only shadows, and speak in her ear, though I know she no longer hears, and tell her once again: “Remember, you chose me.”

Yours truly – 4

2006-09-19T09:23:00.000+05:30

I was not at all able to concentrate on anything at all. This month I was in charge of a very important project. Manoshi was into several welfare projects funded by United Nations Development Project fund. And one of them was actually an experimental workshop for jute crafts. Manoshi had managed almost several hours of man (in fact woman) days so that the oppressed women folk for whom we fight get an even footing economically. And I was actually entrusted to do the arduous task of pouring over the finances of the project. But my work was actually not on my mind now. It was relentlessly spinning from the myriad of questions that were coming to my mind. Did Vivek know my feelings and had so come to me and only me as his friend? Why is he not going to proper authorities? Did Chandreyi really wanted a better security in terms of wealth than she had with her first hubby? Or she really had those evils machinations in her mind as Vivek is pointing to? And what or how can I help Vivek? He never pointed at any thing to be exact. My mind was going into a tizzy. It was 4 PM.
The man in Sejal’s thoughts was himself in a kind of quandary. He remembered very vividly the last time when he was in a similar situation and when he was really looking for support, this sober and sweet gujarati provided it unconditionally. May be this is what is called a reflex reaction. He had been again hurt pretty badly by the same person and he had turned to the same person for solace!! Vivek came out of the restaurant thinking all these things when suddenly he became aware then some kind of reflection getting to his eyes. It was similar what he used to do in childhood with a mirror to his father to get his attention. He squint his eyes and tried to make out the source. This part of the town was almost filled with all the types of people during lunchtime. It was very much possible that this reflection can be almost from anything. Vivek just could not make out anything in that lunch hour din. Shrugging his shoulders he went towards his rented Skoda parked in little Russel Street. He was a car freak. And that was well known within his firm. As was the norm he had kept the car at neutral so that it can be pushed a bit to make the space for other cars. After switching on the AC he was about to get the car in the drive mode, he became aware of a reflection again.
After sitting for some time with her hands on her head, Sejal went out to the cafeteria for a cup of tea. Manoshi may not have boasted of a fat pay packet but the cafeteria that she had could have made many a eye brows go up with appreciation and envy. Decorated into taste full pastel shade it provided a glamorous view of Park Street with the Victoria Memorial at its backdrop. The cuisine on offer was actually a very tasteful mixture of Bengali and non Bengali fare. The cafeteria also did boast of a good continental menu for the people who are simply health conscious. Sejal spotted Kunal Da sitting in one solitary corner and promply joined him. She always used to discuss any complex case with this person who seemed to be really a good listener. After hearing to her story Kunal da did not say anything for almost a minute. And then he suddenly started laughing. Surprised sejal gave him a questioning look. “Shejol, is this guy the same one that was once your favorite in college?” Suddenly Sejal could really feel herself blushing and that gave her away. “So you want to help this guy out, right?” Even before she could have answered he said, “But do you understand one thing – that Vivek has got almost nothing other than the bank statements to prove any charges against his wife?” Sejal knew it very well and in fact if even Vivek would have gone to the proper authorities with his allegations he would have turned down then and there. In her professional life Sejal had seen many times that although the guilt might have been equally shared by the lady, when it came to penalty it had been always the lord of the house who was laid on sacrificial alter. In fact in India the law is very much biased towards the fairer ones. ”But Kunal Da, there should be something that can be done – isn’t it?” she asked nervously. “ Yeah!! Something could be done always. But before I comment any further I want to know what is there in your mind? Have you told Vivek about your feelings? Because being a man myself I can understand that if Vivek would have known about your feelings, he would have never approached you at all.” Sejal knew that fact very well.
After looking here and there for some time suddenly Vivek spotted the source of reflection. It was coming from the rear view mirror of a steel grey Maruti 800 two cars in front of him. The driver seemed to be adjusting the mirror. Shrugging his shoulders he started his own vehicle and careened into the post lunch rush of cars. He was actually heading towards the Emami office at R N Mukherjee road. P&G and Emani had been co-branding their products for a long time. If you buy soap from P&G stable you get an Emami all purpose cream. And going by the Asian mentality of striking the bargain always both P&G and Emami was benefited well from the association. He took up the through fare on the side of Raj Bhawan and was actually concentrating on the road, when suddenly he spotted a steel grey Maruti coming a bit behind him. There are so many steel grey cars of the same make in Kolkata that he had not paid any heed to it. But then he noticed that one side of the car behind him had the same scratch that he had notice in the Maruti with reflecting rear view mirrors in Little Russell Street. Just to be sure that he had something at all to do this, he eased on the accelerator paddle. And not surprising as he thought the car behind him did the same too. Through his rear view mirror he saw that the driver was a middle aged person. Although his could spot the attire properly, he could see that the man was sporting a sun glass and was clean shaven.
Sejal heard her phone ringing and started to pick it up when she noticed the number flashing in the display. It was Vivek’s. She took the call and after hearing to the other end almost all blood drained away from her face. “What is the matter, Sejal?” Kunal asked looking at the change in expression. “Vivek is been followed around the town.” “ And where is he going right now?” Kunal asked quickly. On hearing the destination, Kunal thought over it for a second. And then suddenly he took out his cell phone and rang up someone. He gave the person on the other end the gist of the situation and then hung up. “ “C’mon, let’s move”. Taking a bewildered Sejal in his wings, they went at a brisk pace towards Sejal’s car where luckily they found Savitri enjoying a bit of after noon nap. “ “Shabitri, please take us to R N Mukherjee road now.” Kunal barked a command. Although surprised Savitri got the car on gear and they all started off towards their destination. Vivek was actually in two minds. Whether to go towards his destination and make the meeting or should he try and inform the authorities about the whole thing? Although a bit afraid he was also feeling angry at being tailed like this. And at any cost he could not let go of the pursuer before he heard from Sejal. He was very near to the Chandni Chowk Metro Station when suddenly his mobile started ringing. Expecting Sejal to be on line, he picked up the phone and said hello. “So Vicky Basu, do you think that you can get away from me so easily using that b**ch?” The caller was Chandreyi and her voice sounded ominous.

bishal cubicle

2006-08-30T12:07:00.000+05:30

jha-chawk-chawke kanch,marble - bishal bari
dhuke jao,dhuke jao
ektu badei pouche jabe tomar chotto cubicle

Yours truly – 3

2006-08-29T11:46:00.000+05:30

What will anyone call a girl who is craving to take the head of a totally unknown boy on her breasts, as the tears keep rolling down the cheeks of that boy heartbreakingly? Shameless I guess. But at that point of time Sejal, twenty two springs old was already feeling that the organ on the left of her body was actually missing. Yes I am talking same organ that pumps blood into veins and always becomes a favorite target of a boy-god. But Vivek was such a person I just could not manage enough courage to do what I have contemplated. Instead I went off to canteen and bought two nice cups of tea and handed one over to Vivek. He took it without question, drank it and left the place even without thanking me, which any way I was not expecting.
People undergo lots of emotions when they are in love. But the only emotion that I was suffering from was anger at what was being done to Vivek. I could see through his eyes that he will never be able to trust a girl fully. Every time any one of the female students went to him to talk Vivek became strangely cold. All other times no one could have matched him with his ready wit and the sparkle of a pure soul. Vivek topped his class and after receiving an immense job offer to be a Brand Manager for Procter and Gamble in Cincinnati never looked back and took off for US. That was in 2002. After listening to his voice almost after 4 and half years I was not only excited but curious as well to know what Vad is doing nowadays and why should he need me at all!
I found him sitting at the corner table for two in the discreetly tucked away restaurant called Peter Cat. In front of him was a half drunk glass of an orange liquid. He seemed so much lost in thought that he did not even noticed me till I took my seat in front of him and wished him a god afternoon. “Oh! Hi Sejal, this place had not lost its charm at all. I can still smell the mouth-watering sizzlers being cooked somewhere.” He took a swig of his drink which by then I knew was screwdriver – a cocktail made from orange juice and vodka. Although clean shaven he was looking haggard in a way. Black spots were in the making under the eyes; his impeccable dressing sense was not quiet there as well. “So where you now and what are are you doing, dude, “I asked in a light tone. As if talking in a trance he replied “Well, I am still with Procter and Gamble.” “Currently I am visiting Indian metros in order to promote a fairness product for men.” “Good to know that now even men might feel to become fairer, isn’t it? I told in jest. He smiled. The same lop sided careless grin that made many a legs turn to jelly. Although captivated I knew that I have only an hour maximum to spare. “Tell me how come you remember me after so long a time?”. As soon as I uttered this sentence all signs of happiness seemed to drain out his face. Vivek replied “Sejal, do you and Manoshi only fight for women in distress?” I was taken aback by his question. It is true that most of the time we have found women at the receiving end of different types of mistreatments. Me and my colleagues have actually never been approached with anything different. So I replied “Yes. Currently we are only having the women as clients.” “But what happens if a man comes down to you with the same kind of problems – is there any policy in your organization restricting you from taking the case?” I admitted that actually I have not come across any such kind of biased policy. Manoshi was actually more of a counseling house to oversee that the social texture and composition of a country as vast and diverse as India remains strong. As society forms a strong base in the growth of a country. In fact that was what our mission statement says in gist. I looked at my watch and saw that I have only about half an hour left. “Vivek, Can you please state your problem?” May be I can try and help you out as a friend.” Vivek stared blankly for a few seconds as if trying to recollect something and then he started to talk. “Sejal, you know that after I got hold of a job with P&G I moved on to Cincinnati. This move was more of a kind of an escapist effort than anything else. I wanted to run away from anything and anyplace that reminded me of Chandreyi. And let me tell you after starting to work, I made sure that I work so hard that no such thoughts of betrayal can occupy my mind. After an year or more I was visiting New York City for a trade promotion conference on my company’s behalf. The conference sponsors kept us all in the Grand Hyatt. It was 8 PM in the evening of a bleak winter day; I received a call from the hotel reception that a lady wants to meet me. I was in my sleeping suit. Surprised, I just put on my pull over and went downstairs. One look at the lady and my heart skipped not one but all the beats. It was Chandreyi, and her sweetness now have come a matured beauty. She was dressed in a black top and skirt and looking younger but mature more than she ever had. All the blood must have drained out from my face. As the receptionist apologized profusely and told me that the way this lady insisted on meeting me, she had no option left other than to give me the buzz. Noticing the awkward situation and people looking at us curiously, I smiled wanly at Chandreyi and asked her to step into the coffee shop, which was more or less empty for residents were busy in the lunch room. I ordered and got two cups of coffee. While adding sugar and milk to mine I looked at her in anticipation. My mind was totally in a chaos. “Hi Vivek, how are you doing?” she asked softly. “Fine,” I said. And for the next two minutes almost we did not speak. Then she said that “Vivek, I am sorry for meeting you like this. I actually work in the ROSS store opposite to the convention center where I saw you by chance today. I know that after what I have done to you there is now way that I can ask for any forgiveness. But then the Almighty have also punished me like anything for my cruelty.” She stopped and tears started rolling down her cheeks silently. “
After stating till now, Vivek stopped as well. I asked him, “then what did you do?” he gave a wry smile and then said; “Chandreyi and Sourav after marriage came down to USA and had started living life happily. It was during the Christmas holidays in the year 2003, they went a camping tour to India. They were visiting the Himachal Pradesh in a place call Fagu. This was a place where they were taking skiing lessons as well. One fine morning Sourav complained of severe chest pain. He just could not even speak properly because of the pain. After taking him to the Military Command hospital he was diagnosed with acute pneumonia. And after fighting for life for about two days, he died. After this terrible mishap Chandreyi thought about staying back in India forever. But she needed to come back to USA for tying up few loose ends. And she also took up a part time job in a retail shop just to forget the emotional pain, when she saw me. Naturally I was very much moved by her story and told her to be in touch regarding any help she needed from me. From time to time I started visiting her in New York and within a month or two, I proposed to her and she accepted. We got married and settled down in Cincinnati. A very happy ending to what started off as a tragedy in my life, right?” Vivek looked at me intently.
From my experience in marital discords I can smell out that all was not hunky-dory even after the revival of long lost love. There was more to it or otherwise I would not be sitting in front of Vivek. To be very frank and honest the other Sejal in front of me was becoming restless right from the time Vivek brought upon the topic of that wretched girl. And when I heard that they were married, I was almost too eager to hear the adverb “unhappily” more than the other one. Moving my eyes from Vivek’s stare I rebuked myself inwardly. “What has happened to me? Just for my own sake I am actually wishing ill for Vivek, one person whom I will always remember dearly forever?” I took control over myself with some effort. Vivek had already started continuing. “First six months of our conjugal life was really a great experience for me. I almost forgot any unpleasant experience that I might have endured in the past. I almost thanked God for the opportunity that was given to me. Chandreyi now Chandra for me was the best life partner that I could have dreamt of having. One thing that I noticed but never paid any heed to was the way she used to spend money on costly things and services etc. I always used to think that to have a trophy wife like her one has to make these concessions. It was exactly about 6 months from our marriage I received a call from the manager of my bank asking for an immediate meeting. Sejal, I was not only surprised but also shattered to learn that not only Chandra had withdrawn large sums of money from our joint account; she had also deposited the money to another account at New York as well. I could have understood her spending more money. But depositing the same money to another account to which I have no access or knowledge of was really something strange. I took a leave from work and got hold of her at our house. “Look Viv, I did not do anything out of character. I have already suffered from the sudden death of my first hubby and hence wanted to make sure that my future is secure enough in the eventuality of your death”. I was stunned but still keeping my cool I asked her knowing very well that she will be already be covered by the insurance that I have taken on me, why did she look out for more insurance. And believe me Sejal her face and voice changed totally and then she said with a hiss “Viv I have known you since college days and have always counted you as a loser, hence I have the right to look after my well being at least”. In a fit of rage we separated and started spending life separately. In between I needed to come down to India on business. Even without my invitation she had tagged on and now she is staying in separate rooms in the same hotel providing her maiden name in the register. I am in such a mental turmoil that I can now understand that I have nowhere to go. In this world most of the marital discord rules are heavily biased towards women and in case of a divorce she might rinse me dry of money. And now currently I have another big fear as well. I am not sure why but I have this feeling that what happens if I face the same fate as her first husband had faced?”
I can never forget that the look in Vivek’s face. It was the not only the look of a person who had being cheated badly twice but also the look of a prisoner on a death row, who knows that there is no stopping the inevitable. “Vivek”, I said “Before commenting anything on this unhappy episode of your life, I would like to know how come you thought of coming to me and more so how did you find me?” “Sejal, you are not the first person I have shared my woes. I went off to visit my pal from engineering, Neel, the same guy you have also met during our MBA and currently he is working in the ITC building very near to your office. After listening to my story he was one who suggested that I should visit you. When I came to your office I was confused about which floor your office should be as Manoshi has three floors in the same building. So I waited and saw the only women chauffer among all the men. You can say that knowing you very well I took a chance and went and asked her whether that was your car. After getting no reply I went to the second floor reception and asked for your office number. The lady in the reception was helpful enough and gave me your home phone number as well. “Now that’s the Vivek we all know. Getting anything done using charm and intelligence is like his second nature”, I thought. “Why did not you come to my office?” I asked. “ because I am not a woman and I do not have any proof that I am right and lastly, I did not want any problems as my company is specific about these things, Vivek replied. “OK Vivek, how long you are staying here?” “Another three days maximum and I am off to Delhi.” “OK. Give me some time and your contact number as well. I need to hurry. I will get in touch with you soon. Do not worry and be brave”. The last lines were exactly the same ones that I have uttered about three years back to a weeping boy of 22 behind a college canteen.

Yours truly - 2

2006-08-24T10:41:00.000+05:30

"Hi..err.can I borrow your SM notes please?" Vivek was totally taken aback. A first year electrical engineering student was asking some lecture notes from a second year mechanical student. This is something not only surprising but ridiculous as well. Vivek Basu was a second year student of Jalpaiguri Government Engineering College. The general saying goes he was one of the brightest students that JGEC had ever had. His strong point was not actually studies but his personality. And this never meant that he has flunked in exams. Actually he always used to find a respectable place within the top 20 students in the college. Although he never stood first in studies when it came to winning debates, extempore and creative writing he just never had a match. He started his flare for extra-curricular activities long way back when he was actually 10 years old. It all started with an essay that he wrote regarding street children in the children’s supplement called "VOICES" for the revered English daily The Statesman. He was commended highly by none other than the eminent figure of CR Irani - the editor of the newspaper. From then onwards he did not have to look back and never had to ask a pocket money from his parents. What started off as just a childish essay became a daily activity for Vivek. He used to cover all the major entertainment events in Kolkata right from the age of 15 and became known to most of the city’s glitterati pretty fast. And his good looks as well added to his popularity. So much so, when DD Chanel 2 was looking up for a newsreader for their much vaunted Bengali news event, he almost became an automatically choice for them. At the age of eighteen, when all others of his age were actually mugging up IIT or WB Joint "made easy"s he was actually spending his time in front of camera donning an immaculate suit a bit large for his size and reading Bengali news in front of him.
Vivek lost his mother at a very tender age. And his father was everything in his life. Being a mechanical engineer himself and a successful one at that, he wanted his son to carry on the legacy. Although Vivek was earning much more than he would have done after 4 years engineering, he knew that nothing will satisfy his father unless he at least becomes a MECH - as they call the mechanical engineers. He also knew that he can carry the vocation that he liked much in spite of giving 4 years of his life as well. Every one starting from Mani Ratnam to Anil Kumble came to his mind and provided him the much needed support. And lastly he loved his father so much that he can go till any limits to put a smile in his face. He started preparation for the West Bengal Joint Entrance late, just about 4 months before it actually happened. After the exam was over he continued with some of the assignments that he has already taken, but did not take any new ones. When the results came out he saw that as expected he had a rank of 1134. This did not leave any option to study mechanical any where else other than this JGEC. So on the August of 1996 he packed his hold-all and took the train called Teesta-Torsa from Sealdah to the Jalpaiguri Road Station, where his college was. His father showed false strength in the railway station knowing that now he would become lonelier and blessed his son to go and become a MECH.
They all say and rightly that it is impossible to hide a flare of talent be it anywhere. It was during the rigorous ragging period of one month Vivek became hot favorites of the seniors in the college because of his ready wit and personality in the face of several odds to slaps, kicks, doing odd jobs and still getting the slaps. He never lost his cool and once he really entertained a bunch of savages from the second year hostel with all the idiosyncrasies of the media people for about one hour and actually managed to save the skins of many of his batch mates instantly catapulting him to a hero status.
The ragging period ended with the ceremonial dip in the pond more to actually drive away the stench of the same clothes worn for about a month than anything else and the class of 1996 JGEC Mechs started their journey.
Vivek took a good look at the girl standing in front of him. Chandreyi Roy had caused a lot of heart burns among both her own batch mates as well as some of the senior students (all males off course). Most of their advances had been met with such a cold shoulder that there was not a single chance left for them. Debating on the girl’s motive he looked around himself. Not so far away he can see some girls both senior and juniors were actually peeping out of the vast balcony of the electrical department. The he looked behind and saw some of his own batch mates are grinning very sheepishly. A bit confused he asked her " But you have only EM ( engineering mechanics) in your course and not SM (Strength of Materials), SM is totally a waste for you! " he added hopefully, so that he can frighten the girl about the folly she is going to commit. Chandreyi was a bit red in face and sweating a little. She straightened the V of her palloo and removed the errant strand of hair from her face and flashed her best smile ( which she very well knew is capable of killing anything and anyone with a brain within a periphery of 100 feet) and nasally squeaked, " Vivek, Will you or Won’t you give your SM Notes to me pleaseee".
Vivek heard and saw everything and then just to end the conversation he said, "Please try and understand, I do not have any clue whether you will really need it or not, but then as you are asking for it, do one thing please. Take it from Smita, your senior from Mech second year, as she has already photo copied the same from me about a week back. Ok? And I am getting late for my class. Bye" With that he turned and went straight towards his class leaving behind a few giggles and a very distraught girl.
It was final year for Vivek and it was festival time for the college. The JGEC fest is counted among the best of the cultural events happening in the North Bengal region. And
Looking at his charisma he was made the cultural secretary. This was again a post which actually made him do a few more rounds of the girl’s hostel than he would have liked. From childhood he had been very shy of girls. As he grew up this shyness became almost like a shield for him. He knew that he likes to entertain people, do something creative. But in front of the fairer ones he became helplessly tongue tied.
It was a cold November evening when he needed to go to the LH or Ladies’ Hostel in short to distribute some of the advertisement forms. It was around 7 PM and he found that there is almost no light at all in the place. "WBSEB has again done it", he thought. He saw light coming out of the waiting room cum common room and went towards it. It was the first time he was entering LH. On getting into the common room he got a very sweet smell unlike the smell of sweat and rustic that comes out of the common room of the men’s hostels. Everything starting from the carom board to the settee was decorated in a very tasteful but frugal way. The he had a look towards light source and gasped inwardly. It was Chandreyi sitting on the paper room’s chair and table. She wore a velvety kind of a night dress and was actually reading something. Listening to his footsteps she looked up. "Where is the supervisor?" He muttered, and then remembering that he should speak up and well with a lady as taught by his father, he said "Hi Chandreyi, I actually came to distribute some of these advertising pamphlets". Chandreyi was still looking at him. Finding no response he said impatiently, "I am going away and will come back some other time" and turned. "Hold on please and give them to me" he heard. She has stood up and for the first time Vivek smiled effortlessly in front of a girl. She came to Vivek and stretched her hand. Noticing her fair complexion, Vivek gave the ad-cards to her. Instead of taking the cards Chandreyi took Vivek’s Hand and in a flash almost threw herself to Vivek’s chest. Vivek was caught unaware and his first reaction was actually to hold Chandreyi with two hands lest he should fall. Losing no pace Chandreyi planted a kiss on Vivek’s lips. The sweet fragrance coming out of her hair, the wamth of her body and the beating of his own heart almost took Vivek in a trance like state. He did not notice whether it was 2 seconds or minutes or hours, but it felt like heaven almost. When Vivek tried to look into Chandreyi’s eyes she will not look up. So Vivek almost forcefully took her chin up just to find that she was smiling with tears. Cupid had made the first strike. Vivek took Chandreyi’s hand and came out of the LH. It was still dark. And then they started walking hand in hand through a solitary lane within the college campus. Not finding any words Vivek said "where are the other people in the LH?" "They have gone for a small party to celebrate the hostel’s 10th year in existence". "You stayed behind?" "Yes, I am still running a bit of fever". Vivek was worried and said that "Then I should not have brought you outside in this cold. " Let us get back". "NOOO", she said and embraced Vivek sideways.
When it was time for Vivek to leave the campus, Vivek was totally sure that his love for Chandreyi was strong enough to be carried over to the next level which is the commitment to stay together for a lifetime. She had still one year to complete her engineering and he had got through one of the premier B-Schools in Kolkata. Although he was pained by the distance separating both of them he was sure that when they will meet they will be for each other. Chandreyi was always the stronger willed partner of the two and she told Vivek in very clear words that Vivek should go and concentrate only on his post graduation while she completes her course. They will be in touch with each other through mails, chat and phone. And also when Chandreyi will go to Kolkata they can always find a quiet place together to share everything. So off went Vivek to get into the world of business management. It was July 2000.
They were keeping in touch with each other for about 2 months when suddenly Chandreyi totally went of the radar. Vivek took it as a simple case of giving the studies the first priority. About 4 months went by. Vivek was completing the grueling first semester. Like in engineering college, he gained popularity in the b-school as well through his winning personality and bagged a lot of intra-college management event prizes as well. He was almost a natural in the skills of marketing and convincing. And he actually now loved what he was studying. His worries about his love started when he came to know from his juniors that although Chandreyi had visited Kolkata as many as two times she did not even thought of giving him a call. He sent mails, tried to call up the ladies’ hostel. But nothing came to his avail. Chandreyi it seems that, have severed all links. He was worried and by the end of the second semester his grade took a bit of hit as well. Although he never knew what went wrong, he had his doubts that her feelings about him were actually a kind of hero-worshipping and not love. In his batch of management students there was a girl called Sejal Shah. Although Sejal was gunning for a specialization in HR in the first semester itself they were together for different group activities because of the proximity of their role numbers. Although the girl was not as sweet as Chandreyi, she had an air of sobriety and truthfulness around her which made many a people to share many of their personal thoughts. Vivek knew that Sejal liked him but was lady enough never to let her wish known to him. But his mind was full of Chandreyi - her laughter, her frowning, her touch everything. It was Sejal only who found Vivek hidden and with tears rolling down his cheeks behind the canteen. It was to Sejal then Vivek shared the truth that the final nail in coffin of his love had been driven. He had received the communication that Chandreyi was getting married to an NRI that November of 2001. And what pained Vivek’s conscience more so that Chandreyi had known her husband to-be from her childhood. Sejal had no words of consolation, none at all.

Yours truly - 1

2006-08-23T09:30:00.000+05:30

I was feeling so sleepy that I could have dozed out at any point of time. The silky glow coming out of the UV Protected computer screen in front of me was having the same effect as a night lamp. It was a rainy September day and the skies outside had really opened up and spraying all the mortals below with its showers. Although I could not listen I was actually witnessing the lightening flashes all around through the tinted glass windows all around. It was 6 PM and time for me to leave office after a lazy day. Durga Puja the best festival in this part of India was just around the corner. It was more like the incessant rains that had managed to bring down all professional activities to a halt. Most of my Bengali colleagues including my boss were absent. Me being a non-bengali or to be precise a Guajarati was actually passing time.
Before going further ahead let me introduce myself. I am Sejal Shah, a mid twenties girl with all the ambitions in this world stuffed in my head. I hail from a small village near Surat where most of the girls around my age are not only married till now but some of them are proud mothers as well. Among my other two brothers and one sister I am actually the black sheep of the family. And the reason behind it is my mother. She is the guiding soul in my life who had shown me the lights whenever I faltered from any of projected goals. When I became the first graduate in my family to pass BA in economics with honors from Baroda University, she was the first one as always to provide all the people in my family and neighborhood with dhoklas and laddoos free of cost. Both this distribution of food and my becoming a graduate was something unheard of in my family where the actual business through the ages was that of diamonds and not university degrees. My father was not at all happy and I was almost banished by my own family. If some of you going through my rambling think that as a drastic affair then let me fill you in with the fact that most of my known native people were not even interested to know the age or education of a girl while preparing her match. They just wanted to know the so called "haisiyat"or status of the family and how much will be the dowry.
As told earlier my mom was a crusader all through and all her hopes were pinned on me. So next what she did was got me exported to Ahmadabad in the next available train and I was sent to a spinster sister of my Mom to continue with my studies. I personally have let down a lot of people in my life. My diamond merchant father who was terribly afraid thinking where from and what cost will he be able to get a groom for his learned daughter. My brothers and sister who never got through any classes and they thought their elder sister to be an enigma of sorts. And that list kept on becoming longer.
To cut a long story really short, I made through all the tests in my life and got into one of the premier B-Schools in India here in Kolkata. And after passing out what the Yanks say " summa-cum-laude" declined an obscene salary in a New York City based multinational and settled to experiment in an NGO which was not swanky to say the least but it still provided with the kind of job that I think I was capable off. And Kolkata not being a very costly city I did managed to do well with whatever salary I was offered.
I was laughably snided upon by my batch mates who were now almost sure that however eccentric they have thought of me was actually much less that what I was in reality. Other than my professor for OB all thought I must have gone nuts. Mr. Sumit Tripathy, the terror of human resource management was actually an affable guy in his late fifties. He was the only one to congratulate me openly. I still remember his words ringing in my ears. "Do whatever you think you love to do - but do make sure that some idiot pays the salary".
While in a state of semi-trans I was actually remembering all these things. And I was feeling very lonely as well. My beloved mom had passed away last year. Sickened by the demands of her family she was also becoming the victim of extreme work. And her heart was not getting any better. I fought a lot with my own people to save her, but I was brutally counter attacked by my father who lamely stated the fact that I was not part of the family any more and more than any thing my mother’s contribution is very much needed to keep the family running smoothly. And hence I was not shocked to hear that my mother has contributed her life to the good of the family. When I was coming back with tears in my eyes after the altercation with my father, Ma told me one thing very clearly that even something bad happens to her she will be happy always to know that she is leaving behind her legacy in me. Remembering those kind words made me even lonelier.
"Shejol, ghor nehin jayega?" I was suddenly jolted out of my reverie by the baritone voice of the Senior Accountant, Kunal Da, the fatherly gentleman in his late fifties. A very amiable fellow but with dangerous sense of hindi like many other bongs. "Kunal Da, it is Sejal and ghar nahin jaungi" I replied with a smile on my face. "Are Charo na, it is all in the meaning, whetever be the language". Shaking my head in submission I just smiled at him. Kunal Da has been with Manoshi almost from the time of its inception in Ithaca, New York. A brilliant number cruncher he has actually chucked a happening career in banking to join Manoshi, after the sudden death of his daughter about 10 years ago. Then Manoshi was not a global NGO as it is now. It was just a hole in a wall organization mostly funded by the Ford and Rothschild foundation. Manoshi was then a movement lead by the charismatic figure of Lady Shonali Sen, a UK based NRI who wanted to give back something to her country of origin. After the untimely death of his daughter Kunal Da has received mail by post in his Kolkata address from his daughter. As usual the mail was late due to Indian Postal System. The whole letter stated one fact that what was claimed as an accident by his daughter Aparna’s in-laws was something more than that. Kunal Da through a commonly known associate approached the Lady in Manoshi. And Aparna’s accident case was opened up in due time by the law and order people. Serious investigations proved that the car Aparna was driving has been tampered with and the death due to brake failure was nothing but cold-blooded murder executed by her own husband and brother-law so that, they can feast on the hefty insurance money to be disbursed on this eventual death. Kunal Da was then shattered totally and he actually can never get the fact that where he actually went wrong when he married his sweet daughter with a budding business man. To put it mildly Aparna was slaughtered in order to cover up a huge business loss that this budding business man had gone through. Although he could not stop his own daughter’s demise, Kunal da made it a point to use his expertise to stop other’s daughters undergoing the same fate.
I picked up my official folders and called Savitri on cell to get my car ready. "Kunal Da, do you need a lift till Ravindra Sadan"? I asked. Now Kunal da looked at me and said with a smile "It is Ro-bin-dro Shadon" and no I will be going to howrah via the old bridge today. So you can go ahead". Showing my teeth I moved on. It was 7 PM and the rains have taken a break. On the Kenwood a song by Hemonto (hope I have got the spelling right!!) was playing. Savitri, my personal aide cum driver cum cleaner cum guardian was in one of her good moods and the song was a rainy day song something like a : Meghla.. din… akela etc". The melody was good and it made me feel good as well.
"Shejdi, today something interesting happened while I went for fetching the car from the car park". As usual Savitri or "Shabitri" have again "bengalified" my name, broken it and added a "di" to it. In fact I have heard so much prefixes in the form of "da"s and "di"s after coming to Kolkata for last five years that I have grown accustomed to it. "What happened?" I loosely asked. "A very handsome man came down to me and asked whether this is your car or not. Instead of giving a reply I just ignored him. He became very sad and went away from there." I was a bit surprised. I have already crossed the age of girls where they always seem to enjoy extra attention from boys. And as per Savitri this is a man and not a boy. On asking her how did she know she replied in a very mature tone "Girls have an inborn knack of separating men from boys"? I started laughing at her sermon which made her very sulky. She said that she is ready to bet her one month’s salary on this fact. I was now not only surprised but a bit worried as well. Because the profession I am in never makes friends especially with the men. As Manoshi is always fighting and helping the cause of the fairer sex the darker ones are always ill at ease with this organization. In fact a few months back I have been threatened with life by a political goon as well whose bosses’ wife I was defending from marital atrocities. In my cell I always have the numbers of the high positions in the law and order apparatchiks. When Savitri ultimately took a turn toward Rowland Row, I shrugged off all my baseless fears and got ready to get out in front of my apartment block. The building in which my flat was actually constructed by a distant uncle of mine. Hence I got the 800 square feet flat dirt cheap. It was in the 7th floor and was amply airy and sunny as well. I really relished the prospect of sharing this abode of mine with none at all. It was eightish by the clock, when I switched on the television and asked Savitri for a cup of coffee.
I was engrossed in the business news from NDTV Profit when I heard the melodious ring tone of my telephone. Calls at ungodly hours are a routine in my profession which is actually more like counseling than management. So, without thinking anything I picked up the receiver. "Can I speak with Sejal Shah please?" on the contrary to my normal lady in trouble calls this was a man’s voice. Although surprised I did not show any. "Yeah, this is Sejal. Who is this please? After 2-3 seconds pause, the man responded, "Sejal, this is Vivek, remember?". " Vivek.. eh… who Vivek? And then the realization hit me. Trying to gain a control on the floodgates of memory, I blurted out "Vivek (Vicky) Basu? Apna VAD - Vicky the Dashing…!! "Haan, he replied". "Sejal, I want to meet you tomorrow… no not in office, somewhere else, can you take tomorrow’s lunch with me please??" The urgency in his voice was something which did not let me say a blunt "No". He told that he will give me a call tomorrow and hung up wishing me a good night.

char nombor patar char nombor.. ( a writing in bangla)

2006-08-08T11:42:00.001+05:30

amai ektu jaiga debe? thai debe tomader okhane?

kyano re? ki hoyeche?ami ghabre giye bollam bappa-ke
bappa-r baba amar bondhu - bappa amai kaka dake

ki hoyeche tor ? bos bos ! jawl kha bhalo kore
(bappake jawler botolta egiye dilam)

(sawkale ghum theke uthtei bou bollo,dyakho to ki dorkar
bappa bose ache tomar jonno)

ki hoyeche tor? barite problem?
part one beriyeche?prem-tem?

are na na,osawb na,bappa bollo biskut khete khete
samner robbar robin sadan-e amar ganer onusthan

babba ! robindro sadan? tahole to bishal byapar

nana,robindro sadan na-robin sadan,notun hoyeche,bypass-r dhare
robin singh cricket sekhai sekhane

cricket stadium-e gan? ami ektu awbak holam

indoor to !tachara awrdhek din cricket hoi sekhane,20-20,bujhtei parcho

o,ta tor sawmossa-ta ki?ajke abar dawshtai amar editor-r sathe meeting

amar onusthan-r aykta report jodi tomader kagoje dao?

besh,hawbe,char nombor patar char nombor column-e char line bawraddo tor jonne

jak,aykta kaj mitlo,haf chhere bollo bappa ,arekta kaj roilo

ki kaj ? gan to ? ghabras na awto !

are nana - gan na,gan niye bhabchi na
paper-e report ta berole sawbaike phone korte hawbe
ki jyano bolle? char nombor patar char nombor..uff ! bishal kaj

***********************************************************

ghas goru moru

2006-08-02T09:48:00.000+05:30

goru bollo ghas-ke,tumi sathe thakle
ami morubhumi-teo jete pari
sara din chebabo tomai sukhe

ghas bollo,ami bachle

Bongs in this WORLD CUP

2006-07-06T17:45:00.000+05:30

Wont believe that bongs are actually in this World Cup 2006...Dhorasoo may be the only Indian in fray, but there area lot of Bengalis in action. Firstly, there is another French player, Louis Saha, related to Meghnad Saha.However, a few players from the famous Sen family are playing, like Jan Sen of Germany and Ol Sen of USA. England's goalkeeper, however, spells his name SON instead of Sen, but he was Robin Sen to begin with.

Lot of Bongs are playing under nick-names, especially for African teams. Togo's goalkeeper is Kossi Agassa, which in Chittagongese means fledgling weed. Another African nation, Ghana, has our own Sri Shiladitya, who has Africanised his name to Illiasu Shilla. Ghana also has Gyan. Then there is Kali playing for Angola. I remember 35 years ago a midfielder called Kali Babu Sharma playing for the big clubs in Calcutta -Angola's Kali must be a relative. Then Ivory Coast has Boka, whose full name need not be mentioned, but the second part starts with 'C' and ends with 'a'. Kalou of Ivory Coast hails from Phuliya. Ivory Coast also has Bakary Kone, who once lived in the corner of Lord's bakery. European teams have their Bongs, too. That small boy is playing for Germany, in fact he is the captain. Balak is his name, now Germanised to Ballack. Then there is that super strong player for Croatia,Balaban. Then there is Manish Ray of Portugal, now called Maniche Rai. Spain has a Bong who is very lazy and never hits the ball - Marchena.

Some Bong players are using their family names. DearKaka scored a great goal for Brazil yesterday.Brazil'sgoalie is Dida, obviously breaking the gender bias(and the age barrier). Brazil of course broke thisgender bias long ago, when they fielded Didi in the50s and early 60s. That player has now retired fromfootball and returned to Bengal as a political leaderof Trinamool Congress.

Then Togo has a strange player who is also using a family name, or two, to be exact. These are Mashi andMesho, and the player is very, very fit or 'changa'.The name has been Africanised to Massamesso Tchangai -an 'Ordho-Narishwar' sort of player. Our very own Madan plays for Iran, he's changed his name slightly to Madanchi.Tunisia has another player who is obviously Bong and obviously suffering from that dreaded Bong disease of 'amasha'. He now calls himself Karim Haggui

Nottingham library system

2006-06-08T15:20:00.000+05:30

Nottingham library system is simply fantastic. the cards are barcode enabled. There are automatic rfid checkout machines( all the books are tagged and are read when you place them on the chekout machine. You can renew over the web or the phone. Sadly unlike the californian library system ( santa clara county I was there a long time back in 1997) dvd and cds are not free, there is a cost ( 50 p for music cds and 2 pounds per week for dvds. In california dvds cds and software were freely available. Can anyone confirm if that is the case now ?
Right now I am devouring the comics section of the library . Ther are several genres of comics including the graphic novel high art types like sandman by neil gaiman or alan moores V for vendetta, and there is also the cheesy stuff like amazing spiderman, Justice league of america , etc etc. I'm not picky - I like them all.
I have not been keeping up witht he blog lately but I will try to do so from here.
cheerio
Robin

22nd floor: The Bong

2006-06-08T10:27:00.000+05:30

Hilarious!
Devastatingly funny!!
I am still rolling with laughter!!!
Please read this............

22nd floor: The Bong

Iswar prem kabbo gawlpo ( in bangla )

2006-06-07T11:43:00.000+05:30

matha pa sthir,buk lafachche
megher mejhete iswar gawrachche

"ore o kobi ? e ki korli tui amake? sas nite parchi na je ?"

-sas nebe ki kore? bollo kobi,ekhane ki batas ache?

hya,tao to thik !tahole erokom kyano hochche re?

-amar lekha pore.Ota chilo shesh lekha-tarporei..ema !! amar pill??

tor table-e pore ache -chartetei kaj hoyeche - ja chehara hargilgil

-chehara amar bhaloi chilo go - prem bhenge bhenge gyache

ema ! kyano?

-amai ditch koreche o

ditch? seta abar ki ?

-lengi

aha ! tai bujhi ei kobita ?

-hya,prem bhangai amar prerona

se to bujhtei parchi-ayakhono amar bukta..hya re,matha to lafachche na?

-ridoi diye lekha to- matha lafabe kyano?
ish..kyano je..

ki holo re?

-afsos hochche bhison- kyano je pill khelam
ayatokhone aykta gota boi likhe feltam

ish,balai sat- kobita na hok,ar karo ridoi na bhanguk

tarpor,ayk sawpta bade-
swarge firlo dut ayk ras birokti niye

-ei roilo apnar somikkha,dut bollo iswarke
mawrter prem bhanga sawmossa sawmadhane awnek sawmoi dawrkar

kyano re? sawmossa ki ? iswar bollo dutke

-ami to mawrte gelam,tarpor ayksota prem bhanga case-r somikkha nilam
tarpor soja chole elam

kyano re ? ki hoyeche? khule bawl na karon !

-dekhlam ayksota prem bhanga case ar dushota ditch obhijog

rawkkha

2006-06-02T09:44:00.000+05:30

aj theke tumi amar deher awngsho
keu chhuye dekhuk mundo fele debo

-bah ! darun lagche gorbito
achcha,ami tomar deher kon awngsho?

lyaj ! hi tule bollo shingho

Loving You

2006-05-30T13:39:00.000+05:30

What will be the reason for,
Underestimating freedom,
What will be the reason for,
Loving You.

What will be the end,
Of this continual tirade against destiny,
What will be the outcome of,
Loving You.

What will be the alternative,
Of sacrifice and sorrow,
What will be the punishment for,
Loving You.

What will be your answer,
To the questions of my heart,
What will be my retaliation for,
Loving You.

What will be the history,
Of this unidentified love story,
What will be the moral of,
Loving You.

2006-05-03T19:34:00.000+05:30

Hello all,
Im sorry this is not a post in the true spirit of the Bibs Club, but i'll be leaving TCS soon and dont want to be disconnected from this wonderful thread. So I've started blogging under
http://ramblesofaninsomniac.blogspot.com/ and taken the liberty of re-posting my posts here...hope you guys take some time out to continue visiting my blog ...all the best to the Bibs Club...may the post be with you!

The Sands of Time

2006-05-03T15:59:00.000+05:30

Here, there, everywhere,
The sands of time will fall,
The facts, the laughter, the fears, the hopes,
The sands will all fall off.

Times change as the master writes,
The fate of all in the soil,
The hopes, the fears will all come to naught,
As the game of life unfolds.

Coming perhaps from the attempt to feel,
All emotions of the soul,
One heart, one mind, one little thought,
Too much in too little time.

Maybe the game is all about,
Learning how it is to feel,
Perhaps the tremors will all come to rest,
When I finally cease to feel.

How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild and Got a Life

2006-04-23T12:54:00.000+05:30

The recent literary review article that made me stunned is about our own Indian girl - Kaavya Viswanathan. This 19 something Harvard lass made a fortune of about 2,80,000 pounds (about $5,00,000!) which was paid as an advance for her book "How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild and Got a Life".

Opal Mehta, which has a first printing of 100,000 copies, has been optioned by the publisher DreamWorks.. Its about the musings of 19 year old Vikram, a sophomore on the campus of Harvard Univ. And more info, Spielberg's is gonna make a movie on her story!

Here are the News articles 1 & 2

Excerpts from the Book (Holding to place my hands on the actual copy!)

Footprints on the sands

2006-04-18T13:42:00.000+05:30

My feet bled on pieces of broken heart
As I set sail to distant lands
The wind came behind, wiping with scorn
My footprints from my sands

Time crawled across the timeless waters
But my shores seemed to fly
I looked at the strange, unfamiliar stars
In the strange, uncomforting sky

Not a hand was raised for me
In the maze of faces and hands
I walked a lone, solitary work
Among their footprints on their sands

Yet I survived my maligned skin
To embalm my dreams in gold
The uncrowned prince of the markets was I
Where dreams were bought and sold

But as I looked over my empire
Counting my thousand grands
I saw how lonely were still
My footprints on their sands

Thirst clawed; I set sail again
For the rain-soaked soil of mine
I looked at the familiar, comforting sky
Even the stars had the familiar shine

And let the wind guide me to the place
Where my old frail mother stands
And show how she had saved from the scornful wind
My footprints on her sands

Confessions of a dangerous mind - III

2006-02-24T18:47:00.000+05:30

Alone in the cell, I sat back and sighed! Six years ago I began an extraordinary journey in the world of stolen antiques and today whatever I was, was because of Pierre. Vincent our butler called him “Master” and loved him like a Master. I called him Pierre but loved him like the father I never met. His associates feared him, but loved him. Pierre- the Master was respected for his meticulous planning and perfect implementation. His reflexes never slackened and his mind never gathered rust.

My thoughts wandered off again. Twice I had been caught, but Pierre came to my rescue each time. This was the longest I had ever spent in prison. This time things looked different. This time perhaps, I would have to plan my own escape, without Pierre, without anybody. I started thinking again and after five hours I still had not come up with any idea. The prison was an impregnable fortress. Searchlights scanned the length of the territory and black hounds roaming the premises were let loose at the slightest sound of alarm. The barbed wires were electrically charged and nobody ever left this place without being searched. No human habitat could be found within two miles of the place. Amidst all this, I was shunted in an underground dungeon, with a small window that was snow-laden, where sunlight seldom found a chance to enter. I looked at the snow again and again and suddenly it stuck me!

I looked at the criss-crossed bars in the window and sure enough there were small pores at regular intervals along the grid. In cold climates, pipes often burst when water froze into ice. The pores were there to prevent water from accumulating in the pipes. I looked at the pores and found my escape route. For the next three days, I tore threads from my sleeping bag and tightly wound the grid, leaving only a pore at the top. For three days, I did not drink water given to me during lunch. Instead I poured the water into the grid, crossed my fingers and waited. On the third day my job was done. Outside, night was approaching and temperatures were falling. Then close to midnight, the water froze in the bars, turned into ice and expanded in volume. The ice pushed against the bars and suddenly with a huge explosion, the bars burst and the window cracked open.

I had no time to waste. Even though, I was in an underground cell, I was sure the noise would have been heard somewhere. I pushed myself against the window, which was quite weak by now and gave way. Pulling myself up, I stumbled into a tunnel that went to the left and right. Both sides were dark and I did not know where to go. I picked up a pebble nearby and threw it to the left. It did not go very far. Then I threw another pebble to the right. This time it carried to a distance. So the wind was blowing from the left side of the tunnel. I followed the left side and sure enough, found myself looking at streaming water, gushing all over. I dived into the water and upon rising found myself in the middle of a wide water-body. I realized that I had accidentally discovered the sewer line and it emptied into a river. Looking around me, I realized that I would have to make my escape in sub-zero temperatures. They had heard the explosion and the hounds were being let loose, I was shivering and my footprints would leave a permanent mark in the snow. I decided to take the warmer water route.

I do not know for how long I swam, but that night all of Siberia would be searched for me and I did not want to take any chances. Pulling myself to the bank, I saw an old fortress with lights. I made a cautious approach lest that it should turn out to be another government head quarter. There were no guards and so I knocked at the door. It was answered by a nun.

The sisters of the order of St.Dmitri are forbidden from any contact with men. They are not permitted to talk to anyone from the outside world and at the end of the day; they whip themselves with lashes in penitence. They lead a Spartan existence. Though stoic they may be heartless they are not. When a young, virile male of twenty-four years collapsed at their entrance door that cold winter evening, they were at a loss. After much consultation, they carried him to a room, gave him a bed and let him lay there. Meanwhile, the police looked everywhere for the escaped prisoner, but when they came to the convent, they passed it.

I stepped out next morning from the convent and called up Vincent. Vincent informed me that Pierre had been missing for the past three weeks, looking for a way to free me. I told Vincent an address where I could be found in Moscow, and asked him to inform Pierre. Unknown to me, our phone at home was being tapped by the police. So, when I hitched a wagon and reached Moscow, the police was waiting for me. I went into the house and found Pierre in deep conversation with his contacts. They were still looking for a way to get me out of prison. I still remember the look of astonishment mixed with joy on his face, as he saw me free.

Suddenly Interpol barged into the room and asked us to surrender. Pierre pulled his gun and gunshots were heard all over the place. I lost no time, to escape from the place. From there I hitched my way back home to Rio, informing nobody and taking no risks. Once in Rio, the only thing left for me to do was to wait for Pierre. There was no fear from the police in our homeland, because Pierre always made sure that we did not undertake any assignments in Brazil.

A month later, I received the news of Pierre’s death. It took three men to shoot him six times in the chest. We never recovered his body, so we held a memorial service for him. It was a gloomy Wednesday morning and I was coming back home from the service, wondering what the future held in store for me. The door bell rang and Vincent answered it. “A visitor for you Master”, he said. “Coming”, said I.

Concluded.

Confessions of a dangerous mind - II

2006-02-23T14:32:00.000+05:30

Kedah, northwestern Malaysia currently has a Muslim majority population. But until the 9th Kedah Maharaja Derbar Raja converted to Islam and changed his name to Sultan Muzaffar Shah in the 10th century, the Bujang Valley in Kedah was a prominent Hindu-Buddhist kingdom. The Maharaja aiming to protect his nation from the onslaught of Portuguese and British attacks, converted to Islam so as to forge a friendship with the Sultan of Malay.

As an act of penitence before his conversion, the Maharaja had constructed a secret underground Buddhist temple south west of Pengkalan Bayang Merbok. The temple had a completely plebian façade and was uncovered during the earth-quake in the 14th century. Only a four foot plaster of Paris Buddha in an old dilapidated sanctum was found. It was in the 17th century that archeologists discovered that the plaster of Paris covered a solid gold four foot monolith of Buddha completely adorned with diamonds, rubies and sapphire. The Buddha was then moved to the Bujang Valley Archaeological Museum where it is housed till today in the state-of-the-art security.

It was this Buddha that our client, a private collector, wanted and he was willing to pay any price to get it; by hook or by crook.

I spent days planning my course of action. Pierre wanted this assignment to be treated as my coming of age. He would not help me, though at times, I thought that he was cross-checking my arrangements without my knowledge. For days, I would visit the museum, disguised as a tourist and study the Buddha from about ten feet away. That was the nearest we were allowed to go near it and visitors were not allowed to linger around any exhibit for long. I finally planned my day. We would execute our mission on the 17th September in broad daylight in the presence of everybody around.

At 11A.M on the 17th September, an old hunchback tottered his way to the museum. He had difficulty walking and stumbled often. The guard at the entrance of the museum advised him not to visit, but the old man would not hear of it. He mumbled something about coming from very far to visit the museum. About ten minutes later, a six-foot tall American tourist also visited the same museum. He looked like a student who had worked his way all summer for this all-important trip to Malaysia. The old man was stumbling and coughing and the benevolent student offered to assist him to walk. The old man refused, but when he staggered for the third time, the student would not listen anymore. Together, they began to explore the artifacts, with the old man recounting stories about his younger days.

At 11:15 A.M the old man and the young American were standing in front of the statue of Buddha. Suddenly, there was a sound of a blast and smoke filled the room. Someone shouted “Fire” and guards started evacuating. The electric connection in the museum had faltered and the backup would take two minutes to restore. The student was trying to help the old man out, who was having trouble breathing in all that smoke. The guards removed everyone from the room and sent them to another part of the museum and came back for the old man. By then, he was coughing so much that the student requested them to let the old man out for some fresh air. The pair was let out and was never seen again.

It was discovered after two days while cleaning the museum that the statue of Buddha was sparkling unusually. On further investigation, it was found that the statue of Buddha was in plaster of Paris, cleverly covered by golden wrapping sheet. The original Buddha cost 6 million dollars. This fake probably cost 6 dollars.

Two days before this discovery a hunchbacked old man and a young American tourist were seen leaving the museum through an emergency exit. Nobody checked their belongings. As they left the premises, a black sedan drew up and they both got in. Inside, Pierre took off his cloak, stopped being a hunchback and revealed a four foot statue of Buddha between his knees. He looked at the American tourist and grinned, “Happy birthday Mike. You are a man now.”

To be continued.....

Confessions of a dangerous mind - I

2006-02-22T09:52:00.000+05:30

At age twenty-four years eleven months, I was languishing in an 8X11 foot cell in solitary confinement in an obscure prison in Central Siberia. The outside temperature was minus forty-five degrees and from my underground dungeon sunlight trickled in only for a few minutes a day. I had been here for two weeks perhaps. Snow covered the ground, for two feet and even from the windowless rabbit hole where I was kept, the chill and the dampness pricked my bones. I surveyed my room for the millionth time, trying to find a way to escape. It was a bare room with no furnishing; the only objects were a fur quilt, a sleeping bag and a pot at the end of the room. Nothing much that I could use. Twice I had escaped this place and this time round, they were not going to take any chances. The government wanted me for questioning and they wanted me alive. After all, I was just a minnow in the large smuggling syndicate that had managed to steal Van Gough paintings from the Pushkin Art Gallery in Moscow in the past. Two weeks ago, I had failed to get away with a Monet, and Interpol saw this as their big chance.

Leaning against the wall, I started to think. Memories flooded me. Those years of poverty, living as an orphan in a ghetto in Rio de Janeiro. How, at the age of fifteen, Pierre caught me trying to steal his wallet and instead of handing me to the police took me home, and how it changed my life forever. Pierre it is perhaps then; my story begins with Pierre’s wallet. Michael is my name and Pierre fondly called me Mike. Hunger had turned me into a pickpocket and I was the slickest hand in our ghetto. At the end of the day, when we counted our Reals, I always had the most. I had an undisputed talent for stealing anything, without anyone ever noticing. I quite liked this arrangement and thought life could not be any better than living on people’s money. Then one day, I tried to pick Pierre’s wallet. He had turned his head to his left and was looking his wristwatch, and I had almost succeeded in drawing the black faux leather Gucci wallet from the right side of his trousers. Then I crossed the road and was about to rush to hoard my earnings, when a hand gripped my shoulders. “Nice work kid! You have good technique!!!” said Pierre smiling. I was astounded. It was the first time, I was caught and I started wondering where I went wrong. “Where is your Daddy?” “I don’t have one,” I said. ‘And where is your Mommy?” “I don’t have a Mommy either”. “Then I am your Daddy from today,” said Pierre and that was the turning point of my life.

Back home, Pierre gave me food, clothes, a bed to sleep and a house to call my own. He lived all by himself in an opulent mansion in downtown Rio and when I peeped out of the window, I could see a Lamborghini, a Ferrari and a Ford Mustang in his large stable of cars. Of course, I learnt the names much later. Along with that, I also learnt how to dress well, speak language of the gentry, and most importantly, Pierre gave me my first important lessons on theft and deception. For Pierre was the leader of the largest smuggling syndicate of Rio and he had just adopted me as his protégée.

Three years later, at the age of eighteen, I had learnt five languages, could drive any car, could fire a .44 Magnum, .45 Long Colt, .38 Special and a Colt Single Action Army from point blank range and was a dashing, handsome six-foot tall boy quickly learning that he was irresistible to women. A charm, that would come much handy later. At eighteen Pierre decided that I was ready for my first kill. An antique statue of Buddha, in a museum in Malaysia, which our client wanted for his private collection. Sadly, the Buddha was not for sale, so I had to step in.

To be continued.....

Snapshots from Hell

2006-02-15T18:40:00.000+05:30

The high acclaimed rating and astounding word-of-mouth review made me buy this ‘compelling’ book “Snapshots from Hell: the making of an MBA” by Peter Robinson. The book’s blurb says -- “A book for wannabe MBA’s, anyone desirous of applying to a B-school or anyone in business”. Though my dreams of apping for MBA is slowly fading away, I gave a rethought, a serious contemplation to read this, at least to make a judgment about how a B-School is really like. Change is inevitable and perhaps, who knows, I’d be tempted or rather motivated to change my notions again. Accompanied by too much enthu, I finally bought this paperback yesterday.

The author Peter Robinson worked as a speech writer at the White House during Reagan’s period and later looks like he took a choice to do MBA (for the obvious reasons -- earning fat pay!). The book is about the story of the author himself during his MBA days at Stanford during 1988- 1990. So far, I’ve come across ~ 80 pages and find that unlike Chetan Bhagat, Robinson has dwelled much on the plight of the students and the hectic schedule of the B-school. Chetan Bhagat’s ‘5 point someone’ had a blend of college masti, romance and very little of academics spiced with sentiments. Here, in ‘Snapshots..’, one gets to see in his pages more of lectures, case studies and class room problems. But thanks, the answers to the problem/discussion are given in very small font down the pages, so that if the reader needs he can go through them. On a lighter note, the author makes fun of the elite ‘poet’ section of the class. ‘Poets’ constituted the non-business/accounting background people who formed a sizeable chunk of the class.

Though not that gripping, I find the material pretty worth reading…And yes, its hilarious with its fundo-joy-ride of the B-school. Chalo lets see how it moves further…

KASI
A bibliophile

And the piper shall lead you to Reason...

2006-02-09T11:50:00.000+05:30

A Momentary lapse of Reason redux........

The answers for the curious and the lazy...
And hmmm this group is more Lit than i thought....

1. In medieval europe, 1/3 of the taxes went to the king, 1/3 to the nobility and 1/3 to the common man. how is this practice immortalized ?
baba black sheep..
1 for the master,
1 for the dame,
And 1 for the little boy who lives down the lane (neat ahem..)

2. Blanks from the foll. prayer inspire the name of this celebrated Indian author's not-so-celebrated work.
Bring us, O Lord God, at our last awakening into the house and gate of heaven,
to enter into that gate and dwell in that house,
where there shall be no darkness nor dazzling, but one equal light;
no noise nor silence, but ____ ______ ______;
no fears nor hopes, but one equal possession;
no ends nor beginnings, but one equal eternity;
in the habitations of thy glory and dominion, world without end."

An equal music - seth (workable methought..)

3. Fill inthe blanks......Chapter Listing from Mr Kenneth Grahame's 'A Wind in the Willows'Chapter 1 I THE RIVER BANKChapter 2 II THE OPEN ROADChapter 3 III THE WILD WOODChapter 4 IV MR. BADGERChapter 5 V DULCE DOMUMChapter 6 VI MR. TOADChapter 7 VII --7 words--Chapter 8 VIII TOAD'S ADVENTURESChapter 9 IX WAYFARERS ALLChapter 10 X THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF TOADChapter 11 XI `LIKE SUMMER TEMPESTS CAME HIS TEARS'Chapter 12 XII THE RETURN OF ULYSSES

yup u floydians 'tis Piper at the gates of Dawn

4. X (Anagallis arvensis) is a low-growing plant in the family (Myrsinaceae). This common European plant is generally considered a weed and is an indicator of light soils. The stems are about 45 cm long and generally prostrate. The bright green ovate sessile leaves grow opposite. The small orange flowers grow in the leaf axils from spring till autumn. What's the name of the flower......ScientificGenealogyKingdom: PlantaeDivision: MagnoliophytaClass: MagnoliopsidaOrder: EricalesFamily: MyrsinaceaeGenus: AnagallisSpecies: A. arvensis

scarlet pimpernel gentlemen....

5. What are these fundae collectively called....or rather where would you come across themMitra Bhedha (The Loss of Friends)Mitra Laabha (Gaining Friends)Suhrudbheda (Causing Dissension Between Friends)Vigraha (Separation)Sandhi (Union)

Panchatantra u bet

6. X is a teen language spoken by Y and company' in Z. It is not a written language: the sense that we have of the novel is of a transcription of speech, rather than writing. X is basically English, with some transliterated words from Russian. It also contains some Cockney influences, some words of unclear origin, and some invented words. X is really a lexicon of 'extra' words Y uses to describe the world as he sees it:. Examplesdroog - friendbritva - razordevotchka - young womancutter - moneynozh - knife/daggerstarry ptitsa - old womanin-out-in-out - sex, rape

x,z=nadsat from clockwork orange
y=alex

7. X is a term for any of a group of 6 elementary particles having charges of a magnitude 1/3 or 2/3 that of the electron, regarded as constituents of all hadrons.Etymology....
“3 X for Muster Mark!Sure he hasn't got much of a barkAnd sure any he has it's all beside the mark....” - James Joyce's Finnegans Wake
The above is a part of a 13-line poem directed against King Mark, the cuckolded husband in the Tristan legend.Murray Gell-Mann, the physicist who proposed this name for these particles, said in a private letter of 1978, to the editor of the OED that he had been influenced by Joyce's words: “The allusion to 3 X seemed perfect” (originally there were only three subatomic X).

quarks
trust mr joyce, he makes simple things sound so profound...

8. X (meaning:annihilation) is a key element in the Sufi thought. Once the Sufi becomes constant in dhikr - remembrance of Allaah they claim that he acquires sufficient tranquility of heart to experience a delusion that helps him pass through the various stages described below. First he is bewildered, then intoxicated with love of the Remembered One, and finally he passes through the stage of X, or annihilation, in which he becomes fully absorbed to the point of becoming unaware of himself or the objects around him. Every existing thing seems to vanish, and he feels free of every barrier that could stand in the way of his viewing the Remembered One and nothing else. However X is mentioned neither in the Qur'aan nor in the Sunnah. It is rather a Sufi gimmick and a satanic deception.

my fav
Al-Fanaaa (hone do dard ko fanaa....)

Sunset-II

2006-02-02T11:46:00.000+05:30

“A penny for your thoughts, Pari.” Parijat came out of her reverie, slowly, there was Surjo in flesh in front of her, his graying hair bearing the only testimony to the passing years.

The years seemed to fall away, as they walked their favorite walk, through the shaded maidan. She was once more the shy nineteen year old, listening with rapt attention as they strived to fill in the gap of a decade. He had made quite a name for himself in the theater circle, he would have achieved much more had he toed the lines society had laid out for him but he had chosen to follow his own heart.

“But this Jeevanmukhi is all trash you know”, he said making rings of smoke as he smoked his favorite Wills. “The people whose life you talk of are the first to desert you. But you know I will never give up”

And she knew he won’t-his idealism still shone through his honest eyes.

“And Pari what about you? I heard you got married..lucky guy”he trailed off.

“Yes, only he never notices that” she had silently lipped.

He husband, a business tycoon had along with many foreign trips and page 3 parties also gifted her a gilded cage. Over the years Parijat had withered and retreated into a shell where she had shut out the hollow glitz and glamour of her daily life. But today she blossomed again, the blue skies were hers once more, Surjo had just opened the cage for her.

***
“You were once deep into those theaters, right?” her husband asked as she concentrated on her reflection in the mirror, wanting to look her best.

She nodded without bothering to turn back, ignoring it as another attempt by her industrialist husband to look interested in her life; he would soon trail off into his world dominated by dry profits and losses. But that evening he persisted.

“Have you heard of this Surjo theater group?” he asked, catching her attention. They are starting their big show, you know. I would like you to accompany me there tonight”

Puzzled Parijat had accompanied him; by some strange quirk of fate their destinations for that night had merged. She had been waiting for this day for a long time, ever since Surjo had talked about it, during one of their numerous meetings that had followed the evening at Nandan. He had been all excited about this new project of his, where he was supposed to expose a very famous industrialist who was jeopardizing the lives of several villagers. He had refused to divulge any more details, guarding his secret like a hawk; he did not want to spoil her anticipation. He had kept his part of the bargain too by never asking about her husband, for all they knew he was only a nameless apparition miles removed from their almost idyllic world.

But that evening as the play progressed, she was disappointed. There was nothing fiery about the play, it was a watered down story where in the climax, industrialists were given a clean chit and a plot to defame them was unearthed. Parijat sought Surjo frantically after the play, she deserved an explanation for the let down, but he avoided her. It must have been a part of a bigger plan he had, may be this was first of a series of plays, she thought trying to fight a feeling of suffocation as their sedan raced back, cutting through the dark, brooding city.

***

It was late in the afternoon next day; her calls to Surjo’s mobile had only found his highly inadequate voice mail. Her mind was in a turmoil but she tried to retain her veneer of normalcy, as she walked through their mansion, arranging her husband’s documents and files. Quiet absent mindedly she opened a blue file containing a sheaf of papers and began flipping through the pages. She froze, the writing was very familiar to her. As she concentrated, her perplexity grew; this was the script of a drama Surjo had written. It spoke about how a big industrial house indulged in dumping toxic chemicals into village canals, flouting all norms of safety. There were no explicit names in the script but the allusions it made, left little doubt in her mind as to the identity of the corporate house.

“Where did you get these” she was hysterical as she confronted her husband.

He looked at her, confused. “Why, I bought it from Surjo, you know the guy leading the theater group,whose play we saw yesterday-the fool wanted to expose me. Aree, if I were not there those villagers would have died of hunger. What if I pollute a few canals…?”

“How much?”her voice was hoarse now.

“10 lakhs”he said smugly.” I know its too much, but people listen to this guy..he could have ruined me”

Tears blinded Parijat’s eyes. That night she tore her rainbow to smithereens, seeking solace in the fatalistic black that surrounded her. At least she would never be disappointed waiting for day break again; her sun had just set forever.

Sunset-I

2006-01-31T09:26:00.000+05:30

The winter sky was a riot of colors as she stepped out of Nandan. It was a January evening and Kolkata had obliged with just the right amount of chill in the air, an opportunity amorous Kolkatans never let go. But she was not really looking at the happy couples thronging the place, she was thinking of the performance. It had been a good one, the theme was close to her heart and there had been some very strong performances. She was watching a theater after ages, those musicals she had seen at Broadway had somehow lacked the raw energy of a Kolkata natok. However there was something about the play that bothered her, it had struck her while she watched it but she had chosen to ignore it then. Now it came back to her and she knit her brows in concentration, trying to figure out the one element of discord.

“The painting, Parijat That’s not the type of painting Parijat would attribute to a maverick” Parijat froze as the deep baritone reverberated around her. And like that sunny morning 15 years back, she blushed.

***
Parijat had just finished painting a poster for her college fest. A first year student at the University, she was determined to make an impression and as she appraised her painting, she was satisfied she would. Gingerly holding it, she carried it out of the arts hall into the terrace when someone ran into her from the opposite direction, or rather into her painting. She was almost in tears, her beautiful painting had been smudged and this weirdo with tousled mop of curls was trying to say something. Before she could protest, he had taken the brush and palette from her hand and transformed her painting with a few confident brush strokes. Parijat watched in a daze as the smudged painting came alive, better than before.

“There it looks like a rainbow” he said , smiling impishly.

They had met regularly after that. He was Surjo, student leader and already a name to reckon with in the amateur drama circle. He was dynamic and spirited, passionate and zealous. People listened spell bound as he spoke about issues others eschewed and watched overwhelmed his plays that scalded his audience while he carried on nonchalantly with life. Parijat and Surjo had never really been in love, but they shared a bond that transcended the patterns of relationships men limited by giving them inane names. After college, she had moved to a different city and they had moved away from each other, but the rainbow had never left her life.

INSPIRATION

2006-01-25T12:39:00.000+05:30

Problems,Problems
Problems at everysite!!!
But look……
Look at the sky,
Covering the problems of Mother Earth,
Shines daily day & night,
With his sun and stars shinning bright!!
That gives us an indication,
To try & live life without tension!
I know telling this is easy,
But for sometime atleast lets get busy,
Come & look with me to the deep blue sky,
Like me ,You are sure to feel high!!

GUYS MUST BE CRAZY

2006-01-23T10:41:00.000+05:30

"These Guys must be crazy yaar", Asha suddenly remarked while adoring herself in the mirror.

Her roommate Priya who was busily playing Minesweeper in her laptop, turned to Asha and asked, "c’mon, ma’m wat happened..you talking about Guys suddenly??? watz the matter?"

Asha : True yaar, these guys must be crazy!! I think they do all sort of stupid things if they fall in love

Priya : aaha, Asha... what happened pa, suddenly you talking about love? who is that idiot ?

Asha : Hey keep quiet ok! Me already in anger!!. You don’t try to tease me further

Priya : hahaha, you angry? see yourself in the mirror... your drooling is quite apparent.. Tell me whoz that guy who made you talk about love all of the sudden

Asha : our next cubicle northie yaar, Vikram I mean... He is following me wherever I go

Priya (surprised) : What you mean Vikram? Hey come so many girls in our office are drooling about him.... don’t just blush ok? You shouldn’t lie too much esp when you are seeing urself in the mirror

Asha : hey come on yaar, you know, that day in FC, I went to wash my hands. All other taps were free only. But this guy purposely waited and came to the tap where I washed my hands after I went!!

Priya : hmmph.. Big deal.... This is more feebler than BSNL signal!! (shakes her head) I cant accept this as a Love signal

Asha : wait wait. Even I didn’t think it as a big issue. But yesterday no, after finished with my dinner, I missed my mobile in the desk while leaving. When I came back to pick it up, I noticed this Vikram picking up my paper towel and put in his pocket. What would you say for this?

Priya : Really??? Do u mean it

Asha : hey true yaar... thatz why I said.... these guys are all crazy.... they tend to do all sorts of stupid things for love and romance

Priya : aah..dont tell me you didn’t like that

Asha : hehe thatz a different story J .. you come with me to Food court today.. I’ll show you live action today

That afternoon........Priya and Asha dine together in the Food court. Vikram who enters the Food court at the same time, takes the seat just behind them.

Asha : Look where he is sitting

Priya : O.K O.K.. Relax

Both finish their lunch and go to wash their hand. As they return they see Vikram standing near the place where they had their lunch

Asha : Now see what he does

Priya : Wait , wait

Vikram looks here and there, after getting convinced no one is around, picks up the tumbler that was used by Asha during her lunch.

Asha : (triumphant smile) What do yaa say now?

Priya : Yep yep, Guys must be crazy only.... I will go and catch that Vikram red handedly

Asha : hey relax priya, Me feeling shy

Priya : hello this is not a murali film story to keep postponing love proposal until a railway station climax. You just wait here

Priya straightly goes to Vikram, who is quiet surprised to see her..

Vikram : Hi priya..how do u do

Priya : Dei, what are u doing da

Vikram : err..whatz the matter pri?

Priya : Watz the tumbler u are holding in ur hand

Vikram : oh this one ah? This is your friend Asha’s work. Arrey, she is so careless yaar... Whenever she goes to wash her hands in the wash basin, she leaves the tap open and let water go waste. She never disposes of the paper towel, once she is done with lunch and leaves it there itself. See even now, she doesn’t even care to keep the tumbler back in the place. How many times you expect me to keep reminding in mails as part of the Cleanliness initiative of the week. Nobody cares.. see, for being a volunteer what sort of job I have to do. Regardless of the number of posts in the bulletin about etiquette nobody cares to listen!!!

Saying this, a disgusted vikram goes to pick up the tumbler in the next desk. An apparently shocked Asha could not mutter any other words except mumbling ....

GUYS MUST BE REALLY CRAZY...........

Written by : Pauline Priya Satish (Cognizant Bangalore)

A Momentary Lapse of Reason

2006-01-20T15:03:00.000+05:30

As things were gettin kinda prosaic, methought let's add some dash of grey to the season....
This is basically a quiz, but it testeth u more on ur logical/creative abilities than plain RandomAccessMemory.

Enjoy !

The Questions.....
1. In medieval europe, 1/3 of the taxes went to the king, 1/3 to the nobility and 1/3 to the common man. how is this practice immortalized ? (Think whacko!!)

2. Blanks from the foll. prayer inspire the name of this celebrated Indian author's not-so-celebrated work.

Bring us, O Lord God, at our last awakening into the house and gate of heaven,
to enter into that gate and dwell in that house,
where there shall be no darkness nor dazzling, but one equal light;
no noise nor silence, but ____ ______ ______;
no fears nor hopes, but one equal possession;
no ends nor beginnings, but one equal eternity;
in the habitations of thy glory and dominion, world without end."

3. Fill inthe blanks......
Chapter Listing from Mr Kenneth Grahame's 'A Wind in the Willows'
Chapter 1 I THE RIVER BANK
Chapter 2 II THE OPEN ROAD
Chapter 3 III THE WILD WOOD
Chapter 4 IV MR. BADGER
Chapter 5 V DULCE DOMUM
Chapter 6 VI MR. TOAD
Chapter 7 VII --7 words--
Chapter 8 VIII TOAD'S ADVENTURES
Chapter 9 IX WAYFARERS ALL
Chapter 10 X THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF TOAD
Chapter 11 XI `LIKE SUMMER TEMPESTS CAME HIS TEARS'
Chapter 12 XII THE RETURN OF ULYSSES

4. X (Anagallis arvensis) is a low-growing plant in the family (Myrsinaceae). This common European plant is generally considered a weed and is an indicator of light soils. The stems are about 45 cm long and generally prostrate. The bright green ovate sessile leaves grow opposite. The small orange flowers grow in the leaf axils from spring till autumn. What's the name of the flower......
ScientificGenealogy
Kingdom: Plantae
Division: Magnoliophyta
Class: Magnoliopsida
Order: Ericales
Family: Myrsinaceae
Genus: Anagallis
Species: A. arvensis (pic attached) (very literary answer)

5. What are these fundae collectively called....or rather where would you come across them
Mitra Bhedha (The Loss of Friends)
Mitra Laabha (Gaining Friends)
Suhrudbheda (Causing Dissension Between Friends)
Vigraha (Separation)
Sandhi (Union)

6. X is a teen language spoken by Y and company' in Z. It is not a written language: the sense that we have of the novel is of a transcription of speech, rather than writing. X is basically English, with some transliterated words from Russian. It also contains some Cockney influences, some words of unclear origin, and some invented words. X is really a lexicon of 'extra' words Y uses to describe the world as he sees it:. Examples
droog - friend
britva - razor
devotchka - young woman
cutter - money
nozh - knife/dagger
starry ptitsa - old woman
in-out-in-out - sex, rape

7. X is a term for any of a group of 6 elementary particles having charges of a magnitude 1/3 or 2/3 that of the electron, regarded as constituents of all hadrons.
Etymology....
“3 X for Muster Mark!
Sure he hasn't got much of a bark
And sure any he has it's all beside the mark....”
- James Joyce's Finnegans Wake

The above is a part of a 13-line poem directed against King Mark, the cuckolded husband in the Tristan legend.Murray Gell-Mann, the physicist who proposed this name for these particles, said in a private letter of 1978, to the editor of the OED that he had been influenced by Joyce's words: “The allusion to 3 X seemed perfect” (originally there were only three subatomic X).

8. X (meaning:annihilation) is a key element in the Sufi thought. Once the Sufi becomes constant in dhikr - remembrance of Allaah they claim that he acquires sufficient tranquility of heart to experience a delusion that helps him pass through the various stages described below. First he is bewildered, then intoxicated with love of the Remembered One, and finally he passes through the stage of X, or annihilation, in which he becomes fully absorbed to the point of becoming unaware of himself or the objects around him. Every existing thing seems to vanish, and he feels free of every barrier that could stand in the way of his viewing the Remembered One and nothing else. However X is mentioned neither in the Qur'aan nor in the Sunnah. It is rather a Sufi gimmick and a satanic deception. (Again Think Whacko..)

Respondez sil vous plait
supriyo....

Live phone-e ( a writing in bangla )

2006-01-20T11:34:00.000+05:30

tv-te program hochche,live phone-e
aykjon bisesawggo bose, moner
ayker pawr ayk proshno asche ,moner
uni jawbab dichchen ,hese hese

aykta meye phone korlo,bes awdbhut
achcha daktar-babu,konta beshi dukkher?
aat bawchorer prem bhanga naki at maser premer?

daktar-babu ektu haslen, bollen-
achcha ma,tumi nijei bawlo,konta beshi dukkher?
ashi bawchorer baba mara gyale naki at maser chele?

Numb corridors, number minds..

2006-01-10T18:53:00.000+05:30

I ask no questions, I seek no answers
You taught me to straddle the narrow path –I do
My diversions are but proverbial.
You also taught me to play safe- I do
I never ask questions, I never seek answers
Over the years I have perfected
The art of inane exclamations
Every time you push macabrity under my door
Only to return non-plussed ,
To the cocoon of my safe world
Where I berate in numb, frozen corridors
You, your ideals, the hopelessly honest
Manjunath
All shadows on the fringes of my sound proof
world
Do not get me wrong-I am not dishonest either
Only I ask no questions, I seek no answers

INCOGNITO

2006-01-08T01:53:00.000+05:30

Myriad faces

some seen

some unseen

some lost

some found

some loved

some hated

some born

some unborn

some known

MOST INCOGNITO

Tolstoy's Resurrection - A Review by Bipradas

2006-01-06T21:15:00.000+05:30

The Novel Resurrection is the story of a Man and his Resurrection from life which he had lived with the believe that this is the only way to live life.
This novel portrays the struggle that a person undergoes in order to make atone for his/her past deeds. This novel portrays the change of beliefs of the protagonist and shows him the way to achieve mental satisfaction and happiness.

The novel is about a man named Nekhliudov, who is an owner of an estate and is a fun-loving person. “FUN”---the definition of this term in the-then Russia meant having fun at the expense of the ordinary people, specifically the peasants who generally were under bondage to one or other of those so called “Prince”.

The protagonist of this novel, also used to have Fun with his people and during one of those encounters with his people, he met with a girl named Katiusa, and had a forced relationship with her. This would have been a case of no consequence to Nekhliudov as he was used to have those fringe relationships as his time pass activities, but this time, his heart felt something different, something unusual happened to him and he felt that He is in Love with Katiusa.

He was struggling with himself to find out the way to approach the girl as he had done a crime against her and finally when he won the struggle with himself to approach her it is too late, the girl has left the place. Katiusa was forced to leave the place due to the deed of Nekhliudov, and had to face lot of hardship in life before being put into Jail.

The second part of the novel portrays the irony of Nekhliudov as he was one of the jury who had to give the verdict in the case against Katiusa. Again another struggle with himself, the struggle between “Big Me” and “Small Me” as according to the writer, every person has two personalities –one who thinks of others, the society and another, who thinks of own only, these two are represented by “Big Me” and “Small Me”. There is always a struggle on going between these two and whoever wins, the person is affected by that and work accordingly. For the protagonist of the novel, this time the “Big Me” won against “Small Me” as unlike the previous case where “Small Me” had overpowered “Big Me” and he had a relationship with Katiusa without her consent.

The novel ends with the Resurrection of Prince Nekhliudov as he re-discovers the teachings of Jesus on how to live life in a way which helps others, work for others, shares the smiles and pains of others. Katiusa makes the real impact to his life by refusing his love and showing him the way. Bitten by rejection from his love, Nekhliudov chooses the path of helping others, working for others and starts a new life.
This novel by Tolstoy was written in the middle part of his literary life when he has started to lean towards religious teachings, religious works and this novel has the imprints of his mentality prevalent at that part of his life. It may not be one of his classic penning, but surely this novel shows us how to live the life and how to win the struggles that a person faces everyday in life.

Insomnia

2006-01-06T15:36:00.000+05:30

This was a poem i had written quite a few years back...and takes the form of my "first blog ever"......

As the sounds of the day fade into the night
The lights grow dim, not a soul in sight,
I bury my face in the pillow and sleep feign
When the well-known shadows come calling again.
Nameless faces looking out with blurred eyes
One or two i even recognise.
A dash of red, a patch of blue
Cry out from a greying mildew
Fragments of my life floating in the debris
Memories buried longing to be free.
A shiny bicycle colliding into a wall
Tears embarrasment and laughter after the fall
Bewildered after reading graffiti on a neighbour's car
Searching a clear sky for just one shooting star...
Familiar comforting smell of tobacco and musk
A soft hand with long fingers guiding me till dusk
Did i live in that red-and-blue house once?
And wasnt that music strains from my first dance?
Feelings that make you soar then make you weep
Never letting you stop to trap that elusive sleep.
Something in the darkness draws me to it
Hesitantly at first then right into the pit...
It envelops me in its greys and blacks
Pouring into the crevices and cracks.
At first i am enchanted by its mystic caress
I revel in its eternal embrace
But i become a slave to its magnetic powers
Sleep eludes me for many hours.
In vain I claw and tear at the never ending night
Eagerly wait for the dawn of the first light
As the first rays filter through the window frame
My captor grows tired of his cruel game.
Laughingly he recedes, unaware of my plight
Only to return gleefully the next night.

Money..Money..Money – 3

2006-01-03T21:30:00.000+05:30

(Continued from Money..Money..Money – 2)
Ridiculous!!! Exclaimed Inspector Raju. The people in the Police Lab had been able to open up the cell phone by cracking the authentication code. The phone book was wiped clean and the only call that was made to the cell was from a pay phone near Kurla (W) Station. Raju was still, leaving no stone unturned. A person making a call from a booth so early in the morning might just get noticed by the booth man. So, off he went to the booth and showed his identity card to the both owner straight away. The booth owner’s statement again took him back to square one.
In fact what the owner said was that it was not at all empty at that time of the morning as there is always a swarm of people waiting to call abroad everyday at that hour. In fact this was the only booth in the locality to have an IP phone which actually reduced the operating charge and the calling bill considerably as well. And all this meant to Raju that this time he was dealing with an extremely cunning and agile criminal mind. Apart from these, one thing that was baffling Raju was that why will someone choose to call up a cell if that caller knows that there will be no answer? May be the caller did not know that, he reasoned. But what if the caller knew this fact very well?
Anil was returning from his office. The double-decker was crossing King Circle, Matunga. Two days had already gone by. In his hand he was holding that day’s Times of India in which the police had released a sketch of the missing woman’s face in the front and side profile. In his mind, he was actually still thinking about the hour-glass figure of that woman. Suddenly, he remembered something interesting. Actually he had lied a bit to the police when he said that he had never talked with the woman.
He had done that very recently. It was four days ago he was coming back from his morning jog around 7 AM when he saw the woman coming outside and collecting her milk pouches and newspaper. She was looking at him directly while still in a half bent position. Fearing that she must have caught him peeping at her bust line, Anil had just blurted out, Jogging is good for health!! Yeah, even I sometimes plan to do so, as I am becoming a bit fat. She had smiled wickedly while saying all this. Then she had excused herself and got back in. Strange!! Anil thought, if he would not have been working late he might not have even heard the cell phone ringing in his neighboring flat. Then suddenly he understood the importance of it all and started searching for the chit containing the cell number of Ravi Raju.
Miss Chandana Sen or Ma Chandi as mocking called by her friends was also returning home like Anil. A student of Anthropology in Mumbai University, her hobby was actually solving crossword puzzles. Everyday while returning to Bandra she used to solve puzzles all the way from Churchgate. She also had looked at the picture issued by police of a missing woman with a contact number mentioned below the picture. Must be a police station in and around Ghatkopar, she guessed. Being a student of Anthropology she was actually studying the face contour of the picture and was trying to put in a regional signature on the same. Punjabi? Must be, she thought, because most of the times Punjabi women have much fuller lips. And the eyes are more oval than the eastern or western siblings. Must have been a pretty thing!! The train was entering Dadar. After the overwhelming chaos got over, she started to concentrate on her crossword once again. Suddenly she noticed that on the extreme left of the ladies’ compartment a lady was standing with her both hands clinging from the hand rests. She was dressed in blue salwar kameez. She was carrying a tote bag on her shoulder, looking thirtish. And it was the same woman as in the newspaper!! Chandana went on checking her with the picture till Matunga Road came up. As the train was slowing down Chandana had made up her mind by then.
She did not have a cell and neither had she known till when the mysterious lady is going to be on board. Her pass was only till Bandra as well, which means she will be traveling ticket less if she by any means want to keep a tab even after Bandra. In desperation, she looked around her and saw an elderly lady playing games on her Sony Ericsson. Can I make a local call from your cell please? I have left my cell at home and need to talk urgently to my parents. The trick she picked up from one of the soaps worked well and the elderly lady gave her cell. With trembling fingers Chandana started to dial the number given in the newspaper. (To be continued..)

The Society Scandal

2005-12-24T10:09:00.000+05:30

Rumors flew thick in the air. The whole society was abuzz. Mrs. Rastogi had not attended Mrs. Malhotra’s pet Pommerian’s birthday complaining of a headache. Mrs. Ghosh whispered, “Even last week, she walked in the last moment to Mrs. Malhotra’s kitty party.” Mrs. Mishra nibbled delicately at paneer pakora and remarked, “That’s because she had to water her Star of Bethlehem’s. She always says that 4pm is the only time of the day when the plants can absorb water. Fo..fo…she called it fotosynthesix.” “Actually,” replied Mrs. Ghosh, “the whole fallout was because Mrs. Rastogi lost to Mrs. Malhotra in the Mahjong party at Mrs. Mirchndani’s”. “Ssshhhhh!” Joined Mrs. Krishnamurthy. “I know the real reason. Mr. Malhotra is soon going to get a big promotion and then he will be senior to Mr. Rastogi.” “Oh! My gosh” exclaimed Mrs. Mishra and Mrs. Ghosh.

It was official now. Cold war had begun. Chintu Rastogi was not allowed to play with Bobby Malhotra. At Pummy’s wedding, Mrs. Malhotra gifted her silver anklets and Mrs. Rastogi hit back with gold earrings. When the Rastogi family decided to spend their summer at Singapore, the Malhotras chose New Zealand.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Krishnamurthy was doing her best to bring them together. She paired up the two of them in the three-legged-race at her residence on a sunny winter Sunday afternoon. It did not work. She went to Mrs. Rastogi’ place and under the pretext of learning how to maintain Star of Bethlehem’s, tried to gain her confidence. Mrs. Malhotra poured out her heart while showing her how to cook Paneer Butter Masala. Mrs. Krishnamurthy had all the inside dough and people flocked to her for news.

Equations in the company were changing very fast. Mr. Ray the President was about to retire and there was speculation about who would succeed him. Opinion was divided between Mr. Malhotra and Mr. Rastogi. Many said, Rastogi would be promoted over Malhotra and he would be the next President. Mrs. Malhotra and Mrs. Rastogi continued to smile their plastic smiles when they met at parties and grimaced as soon as their backs were turned. Tension was rife in the air.

The day arrived. Mr. Ray was retiring. He would name his successor and a grand farewell party would be thrown at the club soon afterwards. Mr. Rastogi and Mr. Malhotra arrived in office in spotless white shirts and their wives got their best Kanjeevarams ready. Mr. Ray called everyone to his office and said; “The management has decided that in the event of my retirement, Mr. Krishnamurthy will take over as the next President of the company. Mr. Malhotra and Mr. Rastogi will be assisting him. They will both be promoted as Vice-Presidents. Thank you.”

The party was a grand success. Everybody commented on how appropriate it was of the wives of the newly appointed Vice-Presidents to turn up in South Indian silks. Mrs. Krishnamurthy was particularly pleased. She commented on how glad she was to have Mrs. Rastogi and Mrs. Malhotra as her dearest friends. She demanded that they jointly throw a party at the women’s club next week. Mrs. Rastogi and Mrs. Malhotra had suddenly become best friends, together venting their ire against the newly appointed President’s wife. Mrs. Krishnamurthy had the last laugh!

Marriage going the dinosaur way!!!!

2005-12-21T16:12:00.000+05:30

Salaam namaste is a hit screamed bollywood. And Living together is a hit too screamed the new age Indian , shedding age old inhibitions and embracing the global way of life faster than you can pronounce "Ketchup". Statistics say living together is no longer a rare phenomenon in India or the exlusive of the rich and the famous. The not so famous are also jumping into the "Marriage sucks" bandwagon and saying "I care a damn" to the bajuwali , censor board of an aunty.Given the way generation Next is living life on fast lane and the ridiculously high standards for success today, marriage, commitment and the like are bound to take a back seat. Not to say a live in relationship does not need a commitment, but it does free you of most of the social trappings of a normal marriage. It’s a bit of like having a cake and eating it too where you get the heady mix of love without strings attached.
Of course like any thing in life it has its own pros and cons. If cosy companionship and reduced responsibilities are the up side on the flip side you have social censor, alienation from family and the messy outcomes of a break up. Also there's this classical question of where do we go from here in any live in relationship. Salaam Namaste took the "saif" path by having the protagonist pop the wedding ring at the end, after all there are certain joys and satisfaction only a marriage can give. On the other hand people may decide to opt out, there's not much to stop you here except emotions and pragmatically that often becomes stale over time. A break up of a live in relationship may have more repercussions than the break up of a marriage. While admittedly you do not have to go through the lengthy court battles, you may face a lot more trauma and very less redemption. Unless you have a strong social support system that stands by your decision, it may be more difficult surviving a live in break up. Also marriage gives you the additional joy of entering a whole new social set up, you get to know an entirely new army of nanis and mausis and dadajis. It’s true you may not exactly hit it off like old buddies but nevertheless that little nephew with his impish smile or the new granny with her wisps of snow adds that extra charm to any marriage.
And last but not the least there’s this question of progeny..having kids is definitely not mandatory but if you choose to, then obviously you would like to give them a more secure and stable back ground than a live in relationship. Well at the end of it you ask me, live-in is infinitely better than forced and sour marriages and a workable solution to the time strapped generation of today. But in the long run the sparkle of a wedding adds that special glow to your eyes and the way to go if you are serious about the relationship. After all if love is there, there's no reason the age old institution will not work out for the men and women of today.

The glass wall

2005-12-14T17:05:00.000+05:30

I looked at him across the vast emptiness
Faces dissolved and disintegrated as he became omnipresent
Days of silence had built up a wall
Stained with soot from snuffed out candles
Shielded, his face was hazy almost nebulous
Suffocated, I flailed my arms, hysteric and obsessed
The emptiness took on shapes as the glass fell protesting to the floor
I panicked ,as I lost him in the crowd
Slowly realizing, my vision of him had always been filtered
Through layers of glass that changed colour as I traversed the spectrum with him
Now, shorn of adjectives he was ordinary tothe point of mortality
I laughed after a long time
Where was the demi god of my dreams-he was only a man

Money..Money..Money - 2

2005-12-09T16:15:00.000+05:30

(Continued from Money..Money..Money - 1)

Ravi Raju was looking at the chandelier with admiration. He was actually trying to gauge the cost of the thing. The last time he saw a similar thing was at the Y.V Chavan Auditorium at the Women’s College, which is happens to visit more often because his daughter was studying there. It was 11 am in the morning and the crowd out side the flat 304 as well the Kiran gate was almost immobile. The buzz around was only asking one question. What actually have happened?? Ravi himself was a bit flummoxed. The flat he was standing on was a typical Mumbai up market one with all the facilities starting from Home Theatre to 29’ color television. The bathroom was a dream come true for anyone with sauna bath facilities along with a wide array of expensive toiletries. Other than the chandelier, there were very costly paintings in the Hall. One thing that was missing from the flat was any picture. His people could not find a single snap or photo in that flat. Patkar from the forensics called him. Breaking out of his reverie Ravi asked, found the body? Patkar nodded in the negative. Actually till now Ravi had witnessed lot of gruesome crime scenes. But this one at the Kiran had him stumped. Every where he can see blood smeared with the torn pieces of clothes. But there was no sign of the body at all. And most intriguingly, the person who have been the first to set off the alarm do not even know the name of the inhabitant of the flat. The CSI Team was almost sure that a violent crime was committed. But then as an investigating officer Ravi cannot lodge an assault and murder case unless he can get hold of the body. Suddenly constable Wagle came running down the corridor holding a piece of cloth in his hand. It was stained with blood and seemed to be a part of a beige kurta. Saab, I recovered it from the staircase. It was actually wedged between the window sill between the second and third floor. Now this was some clue, Ravi thought. Wagle, take your people and search every nook and corner of this building and the adjacent lanes please, he barked his orders. But inside he was very confused.
He gave a last look at the flat and came out of the door of the flat – the same one through which Anil made his entry sometime before. The crowd outside was fell silent. Where is the building watchman? No one uttered any thing. Then a very old and haggard face came forth. I am Bimal Sir. And I am the watchman cum gardener here. Ravi looked up. The man was any where between 40 and 50. Dark complexion and seems to be a habitual drinker. He was reeking of country liquor all around. Ravi took him to a corner and started questioning.
Who used to stay here?
I don’t know. Actually she has just come to stay here.
Don’t you have her name in your society’s register?
No Sir. The register has got Mr. Khare’s name as he used to pay the society charges.
You want to tell me that a complete stranger was staying in your building and none of you had any inkling about it? That person could have been a squatter as well. Have you informed the owner of this flat? Ravi blurted out.
Yes Sir, actually the lady in question has brought in a letter from Mr. Khare declaring her as a lawful tenant. Here is the letter.
Ravi went through the letter very carefully. The only question he was thinking was whether the letter has been forged or not.
Did Mr. Khare previously used to keep tenants?
No.
With that Ravi concluded that there is little to know from the Kiran people. He picked his cell phone and started to place a call to the control room for the police artist. He was sure that he cannot file anything more than a missing complaint. While dialing suddenly he remembered something. The neighbor fellow was mentioning something about a telephone ringing that brought him out of his flat!!!
He began looking very carefully inch by inch through out the flat until he came across the thing he was looking for. It was a very small Sony handset tucked discreetly in between two books in the bookshelf. It was wide screen and would have doubled as a PDA as well. Perked up with his discovery he tried to look at screen and find out the number that might have been there courtesy the missed call. But unfortunately all he could find was the screen saver playing. It was a flash demo for the set itself. Where he tried to press any button the only thing he could see was “ Enter the Authorization Code”. Thoroughly dejected the Inspector decided to send it to the Technicians (the geeks from the IT Crime cell) near the Crawford Market and wait for the artist to come down so that he can have at least a description sketched out for the mysterious lady. (To be Continued)

Buffet Probondho ( a writing in bangla )

2005-12-02T14:11:00.000+05:30

bangalir biyete buffet
protita menur pechone aykta chele dariye

tumi kichu nite gele, dekhle, hata nei
hata sei chokrar hate
sei chele tomai aykta duto tinte tukro tule debe

plate niye fire asbe,ese dekhbe
tomar chair gayeb
awnno lok bose chola batura khachche

tumi dariye thakbe,bhari hoye jabe hater plate
khabe ar edik odik chaibe,kothai ke uthlo
bose jabe sei fake
dekhte dekhte dekhbe ,ayk sawmoi plate khali hoye gyache
mangsho-ta kyamon chilo? jah! kheyal kori ni to,khideo pachche na tyamon
jai arektu mangsho niye asi,dekhi swad-ta chilo kyamon

abar sei chele ,sei counter-e dariye
hat-e hata ,cheye dekhche tomake
tumi plate bariye debe
abar se tule debe aykta duto tinte tukro sei hata diye

abar tumi firbe
ese dekhbe chair gayeb
edik odik chaibe
ayk sawmoi plate khali hole fer sei counter-e jabe

sei counter
sei chele
cheye dekhche tomake korun chokhe
dushh...ar jabo na..
din dada du piece bhalo kore...

Kichu fele janni to ? ( a bangla writing )

2005-11-30T11:20:00.000+05:30

kichu fele janni to?
guest house-r care-taker bollo bhawdrolok-ke

-na

bhalo kore dekhe niyechen to?

-hya
kichui fele jai ni ami
(birbir kore bollo bhawdrolok)
tin din age aykta phone-e
bhenge gyache ridoi
tukro-gulo bhore niyechi plastic-r packet-e
fele jai ni ayktao

IT Survivors - Staying Alive In A Software Job - Written by Harshad Oak

2005-11-30T11:11:00.000+05:30

Before I started working for myself, I spent some years in some of the top IT companies in India and still have many friends working in various software companies. I wrote a blog Recruiting like crazy, about the same time last year about how Indian companies are recruiting like there's no tomorrow and the possible consequences. However I was avoiding writing this particular piece as it seems like an unpatriotic thing to do, to tell the world how bad the working conditions in software companies in India have become. And there's always the risk of excerpts being used out of context to bash up IT in India.

I am now writing this because I just keep hearing horror tales from the industry and it doesn't seem like anything is being done in the matter, so I thought I will do my bit and write.

First and foremost, before stereotypes about India kick in, I would like to clarify that I am not saying that Indian software companies are sweat shops where employees aren't being paid and made to work in cramped uncomfortable places. The pay in software companies is very good as compared to other industries in India and the work places are generally well furnished and plush offices. India being a strong democracy, freedom of expression is alive and well and Indians are free to express their opinions and voice their concerns. Yet, I say that the software industry is exploiting its employees.
IT work culture in India is totally messed up and has now started harming the work culture of the nation as a whole. Working 12+ hours a day and 6 or even 7 days a week is more the rule than the exception.

Consequences:

A majority of IT people suffer from health problems.As most of the IT workforce is still very young, the problem isn't very obvious today but it will hit with unbearable ferocity when these youngsters get to their 40s.
Stress levels are unbelievable high. Stress management is a cover topic in magazines and newspapers and workshops on the subject are regularly overbooked.
Most IT people have hardly any social / family life to talk of.
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As IT folk are rich by Indian standards, they try to buy their way out of their troubles and have incurred huge debts by buying expensive houses, gizmos and fancy cars.

Plush offices, fat salaries and latest gizmos can give you happiness only if you have a life in the first place.
The reason I feel this culture has emerged, is the servile attitude of the companies. Here's a tip for any company in the west planning to outsource to India. If you feel that a project can be completed in 6 weeks by 4 people, always demand that it be completed in 2 weeks by 3 people.

Guess what, most Indian companies will agree. The project will then be hyped up as an "extremely critical" one and the 3 unfortunate souls allocated to it will get very close to meeting the almighty by the time they deliver the project in 2 weeks. Surprisingly, they will deliver in 2-3 weeks, get bashed up for any delays and the company will soon boast about how they deliver good quality in reasonable time and cost. Has anyone in India ever worked on a project that wasn't "extremely critical"?

I was once at a session where a top boss of one of India's biggest IT firms was asked a question about what was so special about their company and his answer was that we are the "Yes" people with the "We Can Do It " attitude. It is all very well for the top boss to say "We Can Do It ".. what about the project teams who wish to say "Please....We Can't Do It " to the unreasonable timelines...I was tempted to ask "What death benefits does your company offer to the teams that get killed in the process?". I sure was ashamed to see that a fellow Indian was openly boasting about the fact that he and his company had no backbone. The art of saying No or negotiating reasonable time frames for the team is very conspicuous by its absence. Outsourcing customers more often than not simply walk all over Indian software companies. The outsourcer surely cannot be blamed as it is right for him to demand good quality in the least cost and time.

Exhaustion = Zero Innovation

How many Indians in India are thought leaders in their software segment? - Very few

How much software innovation happens in India? - Minimal

Considering that thousands of Indians in India use Open Source software, how many actually contribute? - Very few

Surprisingly, put the same Indian in a company "in" the US and he suddenly becomes innovative and a thought leader in his field. The reason is simple, the only thing an exhausted body and mind can do well, is sleep. zzzzzz
I can pretty much bet on it that we will never see innovation from any of 10000+ person code factories in India.
If you are someone sitting in the US, UK... and wondering why the employees can't stand up, that's the most interesting part of the story. Read on...

The Problem

The software professional Indian is today making more money in a month than what his parents might have made in an year. Very often a 21 year old newbie software developer makes more money than his/her 55 year old father working in an old world business. Most of these youngsters are well aware of this gap and so work under an impression that they are being paid an unreasonable amount of money. They naturally equate unreasonable money with unreasonable amount of work.

Another important factor is this whole bubble that an IT person lives in.. An IT professional walks with a halo around his or her head. They are the Cool, Rich Gen Next .. the Intelligentsia of the New World... they travel all over the world, vacation at exotic locations abroad, talk "american", are more familiar of the geography of the USA than that of India and yes of course, they are the hottest things in the Wedding Market!!!

This I feel is the core problem because if employees felt they were being exploited, things would change.
I speak about this to some of my friends and the answer is generally "Hey Harshad, what you say is correct and we sure are suffering, but why do you think we are being paid this much money? It's not for 40 hours but for 80 hours a week. And anyway what choice do we have? It's the same everywhere."
So can we make things change? Is there a way to try and stop an entire generation of educated Indians from ending up with "no life".

Solutions

Never complement someone for staying till midnight or working 7 days a week.
Recently, in an awards ceremony at a software company, the manager handing over the "employee of the month" award said something like "It's unbelievable how hard he works. When I come to office early, I see him working, when I leave office late, I still see him working".. These sort of comments can kill the morale of every employee trying to do good work in an 8hr day.
Companies need to stop hiding behind the excuse that the time difference between India and the west is the reason why people need to stay in office for 14 hours a day. Staying late should be a negative thing that should work against an employee in his appraisals. Never complement someone for staying till midnight or working 7 days a week .
Estimates:
If time estimates go wrong, the company should be willing to take a hit and not force the employee to work crazy hours to bail projects out of trouble. This will ensure that the estimates made for the next project are more real and not just what the customer has asked for.
Employee organizations / forums
NASSCOM (National Association for Software and Services Companies) and CSI (Computer Society Of India) are perhaps the only two well known software associations in India and both I feel have failed the software employee. I do not recall any action from these organizations to try and improve the working conditions of software employees. This has to change.
I am not in favor of forming trade unions for software people, as trade unions in India have traditionally been more effective at ruining businesses and making employees inefficient than getting employees their rights and helping business do well. So existing bodies like NASSCOM should create and popularize employee welfare cells at a state / regional level and these cells should work only for employee welfare and not be puppets in the hands of the companies.
If the industry does not itself create proper forums for employee welfare, it's likely that the government / trade unions will interfere and mess up India's sunshine industry.
Narayan Murthys please stand up
Top bosses of companies like Infosys, TCS, Wipro, etc. need to send the message loud and clear to their company and to other companies listening at national IT events that employee welfare is really their top concern and having good working culture and conditions is a priority. Employee welfare here does not mean giving the employee the salary he/she dreams of.

Last word

I am sure some of my thoughts come from the fact that I too worked in such an environment for a few years and perhaps I haven't got over the frustrations I experienced back then. So think about my views with a pinch of salt but do think about it. And if you have an opinion on this issue, don't forget to add a comment to this article

Money.. Money.. Money - 1

2005-11-23T13:12:00.000+05:30

The phone was ringing constantly in top volume. The polyphonic ring tone was traveling to almost all corners of the 2 Bedroom Flat in Ghatkopar. No one was answering it. The flat was a spacious one if anyone considering 1100 square feet of floor space in a city like Mumbai. Kiran Cooperative Housing Society was actually made on the land meant for rehabilitating slum people of Kurla. But as it often happens in Mumbai, the land sharks got the smell of a deal for the taking. They are the ones who actually oiled the right palms to acquire the land and build a ten storied building. And yes there was no one who can be deemed a proper slum dweller living in the building. At a going price of thirty five lakhs per flat no one expects that kind of benevolence as well. Now why and how the building came to be known as Kiran Cooperative is not known to many. Some people guess that the promoter making this building might have been a big fan of Sharukh Khan for his K..KK..kk..kiran style. But then all are vague guesses. The Know-it-alls find the Cooperative part more interesting as they think that the usage of the word has been done only to evade the property taxes as well as to give the building a somewhat dignified middle class outlook in line with its birth history. The phone was actually a new Reliance land line connection with all the latest gadgets like polyphonic ring tones, caller id, SMS facility etc built in.
It was 7 in the morning and Mr. Anil Chandiramani was getting agitated as he was working late at night and the constant ringing was actually disturbing his morning laziness. Anil lives in 303 and the phone was ringing in the flat 304. Because of the thinness of the wall (again the promoter has to be blamed for that) was making him feel as if the instrument was ringing in his drawing room. While listening to the shrill polyphonic ring he was thinking about giving the neighboring flat a visit. But then actually he was in two minds. The flat 304 was vacant for a long time as the owner of the flat Mr. Naveen Khare was an NRI settled in US. And people in the building had this notion that this flat was actually purchased by Mr. Khare to make sure that he has some Indian roots left at least to which he can come back. But keeping a flat empty for long is again not an advisable thing to do as the space crunch in Mumbai has actually lead to people taking the initiative and breaking in into empty flats and squatting there for as long as possible. Last Sunday Anil had noticed that the flat is not empty anymore. The Good Mr. Khare might be keeping tenants, Anil guessed and gave it no further thought. The next day Anil was waiting for the lift when the door of the flat 304 opened. The lady who came out and started to put in the lock was somewhere in her late thirties, although Anil could have swear that she looked not a day younger than 30. An almost hour glass figure, she had with some amount of excess fat in proper places making the view from behind more interesting. When she turned, Anil immediately caught site of a dimpled face with a fair complexion, which in Mumbaiya Hindi would have warranted the comment “Jhakas”. She was wearing a tastefully cut opal green kurta with a beige salwar. The only thing that he noted more than anything else was the coldness in her eyes. Both her eyes were on him but it seemed that his presence did not register at all. As she started coming towards the elevator, she did not even seem to care that Anil was almost ogling at her. They went down together, with Anil almost searching for words to make an introduction. But the coldness of the lady gave him an idea that it might be a safe ploy. Anil was actually married and waiting for his family from Baroda to join him shortly in Mumbai where he was just settling down in his new job posting at Indian Oil Corporation.
Anil was still in his bed and mulling on whether to go and knock on the door. In posh apartment complexes like these people don’t care about their neighbours. But Anil has noticed that in the last seven days almost all the residents of Kiran have taken note of this lady. But the coldness shown by the woman at any kind of friendly advance has actually deterred the inhabitants from any kind of close encounters.
The ringing stopped. And then it started again. Having enough of it Anil went out of his bed and opened his flat’s door and went into the small lobby. He mustered enough courage to walk up to flat 304. As he was just going to press the calling bell button he noticed something odd. The morning newspaper and the milk were lying un-collected. And the door was not locked at all. He pushed it lightly and it opened up in front of him. A fishy odor greeted his nose. Anil would never forget the sceen he saw in whole of his life. In front of him there were heaps of female clothes including lingerie, a blood soaked salwar and a torn kurta and the whole of the hall was smeared with blood. With the initial numbness passing away Anil started screaming at the top his voice. (To be continued..)

Dawn with hope

2005-11-17T14:40:00.000+05:30

It was not raining, but was about to rain. The canopy of the sky seemed to gawk towards earth and the dark was getting even darker, the lanky coconut trees swung their heads, as if in despair. The waves fumed, as if with rage against the rough caress of the strong winds that were blowing over the seas, as they lashed against the shoreline. Arnab felt the first drops of the rain as the haze over the east moved closer. It was not a day that you would want to venture out in the open seas as he saw few small boats at a distance, wobble over the surface vanishing every now and then between the crests and troughs of the swelling water. The lighthouse stood silently like a ghost on the east of where he sat, in the direction of the arriving rains. He had looked at the red and white bands that adorned the lighthouse and made it look like a Lego toy from a distance. The beach was deserted. He took a swig from the bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag and felt the burn of alcohol as he ingested it. He felt very bitter like the taste of the cigarette that was lingering in his mouth. Nothing was going according to how he had dreamt.

He proceeded to move to the small shelf-like shelter that had formed under a large overhang boulder on the beach. It shielded the rain which was driving harder now and he could scarcely see the lighthouse through the haze. He was drenched thoroughly when he had finally made himself comfortable under the shelter. He groped his pockets urgently and swore under his breath as he took out a cigarette pack. They were dry to his relief as he proceeded to light one with the aid of his wind-proof lighter. Dragging hungrily at the cigarette he let the kick set in. The alcohol was taking effect and he could sense in his head a falling sensation. He took another large gulp from the bottle.

He had received the news of his failure only today just after he had arrived back home from his college in Pune. Satish had called up and had informed him of the final list and that his name did not figure in it. The interview had been fine, the HR round also went fine and he was confident he would make it to the most prestigious IT company of the country but … Arnab took another gulp and felt slightly numbed. He took the bottle out from the sodden paper bag and lifted it up to see the level of the golden yellow fluid inside. He was startled. There was hardly a peg or two left in it. He realized with rising concern that he had almost ingested a whole pint of whiskey.

The rain was slowing now. It was not a seasonal rainfall and Arnab knew that it would soon pass. He took another swig and felt his limit. The boats were now much closer but the swell of the seas still made them disappear and reappear amongst the waves. It was almost dusk, and Arnab saw the beam of the lighthouse light up. The lighthouse seemed very lonely in the stretch of the rocky coastline and Arnab felt a kind of solidarity with it. The difference being while the lighthouse had light he had none. The immediate future looked pitch black and bereft of any hopes. There were a few more campus interviews coming up but he has lost all his hopes. This was the third time that he had been through with the interview only to be refused the employment offer letter. All his classmates were by then placed in some organization or the other and it had been very discouraging. He could see the look of pity in the eyes of his classmates and knew he was a topic of their discussion. In spite of being moderately brilliant in his class, he was still jobless. He had taken to mailing his seniors in the alumni association of his college stating his plight but none could help. None SHALL help he thought bitterly.

The light was fast fading now and the skies have cleared a bit. In the gloom Arnab could still make out the boats. He wondered if the fishermen were happy with their lives. He often would look around him and watch the people intently. He tried to make out if a person was happy and if he had any complaints in life. Often he would find that everyone had problems, the difference was how each coped with them. He took a final long gulp and held the bottle to his lips till he was certain nothing of the fluid was wasted. He then threw it away and the bottle shattered hitting a rock. He tried to get up but fell and then blissfully passed out.

When he woke it was dark and the sky was clear. There was a bright moonlight and the sea, quiet now, glowed with strange green phosphorescence. The sea had receded baring the jagged rocks that would have been otherwise submerged. Arnab felt cold and tried to sit up. His head ached terribly and his mouth felt dry. Slowly realization set in that he was alone in the beach and looking at his watch he realized it was well past four in the morning. He gave a start. His parents would have been worried to death by then for he had not reported to them since his coming to the beach alone that evening. He felt all the more miserable, irresponsible and guilty. Pulling himself up from the sand he walked out from under the overhang shelter and looked at the lighthouse. It was an unending motion of the lights that threw a powerful beam across the seas. The Lighthouse, the moonlight and the splashing of the seas had added to the eerie atmosphere. Arnab had never seen the sea during this time of the day and felt strangely elated at the seascape. He fumbled for a cigarette and finding one lit it. Walking unsteadily, still under the influence of the alcohol; he stepped up between the rocks and made his way towards the more sandy part of the beach beyond the lighthouse.

The road was just about hundred meters from the lighthouse and the parking lot was a further hundred meters or so from there. He reached the base of the light house when he realized that he was strangely not so worried now. The sleep had helped to ease his tensions and he felt transformed. Still making his way through the scattered rocks he joined the road. He could see the parking lot and the small police booth at some distance. Arnab walked up to the parking area and saw his bike at once. He was worried if it had been stolen but seeing it there relieved him. He took his seat and puffed away in silence and watched the eastern horizon turn deep violet. The dawn was breaking.

Arnab was deep in retrospect irrespective of the dull throbbing pain in his head. He had felt a change come over him from the last evening and felt the change was positive. He remembered his suicidal thoughts and felt he had crossed into the stage of acceptance. There were four phases of the mental state of human beings, he knew. When a person comes to know of some terrible misfortune “Denial” sets in, where they simply deny that the terrible incident actually took place. It could last for a minute to a year depending on the sufferer in question. Then there was the state of “Doubt”, wherein the sufferer starts to doubt whether the incident actually took place. Then “Uncertainty” follows, where the person finds that the incident might have had taken place but still has doubts but of much lower intensity. Finally, state of “Acceptance” sets in, when the person resigns to the incident.

The lights of the lighthouse went out. The eastern sky was pale grey now, turning steadily into faint white and then as if with an explosion the first rays of sun lighted up the eastern sky. Looking at the sunrise Arnab felt hope flooding his senses like the new day’s promise as the sky progressively turned from ash to blue. The whole incident took no more than a minute. He threw away the butt of the cigarette he had been puffing and which had presently died out. He watched for a while and when his eyes began to water from the intensity of the sunrays he kicked the machine to life.

A new day has dawned and Arnab would try again…

Do you cry too?

2005-11-15T17:53:00.000+05:30

Abhra watched the station of Yashwantpur pass as the train started rolling. He cast a last look at the landscape that was visible beyond the station walls and noticed the busy traffic. He took notice of the sad face of the little girl he had come to adore so much. Hena had been on the verge of tears. She clutched at the Bugs Bunny; she had earlier received as a gift from Abhra and lifted a silent but very meaningful eye at him as if to say “please don’t go”. Suzanne was waving but Abhra could tell she felt sad too. It was already getting dark and the lights of the city were starting to come on. It was a sight that he would remember and more because of Suzanne Mridul Iyyer. The thought of her had brought a lump in his throat and he felt heavy at heart. It seemed only yesterday that he had received the letter that was mistakenly sent to him…

***

He had received a letter from some Mridul Iyyer from Bangalore branch of his office stating him to perform a peer review on the report sent along with the mail. He had not understood a word of the letter neither could he get how it got to him in the first place. He then had looked up on the mail server address book and found that there were two Abhras listed; he had realized it had been sent to him by mistake and replied to the mail to that effect. He had received yet another such mail the following week. That time too he had politely sent the reply stating that he was not the intended recipient. When he had received a third mail from Mridul Iyyer he had not even bothered to open the attachment and had replied back rather urging the person (he had not been sure of the gender then and the name had not suggested the gender either) to stop mailing him every now and then. Abhra was not of those types who would send out mails without a thorough checking of the language, the idea and the tone the language conveyed, the spelling errors, the mailing list and so on. In a nutshell he was a perfectionist and never left anything for a further comment from his seniors. So, the idea of a person sending out project mails to him was unthinkable. Mridul had been very polite and apologetic in the reply. The mail thanked him for his continued help and also stated that Mridul had found Abhra’s mails reflected his cheerful disposition. Abhra had sought clarification feeling elated and thus their pen-friendship grew. It had been a whole month of courtesy good morning mails and other chit chats that they had first spoke, over the intra-organizational telephone network. Mridul, as Abhra had learnt then, was a lady of about thirty (much to his surprise as he had thought, by the name, that Mridul was some guy. It was later that he learnt her full name that he realized that she used her middle name for official purposes.) and was married. They had then exchanged their mobile numbers and kept in touch. While Abhra’s office colleagues jeered at him for having a married lady as a friend Abhra knew and felt that it was nothing to be ashamed of. A friend is a friend be of any age.

Their friendship had grown for about five months and Abhra had come to know about her in-laws, her husband and her little five year old daughter Hena, when Abhra was selected to be sent to Bangalore for some project requirements. It was then that Mridul had suggested that he should stay at her place. Abhra was not too sure if he should accept the invitation. It had been only five months and they have only spoken over the phone or had exchanged mails. They had not even seen each other. Abhra knew about facial expressions and body language, and he also knew that they were difficult to forge and therefore they would only give a true picture of a person. But to observe them you would have to meet the person and unless you meet the person you will never have those gut feelings about him/her that often turn true. He was skeptic about the invitation but agreed all the same. After all what had he to lose. Suzanne worked for the same company that he worked for; she was polite in her mails, could converse extremely well in flawless English, could empathize with the finer feelings of life, liked poetry, liked to go biking and feel the freedom, etc, etc. What had to fear for thought Abhra and decided to stay at her place.

He had been received at the Yashwantpur Station by Suzanne and her little daughter Hena. Abhra had immediately taken a liking for the kid. She was a sweet kid with an aura of innocence that is hard to come by amongst kids of her age. Kids were born wiser now often Abhra had thought. They seemed to know all about everything thanks to the age of information and idiot boxes! To a four year old Marukh Mann or Theity Pinta would be the role models, to them entertainment would mean watching the item numbers and dance along, to them reading story books were a taboo or even the good old Grandpa-Stories were a complete waste of time. But Hena seemed strangely like what normal kids would be like. Abhra knew about Suzanne’s father, who was a very good storyteller and also knew that Hena spent a considerable amount of time with her grandparents since both her parents were of working community. That would have been the reason for her sweet and innocent nature thought Abhra, or perhaps it was a regional occurrence. Abhra had remembered his niece in Kolkata who was about the same age as Hena and felt the glaring distinction.

Suzanne had a very calm and calculated and friendly outlook it had seemed to Abhra, as she deftly drove her way through the famous Bangalore Traffic snarls. They had talked about how excited they both were about this trip and how the mails had started a friendship that has resulted in this meeting. Hena had been intently following the conversation of the stranger she came to meet and when Abhra noticed she seemed to curl up in shyness. They had seen the VidhanaSauda, the lower house of the state parliament, the famous Lal Bagh, the Hosur Lake and the Museum on their way to Koramangala where Suzanne stayed. It was a Sunday and the PVR had stated to draw the crowd even at the early hours of morning. Abhra could make out the uniqueness of Bangalore he had heard so much about. The climate was like the most wonderful thing about Bangalore, and Abhra was in love with the city within the very first hour that he had arrived.

They had spent the day together. Sudhakar, Suzanne’s hubby, whom Abhra had met when he had arrived at Suzanne’s place, was a very jolly fellow. He was a scientist at the NAL (National Aeronautics Limited) and knew a little of Bengali, much to Abhra’s pleasure. They had gone out to the PVR where they had window shopped for an hour before Abhra bought a stuffed Bugs Bunny for Hena, who had been so overjoyed that she had kept springing on every step she took as if in a dance and continued to do so for the rest of the day. They had lunched at the Maharaja and then they went back to Suzanne’s place. They lived in a sprawling complex of three bed rooms of which one was allotted at his disposal. Tired and stuffed Abhra had rolled into a slumber. In the evening they had gone over to the PVR again and enjoyed a movie.

The following days passed rapidly, for Abhra had to work very hard for the requirement demanded it. He came back late accompanied by Suzanne on most of the days for she too had to work late to meet her unrealistic deadlines as she had put it. Then on Saturday Abhra accompanied by the whole family went to visit on Suzanne’s parents. Mr. Charles, Suzanne’s father, was indeed a very easy going personality and he started to converse with Abhra as if he knew Abhra for a long time. They had talked about Suzanne’s childhood, the climate of the city and the history of Bangalore and many more things that Abhra could not clearly recall but the overall visit was a huge success. Abhra met Suzanne’s brother Abraham who it seemed took pleasure in pulling Suzanne’s leg. They had discussed lots of incidents and Abhra had shared his’ too. They had their dinner there and had planned out the outing for Sunday. The food was prepared by Suzanne and Abhra admitted that she was indeed a fine cook.

Abhra had till Tuesday for the assignment and as it drew near he had felt his heart add on weight. He could not gauge it but his week long association with this family had moved him closer to Suzanne. Sunday they had gone out to see the city. They had visited the ISKCON temple and then they had lunch at the Nandini Chain of Hotels. Abhra had found the traditional North Indian food much palatable. He had been fed up with the South Indian dishes that had to be sour and contained the traditional South Indian sambhar daal and rasam. Then they had visited the NAL where Sudhakar worked. Abhra could not of course get to the more sensitive areas of the laboratory but he was satisfied with the tour his hosts had prepared for. They had then gone to Suzanne’s father’s place where Hena was dropped off and they proceeded to the famous and notorious M. G. Road. It was a sight to be remembered for the place seemed like buzzing with crowd. With neon lights and pubs all around, it was as if Abhra was in Las Vegas. They had taken on a small pub and had chattered away their time over pegs of strong liquor, with the music playing in the background. Abhra found a glaring difference in the way pubs are conducted in Kolkata. He had the opportunity to be at the Someplace Else, the pub in Kolkata that he had heard too many praises about, but it was dingy and played the music too loud. The girls, mostly of the student category were no doubt very different from what Abhra was accustomed seeing in Kolkata. There in Bangalore, it seemed, the girls were all from the US of America. They certainly dressed and behaved similarly and perhaps thought in the same lines as them, Abhra had said. Suzanne had endorsed his views and had remarked “You know Kolkata chicks become babes in Bangalore. The transformation is amazing and I had the opportunity to see one change myself”. Abhra had been taken aback by the comment but he had kept quiet. Suzanne by then had had a drink too much.

Tuesday had come. Suzanne had taken the day off for Abhra was to leave. Abhra could sense the heaviness that kept mounting till it was time to say goodbyes. Abhra had bid farewell to Sudhakar in the morning when he had left for work. Suzanne gave him a ride to the station. Abhra had carried pure cotton saree from Kolkata. He had decided to give it away on the occasion of farewell. At the station Abhra had presented the sari to Suzanne who was clearly overjoyed. Cotton sarees were costly in Bangalore Abhra had learnt then. He took his berth in the train and it was then that he received a Blazer from Suzanne. It was beautiful. Abhra had been wondering what was there in the bag that Suzanne had carried along with her, he knew then that it had the blazer in it. He was overcome with powerful emotions but he had steadied himself….

***

He could barely see the face of Hena now but that was not because of the distance. Abhra realized he had been crying and the tears blocked his vision. He felt like crying out loudly to ease the pain that had resulted from his attempts to hold back his tears. He could hardly breathe. It was strange that human mind can be attached to someone in a way to induce tears and that too in such a short time. Abhra remembered his initial fears and doubts. They seemed so futile now. As the train gathered speed and the station lights went out of view Abhra could not stand at the gate any longer. He went into the wash room and cried his heart out.

Sukher Sworgio totka

2005-11-15T14:44:00.000+05:30

aykbar prithibite darun gawndogol
ghumer bori,gawlai dori,suicide kanna sorgol

edike kailash-e babar nei heldol
awgotya ,parboti ese shib-ke bollo- o go ,otho ! mawrto je jai jai

shib du chokh kinchit fak kore bollo, ki holo? ei awbyalai dakle kyano?

mawrte bhison gawndogol
ghumer bori,gawlai dori,suicide kanna sorgol

kyano?mawrte abar ki holo?

mawrto pap ku-kawrme chheye gyache ,tai
atto-glani,pap-bodh,atto-hawnon

o! ei kawtha? nondi-ke dako

mayer dak shune ektu bade nondi elo

shib bollo,ei nondi shon!tui ar bhringi dujone prithibite ja
tarpor sawbar deho theke bibek ar mullobodh khule niye ai

jei bawla omni kaj
shanto prithibi shanto aj

Love in August...............(Part 3)

2005-11-14T10:33:00.000+05:30

*** 13th August 2005

10:45 AM.
---------

It was a holiday and Sailo woke up late. He was deeply into the morning newspaper after having a light breakfast when Subha came looking fussed up. He flung onto the bed and let out a deep sigh. Sailo sensed the symptoms... Subha had some terrible announcement so he folded up the newspaper and turned to face him expectantly.

“This came in today fifteen minutes ago.” Subha said and handed over his mobile phone.

“’thnks for ur concrn.got chnce in woodlands.they confirmed yesterday.’”- Sailo read aloud the message and gave out a soft whistle. Now everything was making sense to him. The game was on. He could not however understand why Subha was dejected. He went on to explain his theory.

“What did I tell you? She had everything fixed but had asked you to help.” Sailo said winking, “Look this is great news! Have you congratulated her? You should have done it.”

“You laugh and the world laughs with you. You cry and the world laughs even louder- is that what you are doing Sailo?” Subha snapped back.

“I suggest you let go that anger and listen...” Sailo said leaning forward “... give her a call and let her know that you are very happy that she has got through in Woodlands. Tell her anything and show that you are really relieved. Then, say goodbye, and make it sound very convincing as if this is your last call for the reason has ceased to exist to call her up again. Then see what happens.”

“What will happen?” Subha said sitting up now. “What will happen, Sailo? Will she say...'No no don't hang up dear Subha? I cannot live without you ... bla bla bla'“

“Trust me. I have never let you down, have I?” Sailo said sensing the sarcasm.

“Only that, I have never asked your help before... yes you have been very reliable... that is most comforting” Subha was furious. He could not see what Sailo was driving him into. It seemed they were daydreaming about this whole game thing.

“Okay but do trust me this time. I am sure the whole situation would be very clear once you can do it well.”

“Fine. I guess there is nothing more to do. So I will do it; repent all my life but I will do it. And I will let you know, you Smart-guy, Mr. Know-all.” Subha said resigning.

Subha went to the balcony for the signal was better there. He dialed. Sailo could make out his voice but not what he was saying... he was, for the first time, a bit tensed at his suggestion. He knew if the girl was interested she would not fail to see that it was a goodbye call and would do everything to stop this happening but if she was not... “God help me” he thought.

Subha came back into the room almost after a fifteen minute talk. He was frowning. “There is a problem. The authorities of Woodlands had obviously called her up and informed her about some problem. She has to go down there and sort it out. There is some problem with the dates. She said it was nothing very serious but some additional harassment...” Subha trailed off.

“Hooray! Subha you are in! YOU ARE DEFINITELY IN. Congratulations man! You have won yourself a pretty girlfriend. I am envious” Sailo burst out relieved.

“What the heck? Why do you say so? You are not joking are you?” Subha demanded indignantly. “What is her problem got to do with this?”

“Don't you see she has kept an avenue open for you to enquire again? Don’t you see it?” Sailo was now smiling.

Realization set in. It took Sailo a Herculean effort to draw out the conclusion to Subha's satisfaction but at last Subha saw logic in the explanation. Sailo was right. He had tried to say the goodbye with a lot of conviction and then she fell silent for a moment... Loss of signal perhaps Subha had thought, but then she started with her latest problems saying about the alleged call and the harassment she would have to undergo... She did not say all these when Subha had congratulated her but waited till he had said the parting words. Subha began to see the logic Sailo had laid and he too felt like his former self again. Hopes began to rise and he was seeing light again.

“You might be right” he said at length, “but what now? She has started a new episode altogether. What do I do Sailo?”

“Send her the mushiest SMS you can think of and wish her all the luck. Also mention that you would like to know the status of this problem when it is addressed”

“Now you are talking.” Subha smiled and started the composition immediately. “What do I write?”

“That is something that you have figure out yourself for it has to be original...” said Sailo.

Subha stopped for a moment and looked at his friend. The cool and calculated and always-right fellow was very much unlike him and yet he seemed so wise and so much ahead of his years. Subha wished many a times under different circumstances he could be like his friend. That was one such moment. Sailo was not a very hard working and exercise crazy types and therefore he was of more than normal gait. He was, what doctors would call, slightly overweight. With a round face and oval shaped glasses he looked no more than sixteen but his eyes were bright and intelligent and often Subha could read a lot of expressions in his eyes. It was almost as if he could speak with them. When Subha had met Sailo, he had been much heavier and it was Subha's constant nagging that Sailo has trimmed down a bit resulting from his controlled diet. Sailo was fearful of exercising and Subha's repeated insistence to Sailo to join him in his jogging had been fruitless. He was the late-riser types. Subha remembered his more important work at hand and proceeded to write a romantic SMS for the first time in his life.

8:40 PM.
--------

It was adda at Sailo's place and Subha was chattering loudly about the recent developments. Raja was listening attentively. He was Subha's friend since childhood. Raja had come to Sailo’s place with Subha and since then he too had taken a liking to him. Raja was adding comments here and there, clarifying the details where Subha had missed out when the SMS came. Subha opened it with obvious expectancy and made a face that suggested he had been taken for a ride. Sailo leaned right and tried to read the message when Subha handed the phone out to him with a puzzled expression.

“'Thiking about me? Actually I am also doing the same. Ha ha.'” Sailo read aloud for the benefit of all present. “Well, well, well. It looks like she has dropped her guard. I can hardly expect this SMS from a stranger... What say you Raja?”

“True. It sounds like she is enjoying the confusion. You can ask her out now” said Raja, “or at least make unannounced phone calls.”

Sailo had recovered from the state of confusion and felt clear headed. Sailo was right yet again. He could not believe the ease with which he had been able to conduct this whole affair... it was almost surreal. Thanks to Sailo's vast experience in dealing with the fairer sex, he could not have made it even to the first SMS stage without him.

As if reading his thoughts, Sailo asked “So when are we to get the treat we deserve? Next Saturday okay with you Raja?” It was just a courtesy question. Sailo knew Raja would postpone anything for a treat; but he had to make sure that Subha would not give them a miss. As expected Raja had any problems but the host Subha himself protested.

“Let us not count our chickens before they hatch...” he tried, “Letting me get the facts straight and then perhaps...”

“No excuses Subha, you miser” added Raja, “Remember you had promised me a treat, which never materialized, when you get through in Joint? I still remember; so no lax this time. Next Saturday it is.”

“Yes next Saturday” two cried out together.

“But, Guys this is not even a date it is just a harmless SMS” Subha protested.

“Okay. If say, you go out with Deboti within the next Saturday then? Would you still not treat us?” said Sailo, his eyes taking that unusual glitter.

Subha knew Sailo has decided upon the next course of action and it was probably to make him go out with Deboti by the next week. He was excited. “Tell me what do you have in mind?”

“First things first, reply the SMS with an affirmation and say something very poetic. If I am not mistaken, she is in a romantic mood right now and you should hit the iron when it is hot. Then I will tell you what to do.”

Subha had been thinking in the same lines and he set off to reply. Raja poured over his screen watching with rising excitement at the prospect of playing the mediator in such sensitive and important times. When the reply was sent Subha turned to his “guiding light” as Raja had put it.

“The next time you meet her or call her up do make sure you get her college schedule. If she has a busy schedule and cannot bunk classes then try to meet on the 15th, it is a holiday, so no college, and go out to some eatery if possible. Get her to talk and I am sure you will have your date. I would suggest The Scoop”

“Remember to sound assertive” Raja chipped in.

Subha felt like he was a seven year old, being warned of the dangers associated with talking to strangers, but he was prepared to let his friends take him on if the prize was Deboti. Only the other day he had heard the song by some Ronan Keating. It was particularly very catchy and it seemed to have captured all of Subha's feelings. It was something like “It's amazing how you could speak right to my heart... Without saying a word, you can light up the dark... “ he did not know the words well but he felt in harmony with the feelings it expressed. He decided to try his luck with the setting up of a date with Deboti.

“Sleep well” Sailo said when they parted at the gate.

*** 14th August 2005

10:00 AM.
---------

“Sailo?”

“Yes”

“I am afraid, THE TREAT IS ON!! “Shouted Subha, at the other end of the phone.

Sailo had to take the receiver away from his ears for the benefit of his ear drum, but the news had registered and he felt almost Godly. This was the first time he has ever provided his expertise in dealing with women for someone else. He felt relieved. Having had to bear in mind the constant pressure that he was in ... from his experience he knew affairs could ruin friendships and create misunderstandings. Had this idea of his' backfired, he had no doubt that there would have been tensions between him and Subha. He took on the risk for he knew Subha and wished him well. He knew Subha was very serious about his likings and this girl, Deboti had bowled him over. “So what did you plan and when are you going out?”

“Tomorrow.” Subha said triumphantly “and this would have never been possible without you.... I simply cannot thank you enough... “

“No ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’ in friendship.” Sailo cut him short “Wish you all the very best of luck.”

There was a pause and Subha seemed to be breathing heavily. When he spoke, the voice sounded somewhat choked “Sailo, you may be offended but I HAVE to thank you for what you have done. Had I been your position I would not have taken up the trouble of guiding you. You have helped me immensely. If this affair is to continue it would be solely because you have helped me overcome the toughest period of the courtship, 'making an impression'. I know I can handle from here on but I will never forget what you have done.”

“Okay! Save something for the treat too ...” said Sailo and they broke into a laugh.

*** 6th November 2005

8:00 PM.
--------

“Deboti, meet Sailendra alias Sailo... Sailo meet Deboti”

“Alias?” quizzed Sailo with a charming smile. “Nice to meet you Deboti”

“Nice to meet you too...” she said with a sweet voice “He always talks so highly of you, and keeps telling me that someday he will make me meet you because of something very special you did to help him out when he fell in love with me.”

“Oh that’s a loooong story and perhaps the evening would be spoiled if we start once again.”

Subha’s eyes met Sailo's and they winked.

**** End****

The Trekkers

2005-11-12T19:38:00.000+05:30

The Group

These links give interesting info on Lava- rishap - kalimpong, the places where we went

http://www.trekearth.com/gallery/Asia/India/East/West_Bengal/kalimpong/photo112172.htm
http://www.wb.nic.in/westbg/kalimpong.html

http://www.east-himalaya.com/darjeeling/rishap.htm

http://www.bengalweb.com/wbtour/wbentou9.html

Antakshari around the Camp fire

View of kanchanjunga from Rishap Valley

Lava-Rishap-Kalimpong: a La Travelogue

2005-11-12T13:20:00.000+05:30

Just tried my hands on a travalogue of our recent trip from the Adventure & trekking Club... I'll be happy to hear from you ;-) Kasi

What would you expect from a group of 23-some enthusiastic junta from their trekking expedition? Well lots, lots, lots of fun and 'real adventure', of course! Exactly, that's what we experienced in the Lava- Rishap- Kalimpong sojourn during 3/11 to 7/11 with around 86 hours of excitement and making friends all the way. And boy, it was awesome!

Going chronologically, the members started to Siliguri through the NBSTC Rocket Bus on 3/11/2005 (Thursday) at 8 p.m from the Esplanade Bus Station (Pls bear with my date and time details then and there, as I intended to capitulate these details too in this travelogue)

4/11/2005 (Friday)

We reached Siliguri at around 10 am amidst all the thuds along the bumpy road sessions of the rocket. After getting fresh and having brunch or lunch (as applicable to the individual), close to 1.30 pm, we started our scenic trip to Lava through a Swaraj Mazda van. Took a small stopping at the water falls after the Dantak Valley with some memorable snaps! The van reached Lava by 5 pm after heaps of hair pin bends and curves. The co ordinators – Sujoyda and Dipakda benevolently took care of hotel and lodging arrangements as well as synchronized the team all the way through . After the garam samose and chai, in clusters, evening walk started among us. People did flock the STD booths and did simple shopping of hats, bags etc. Then we had congregated back at the Unique Inn Hotel for the adda and dinner.

5/11/2005 (Saturday)

After the super-chill-thick-blanket-covered sleep followed by morning walk, lots of us had a darshan of the monastry with its striking landscape at Lava. By 10.30 am, we assembled at the Lava Jeep stand and a guide (Prem) was arranged. Debi da, Anita di steered the group all the way and co ordinators profusely guided us through the 'Mission Rishap'. Accompanied with gossip, fun and photos, wading through the jungle, we reached the interim point Tiphandhara (donno if I've spelled right). From a podium over there, an astounding view of Kanchanjunga delighted us. From there, we moved down the hill to reach Rishap by ~ 4 pm. Rishap, being less inhabited, looked as though specially made for a group like us. No doubt, the serene and calm environs gave tranquility to the mind. In fact, the entrance to Rishap itself was beautiful with its flora. We then went to our Lodge Hotel Snow View on the face of a dazzling valley. Yeah, by this time all of us were pretty hungry. A walk around the valley bypassed the time and hunger when the lunch was being prepared by the Snow View people. On returning back, we certainly were delighted with food which was worth the wait. Later, the evening started with the eventful masti bhari Antakshari around the campfire. I guess it certainly is still afresh in all of us. Veterans of gaane— Subhashish, Debashish, Anita di et. al added more glitter the event. Debi da constantly extended the camp fire with his periodical wood block inputs into the flames. Finally antakshari ended in a neutral verdict. Post dinner, everyone slept only to wake up soon to see the sun rise.

6/11/2005 (Sunday)

Time: 5.30 am. Most of the people flocked outside their rooms to see and capture the spectacular sun rise and sun rays through Kanchanjunga. As somebody rightly told, it certainly was 'a feast to the eyes'. Later by around 10 am, by means of 3 jeeps, we started to Lava through the narrow muddy hill roads (literally showered!) with stones and gravels. Yippee, these drivers were really talented! From there, we headed towards Kalimpong and reached there by around 12 noon. Armed with 3 vehicles, we went around the 7 minus 2 points sight seeing – Forest Musuem, Cantonment Golf Course (it remembers me how we took the snaps in a hurry burry there), View point (yeah that suicide point only!), Monastery and finally the Nursery. After lunch, by around 3.30 pm, we started to Siliguri in a Swaraj mazda van again. It felt as leaving something behind and going…. Siliguri was reached within 2.5 hours. Had enough time to hop around the shops outside Siliguri Bus Station as the Kolkata Bus departure time was at 7.30 pm. Some of us had been to the famous Hong Kong Market there and lots many bought Chai Patthi. Later we boarded the Kolkata Rocket bus, which was more spacious and comfortable than the one with which we came. Nevertheless, the roads were the same to give us the same disco shake! Raghu da promptly provided all with gangajal mineral water packs. Tarun and co. entertained the people with their bhoot stories in the back of the bus!

7/11/2005 (Monday)

Dawn came. As Kolkata was nearing, every one started bidding adieu at their respective destination. Really it was touching to part with the sweet memories cherished…..

Still the vivid memories of the bus ka discotheque, garam chai and momo, monastery,trek to Rishap, expedition to valleys, camp fire, Antakshari, Sun rise and rays thru kanchanjunga , jeep ride from rishap-lava-kalimpong, 5 points trip, 'Punjab restaurant experience (!)', and not to forget the Bhuter golpo…continues to hang around in all of us.

Love in August...............(Part 2)

2005-11-11T16:57:00.000+05:30

9:10 AM.

--------

Subhankar was nervous. He could feel his palms go moist with as he neared the bus stop. Benefits of his low BMR, a direct consequence of his regular exercise, seemed to have deserted him and he felt very awkward within. What if she was not on the bus like the last two days? What if Deboti was on the bus and refused to hold the bag? He thought about it and then smiled... at least that would give him some solace that he tried... yes, Sailo was right a contact has to be made before anything else sets in. All he needed was a good conversation so that he may present his case before her.

He saw the bus come to a stop and to his surprise and relief the bus had no seats left. It happened very rarely as he boarded the bus form the stop next to the stand. Usually there would be seats but today there were none... he had never believed in the forecast section of the Telegraph magazine but he had looked it up yesterday after he had made up his mind to go through with Sailo's suggestion. The magazine promised new and exiting adventures, making new friends and lots of travel this week... perhaps this would be the new adventure, thought Subha. With all these thoughts he boarded.

There she was; sitting by the window of the seat reserved for the handicapped... Subha felt his heart skip a beat. He boarded and gave a customary glance around as to see if there were any places to sit and then stood near the first row of the mini bus. Did she show any interest? Did she just steal a glance? Subha broke into a cold sweat thinking what he was about to do. He looked around as if to find some support but he knew he had to do it alone and NOW!

“Hi Deboti, Could you please hold my bag?” he spoke. The tension seemed to have evaporated and a void filled the space. Now he has done it! There was no turning back now...for as a boy he had experience what words could do once they left the mouth and there was no turning it back.

Deboti glanced his way and accepted the bag. “Sure...” she said... looking uncertain “... Subhankar isn't it?”

Subha was impressed. This is after some very long time that a stranger had remembered his name. Generally people forget the name of the introduced person after a few days of introduction if they happened to have no business with them. She obviously had a good memory, Subha noted with rising relief of having passed the initial hurdle of breaking the ice. “You do have a good memory...” Subha began, “... I did not think you would recall my name... Thank you”

“What for...?”

“The bag was really heavy you see...” Subha managed the goof up.

“Oh!” she said and looked out of the window.

What Deboti did not know was the fact that Subha carried the same bag for the last four years. When Subha had first met Sailo in the bus 3A/1 on his way to Medical College four years back, he had refused to hand the same bag over saying it was okay and he was used to it. Today however it was a different story. The idea was to hand over the bag even if you could carry it perfectly. Subha made a mental note of the first white lie he had spoken, later he could clarify if things were favorable. As much as he hated speaking anything but truth he still had carefully prepared for this bout of questioning if occasion demanded. He could say anything today to seek attention. Mentally he thanked Sailo for preparing him for all the eventualities. He was confident that he could identify the signals that would decide which way the conversation would go, and take corrective measures if it went for bad. Subha was more prepared today than he had been when he sat for his medical entrance examination (JEE). Come problems...There is a solution waiting.

Deboti, it seemed, had taken a new outlook to the world outside the window. She stared out as if she had never seen the passing stores and bus stops. “Damn! What to do now?” thought Subha. “Nothing” replied some warning voice inside him and he heeded. There was hardly anything that could be done now. He has played the ball to her court and there is nothing to do now but to wait for some return. The initial euphoria Subha felt, of having made the contact, was dying now. He tried standing casually and a look as if he had no definite purpose, but that, he felt, made him rigid and panicky. A thousand thoughts gathered in his mind... The whole idea of this adventure filled him with a strange enlightenment; it is a game he thought, if you are to play it with the spirit of the game you will not be hurt even if you lose, if however, you win there are prizes to your hearts' content.... Sailo where are you my friend? Help me.

The journey was uneventful except when Deboti had looked his way for some fleeting moments. Their stop came and Subha collected his bag. He had hoped the conversation would go further but Deboti had handed him over his bag without a word. He had mumbled a word of thanks but she seemed not to have heard him. Disembarking from the bus, Subha took to his usual hurried walking. It was then he heard his name called aloud from behind him. Subhankar felt he was on the verge of a triumph and turned to face the hurrying figure behind him. Deboti came up to him while he waited with his heartbeats playing funny games.

“Sorry to call you like this and bother you... but I need some help” she said.

Subhankar would have robbed a bank had she asked him right then to so.

“Yes, tell me what I can do for you?” he replied with his professionalism setting in. After all he was a doctor and he was there to help everyone, he thought.

“I am doing a project on Health and Nutrition and I am yet to find a good medical institute that can help me complete my assignment... You are a Doctor so I thought maybe...”

“Okay I will see if I can place you in Medical College and if that is okay with you?” Subha replied. “It’s my college and I think I can influence the people to get them to help you... but I am not promising... there are difficulties ... I will see what I can do”.

Subha stared at her and felt a sense of despair. He was not a great conversationalist but desperate situations needed desperate measures. Thinking of nothing more to say but the burning need to carry on the conversation, he ventured “This is not very proper; I wish you could come to the hospital and we could sit and talk rather than stand here.”

“No actually I have a class from 10:00 and I must hurry for I am already late” Deboti replied checking her watch which showed it was 10:10 AM. “Oh yes, can I have your mobile number please... you can take down mine it is 94331 07655. I will get in touch regarding the placement... so long.”

Subha wished she could stay a bit longer as she hurried off towards her college. He would immediately seek out the information and let her know about it he thought as he moved towards his own destination. Time seemed to have lost dimension and suddenly he was not feeling the humidity. The skies have started taking a menacing texture and the humidity soared. It would rain, he thought looking at the gathered cloud, and what a perfect day to rain down. He went up to a tea stall and took a seat. His thoughts were in turmoil and the excitement seemed unbearable. The handing of the bag has worked wonders...just like Sailo had guessed it would. Sailo could not have predicted the exact reaction but he was surely very close. He started dialing Sailo... “My God! Sailo you are a genius!! You are a Love Guru! You are a soul reader...” he started.

9:30 PM.

--------

The brainstorming was now over and so was the drizzling that had started around noon. It had been a very animated discussion and had someone chanced to see Subha and Sailo at it, they would have mistaken it as a quarrel. The point of contention was in the uncertainty of the outcome of the whole affair... Sailo was certain that the fire has started at both the ends and they are of the equal intensity while Subha was more pessimistic, perhaps from the ease with which he was able to get the contact details. He had argued that it was just some help that Deboti had wanted and there was no scope of any further conjectures while Sailo had insisted that Deboti had given her number to him for she too was interested, otherwise no girl would give out her contact details to some stranger. Subha wanted to believe the explanation but was not sure whether to take it very seriously. He was losing his interest to think hard for he had hardly slept last couple of days.

“It is a classic example of a person in Love ...” Sailo had quipped. “First you lose sleep because you are in love and you cannot think of anything else. Then you will lose your sleep again when the affair is going steady in the fear of losing her. Finally you will become an insomniac when she leaves you...”

Subha had taken the remark with sufficient humor but he felt the truth behind it. That he could not sleep was true. He only never thought the reason behind it. He had heard of people losing sleep when they fall in love but had never thought it was possible...there was no medical explanation. But it was happening and he cannot deny it. He had even missed his jogging and stretching today and it has happened after almost a whole year. Last time he was down with fever... and now...Love?

“What do you think I should do?” he enquired. “Shall I call her up to let her know that I have arranged the induction to the Medical College?”

“Wait! My dear friend, you are missing the subtle points in the game. The idea is not to show you are head over heels or she might end up on top.” said Sailo with conviction. He was after all a veteran and he knew the human psychology like the back of his hand. It had taken a lot of refusals, a lot of pains to be where he was but it was worth it, he thought, more because he could help his friend out. He was certain that Subha is in luck and the girl has also responded predictably. He knew the importance of waiting in this game and the importance of subtle timings. After all it is just for a few initial days that this game has to be continued. “All will set in perfectly at the end and then there would not be the need for playing it on. Once the making-impression period was over, nothing else matters.”

“When do you think I can call her up?” Subha asked impatiently. “Tomorrow?”

“No. You don't call. It was her need so let her call”

“What if she doesn't?”

“If she doesn't call by tomorrow you SMS her with the news but don't call.” warned Sailo, knowing very well that his friend would not heed this particular warning. “If you call you will hardly have any reason to show...”

“Okay.” Subha nodded. “And what do you think she would do?”

“If I am not very mistaken Subha, she doesn't even need the information you have collected with so much importance.” said Sailo with a twinkle in his eyes. “I am sure that her college seniors would have provided her with ample guidance and she happens to be from one of the best of institutions. Her college would have surely endorsed her with some connections. It is hard to imagine otherwise. Nevertheless, a clever way to get the contact going...don't you see it? She has played her part and well too! All that you have to decide is when to return the ball again for her to plan her next response...”

“You have some imagination! But I am afraid this is just a speculation. On a broader and more general view I think she really wanted my help” reasoned Subha. “I admit that she has acted very unpredictably but then she might have been in dire need for that information. No. No Sailo, I think I should let her know what I have found out.”

“Go ahead then do what you like and spoil it” Sailo tried one last time “if you reply too soon she will know she has you in the bag. You will send her the news but all I advise you is to wait for about 24 hours...just 24”.

Sailo's mother announced that the dinner was ready and they left the discussion at that.

*** 12th August 2005

10:45 PM.

---------

“No news yet” Subha said clutching the handset harder, “Sailo, the situation doesn't seem good does it?”

“Arrey don't let it consume your thoughts...” Sailo said comforting, in the last two days he has always been able to guess what Deboti might do. This was possible for Subha had been a very good observer... they had discussed her every reaction and every expression as Subha had described. It seemed that she really did not want the information after all as he had predicted... Someone in need will always look up all the avenues before giving up and by the lack of communication from her side it seemed she really did not care. “Send her the information tomorrow at around 11:00 AM.”

“Why that late? I can do it at 9:00 if I meet her”

“Because, you fool, it would then suggest you had the information yesterday and decided to pass it over today” snapped Sailo, “you will update me what happens.. ok?”

“Okay Saab. I'll do it”

Kokil O Chil ( Part 3 of 3)

2005-11-11T10:58:00.000+05:30

Kokillllllll !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-Childi !!!!!!!!!!Kokil-r du chokh anonde bheshe gyalo -akash theke neme elo bishal khoiri Childi.

Kyamon achish Kokil???? Toke du sawpta dekhi na.Aj dekhe bhishon bhalo lagche.

Kokil-r mone pore gyalo du sawpta ager kawtha.Se din o esechilo kak-r body language study korte kintu kak sedin chilo na.Tar poribawrte hawtat sedin akash theke neme elo awdbhut
dekhte aykta pakhi.Serokom pakhi kokil kono din dyakhe ni.Chil-r theke bawro kintu Indrajal Comics-e pawra Betal-r Baj-r mawto hingsro noi.Gayer rawng kichuta khoiri kichuta
noshshi .Chokh duto tawktawke lal.

Kokil prothome ektu ghabre giyechilo.Pakhir bhawyonkawr sundor rup dekhe o takabe na palabe thik bhebe pachchilo na.Kintu kichu bhabar agei pakhita oke bolechilo, Tui Kokil ????

Kokil-r kawtha bawndho hoye gyalo.O janto posha moina,kakatua kawtha bolte jane kintu ta bole erokom awdbhut jongli pakhi??

Kokil-ke beshi kichu bhabte na diyei pakhita bolechilo, ki awto bhabchish re meye?? Ami Chilka Lake-r pare thaki.Tui amai Childi bole dakbi.

-kintu tomar bawyesh kawto ?Kokil kichu na bhebei bolechilo.

Bawyesh diye ki hawbe re??? Tui ekush,ami panch.Tui ki tai bole amai Chilu Chilu bole dakbi ??? Marbo tene ayk thappor!!!
Shon re meye ,bagher bachcha,bachcha holeo bagh ar gadha buro holeo gadha.Sawb sawmoi bawyesh bawyesh korbi na !!Eta bollam bole abar kal theke jyano parar sawb buro burike
nam dhore dakish na!

Shanto kokil kichu na bhebei sai diyechilo Childi-r kawthai-Achcha baba achcha !! Ami tomake Childi bolei dakbo.Besh bhaloi holo.Amar to nijer kono dada didi nei.Tomai peye bhaloi holo.

Childir sei bhalobasha bhawra bawka Kokil-r besh bhaloi legechilo se din.

Ki re Kokil !!! Kane kawtha jachche na??? Toke jiggesh korlam na kyamon achish?????- khekiye uthlo Childi !!

Childir dhawmok kheye Kokil purbo diner sriti chere bawrtomane eshe gyalo nimeshe.-Bhaloi achi go Childi.Dibbi chole jachche din. amader route-r Mini Bus-r tyre-r mawton dibbi egiye cholechi.

Ki???? Ki jata bolchish re Kokil??? Mini Bus-r mawton mane?? jiggesh korlo Childi.Heyali chere soja bhashai bawl !!

-Babba !! Ki holo go tomar Childi?? Heyali ki tomar ayakar?? Eta thik noi Childi.Upohash je kawre upohash take soiteo jante hoi.Tumi prothom din awto heyali korle ar aj ami ektu heyali
korlei dosh???Ami bollam je protiniyoto amar kawlpona,asha,swawpner fola tyre-e jawto futo
puncture hochche sawbgulo myaramawt kore fer ami amar Mini Bus namiye dichchi daily route-e.

hmmm...tor awnek unnoti hoyeche dekchi ei du shawptai.Nischoi tui sawsta anondo dewa nam kawra publisherder chhapano prem-r pyan-pyanani gawlpo pawra komiye bhalo boi porchis.

-thik dhorecho go Childi

hmmm

-achcha Childi,tumi hootoom pyachar mawton majhe moddhei kono kawtha na bole hm hm kawro kyano go???

Seta janle pawre tor peyare Sourav ar Sachin New Zealand-e giye off stump-r baire khali khocha diye diye out hoto na.Cricket-e kichu unplayable ball thake jegulo sawmbhawb hole chere dewai sreyo.Serokomi kawthopokawthon-eo kichu kawtha shune jete hoi chupchap.Tora beshir-bhag meyerai ami dekhechi sawb kawthari kichu na kichu uttor dish.Kan ar matha khub
kawmi tora byabohar koris ar nirawbota ki jinish tato janishi na.

Ami tor kono kawthai hmm hmm korlam manei kintusheta off stump-r baire durdhawrsho out swinger nasawb sawmoi.Hoito ball-ta bhishoni wide.Off stump-r dawsh hat dur diye jachche.Kintu ajkalkar chele-meyeguloke dekhi wide ball-keo tara kore slip-e catch diye chokher jawl felte felte pavilion-e fere.

-Se tumi hoito thiki bolecho Childi.Jano to Childi,kalke ami Yahoo-te aykta chat room-e gan gaichilam.Tawkhon amai aykta lok awkarone baje baje galagali dilo.Ayamon bollo je shunle
pawre sawkaler khaowa biscuit ar cha gawla diye beriye asbe.Shune amar bhishon kanna peyechilo go Childi.

Hmm..tor ja matha tate kore tor byatha pabari kawtha.Are baba,chiria-khanai jawkhon bador toke dekhe dat mukh khichoi tawkhon ki tui mone byatha pash???Jar ba jader proti tor onurag ache kyabol matro tarai tor opor rag korle tor mone byatha paowar kawtha.Tor ki sei baje loktar proti kono durbawlota ache??

- dhutt !!! tumi je ki bawlo na !!!Asole ami byaparta awto gobhir bhabe bhabi ni.Baba ma bhai bondhu keu-i to asole amai jata kichu bawle na.Tai kharap legechilo amar.

Ore baba mawsha jawkhon kamrate thake tawkhon ki se shuo-rani,duo-rani farak kawre?? Tui o niye ar khawbordar bhabish ne.Corporation-r jawnjaler gari dekhe mon kharap korish ne.Ta hya re,tor gawlai ki thanda legeche naki re???

- Na to !! kyano?? -awbak hoye bollo Kokil.

Tui jei bhabe tor ornata gawlai pechiye rekhechish tate kore bhablam bujhi tor gawlai thanda legeche.Ornata jaiga mawton pore ne.Shiter pawronto byala.Buk-e thanda lege jabe.

- Babba !! tumi to dekchi reserved forest-r conservative pakhi. !!Tumi ki Afghanistan-e thakte naki ?? Esawb Talibani fatowa hawtat sonachcho je amai??? Eta ki nari shadhinawtor biruddhacharon hoye jachche na ektu??

Shon Kokil !! Ami jani na toder ei Kolkatar rastai kawta dhawrmer shar ghure byarai kintu Kashi-r rastar mor-e mor-e awnek shar.Sekhane jodi kono meye lal rawnger sari pore
nari shadhinawtar dhawja tulte chai to seta kawtota sahoshikawta ar kawtota nirbudhdhita amar ghor sawndeho ache.

-hmm

He He !! tokeo to Hutum pyacha kamralo re dekhi Kokil !khil-khiliye hese uthlo Childi.Ei jonnoi to toke ayato bhalobashi.Ayato bawka-jhawka kori.Tui mon diye amar kawtha shunish ar bujhle pawre manish bolei to toke ami ayato kichu boli.Noito oi pawcha kak-ke jodi boli je ka-ka na kore bhai sa-sa kawr to o sawb shunbe chokh-duto gulli-gulli kore.Tarpor sawb shune ka-ka korte kortei fer ure chole jabe sawbar kan jhala-pala kore.Ta hya re Kokil, tui ager din bolchili na tor kon ayk bondhu Rimjhim-r kawtha?? Or biye niye naki ki aykta jhamela hochche?

-Rimu-r biyeta bhenge gyalo go Childi.Cheleta awnno aykta meyeke biye korbe bole thik koreche.Rimu tai bhishon bhenge poreche.Gawto char mas dhore oder biyeta motamuti thik hawbar pawr thekei oder moddhe roj ratre phone-e kawtha hoto.Tarpor biyer tarikh jawkhon prai paka hoye gyalo tawkhon cheleta kono karon na dekhiyei arekta patrike biye korbe bole thik korlo.Meyeta shunechi khub shundori.Rimu tai khub bhenge poreche go.

Ete bhenge pawrar ki ache ami thik bujhlam na re Kokil.Tor Rimu-r baba ma-r jyamon cheletar salary-r rup dekhe patro bachar odhikar ache tyamoni cheletaro patrir sawrbango dekhe
take bachar odhikar ache.Tui jawkhon Gariahat-e poisha diye kono sari kinte jas tawkhon tui hajarta shari ulte palte sari bachish na??

kintu ta bole biye thik hoye jabar pawre??

rakh tor biye thik.Ajkal to sawb advertisement board-ei dekhi bishal bishal protisrutir niche chotto kore conditions apply.Rimur kawtha thak.Tui nijer biye niye kichu bhabis ni?

-Dhurr !! Awto biye biye koro na to Childi !! osawb ma baba jane.

Bah bah !! Garihat-e giye nijer sari,salwar,choti nijei pawchondo kore kinish ar jibon songir byalai baba ma?? Tor kache tar mane jinishta ayatotai guruttohin???Naki branded jama-kaporer juge chokh bawndho kore bhawrosha kawra jai sawb kichui??

-Na ..mane..baba ma to byaparta bhalo bhabe bujhbe,Kokil ektu amta amta kore bollo.

Tor baba-ma-r ki arranged marriage?? Childi rege jiggesh korlo.

-hya go,Kokil korun sawre bollo.

hmmm..awrthat tor baba ma nijeder jiboner ekti bhishon gurutto-purno siddhanto nijera niye uthe pare ni.Awthocho,sei tarai pochish bawchor byabodhane awnner hoye ayaki rawkom
gurutto-purno siddhanto nebe.Hmm..bawyesh barle gadhao tahole ghora hoi dekchi.

-dhyatt!!! tumi amar baba ma-ke gadha bolle???

Are baba,gadha koi bollam re Kokil?? Ora to ayakhon Afghan ghora .

-Achcha Childi !!tumi to bhari awdbhut.Tumi arranged marriage-r ayato biruddhe kyano?? Amar baba-ma,pishi-pishe,eder sawbari to biye guru-jonera thik kore diyechilen.Era to bes sukhei achey go.

Orey amar Kokil,tahole shon puro kawtha.Tui jodi duto alsatian-ke ayk shathe chere dis to oder moddhe jhawgra lagbei lagbe .Ar jodi sap o neul-ke ayk kore dish jor kore to aykta morbei.Kintu tui jodi duto chagol-ke pashapashi bedhe rakhish to ora dekhbi dibbi sukhei ghash chibiye khabe sara din.
Ajkal meyeder beshi bawyese biye hoi bolei ayato jhamela.Agekar din-e tora awlpo bawyese shoshur bari jetish .Tai jhamela kawm hoto.Tui dekhish ni kukur ar beral-r bachcha ayk sathe bawro hole oder moddhe kono shotruta thake na??Jak ge bad de,byaparta bes golmele.Ajkal to abar dekchi arranged love marriage cholche.Bes golmele.Alochona korte gele rat hoye jabe.Lake-r edikta abar bhalo na.

-Ei dyakho!Tomake jiggesh kortei bhule gechi Childi.Tumi kothai chile go ayato din??? Asoni kyano ei kaw din???

Ami urchilam re bhai akashe,bolte bolte Childi ektu gombhir hoye gyalo.Aykta lal rawnger ghurir sathe besh bhab hoye giyechilo.Roj bikele ghurita urto akashe.Urte urte awnek uchuteuthe jeto.Amio urtam otar pasha-pashi,otar sathe palla diye.Kintu char pach din hoye gyalo ghurita ar ore na akashe.Ami bhabtam otao bujhi amari mawton awdbhut aykta
pakhi.Pawre jante parlam ota orai manush nich theke,suto diye.Tai chole elam fer urte urte tor kache .

-----------------------

Ei tui kothai re Kuhu???

Mobile-r ring hawtat jagiye dilo Kokil-ke.

Ajke Botanical Garden bus stand-e ayktao bus chilo na.Prai ayk ghawnta daranor pawr bus elo.Tarpor bus-e uthei chokher pata bhari hoye elo.

Bus tawkhon Rabindra Sadan-r pash diye choleche.Rastai awnek chele meye.Akash isawt lal.KOkiler mon udas hoye gyalo.Koler opor pore roilo Manik-r Diba Ratrir Kabbo.
****************************

Kokil O Chil ( Part 2 of 3)

2005-11-11T10:56:00.000+05:30

Choto kaka Kokil-ke choto thekei bhishon bhalobase kintu Kokil majhe majhei bhabe se Kaka-ke kawtota bhalobase.Chokh buje awnekkhon bhebeo Kokil onubhawb korte pare na kono bhalobashar tibro chora tan.Tai Kokil-r majhe majhei mone hoi se hoito bhishon sarthopawr.Bhalobasar binimawye kauke bhalobaste pare na o.Kintu jor kore kikore kauke bhalobasbe se bidya se Nillohit-r awnek prem-r uponyash poreo shikhte pare ni.

Kokil ayaka thakte bhishon bhalobase.Ayaka ayaka bose ,shuye shuye o eta sheta habijabi awnek kichu bhabte pare,bhalobase.Tai beshi bondhu na thakleo Kokil-r sawmoi besh
kete jai.Bhabnatei or diner shuru,bhabnatei shesh.

Kakar dewa body Language-r boita shesh korei Kokil College Street chole gyalo. Tarpor Chatterjee-Chakraborty ar Rupa-r show room ghure ghure o aro tinti boi kine fello body language-r opor. Bari firei o gograse porte thaklo boi-gulo.Porte porte kawlponar fanush-e chore awnek kichu bhabte laglo.Bhishon romancho bodh korlo.Mone holo manusher sharirik awngo-bhongi theke jodi tar moner bhab jana jai tahole to poshu pakhir awngo-bhongir khetreo bidyata karjokori hote pare.

Jei na bhaba omni Kokil pawr din-i chole gyalo bari theke beriye,robbarer bikele,hatte hatte Subhash Sarbobar-e.Jhil-r par diye hatte hatte Kokil dekhlo kawto manush chup-chap
gombhir mukhe jawle chhip fele bose-fatnar body language dekhe jachche ayk mone.Kokil-o dekhlo ektu khani kintu bhalo laglo na beshi.

Bachcha-kachchader thyang,foot ball eriye Kokil ektu badei pouche gyalo niri-bili aykta jaigai.Ekhane kono bachchar dapadapi ,premik premikar nyakami nei.Ekhane ache shudhu
sobuj,akash ar se.

Ektu pawre aykta kalo kak elo Kokil-ke sawngo dite.Kak-ta bose chilo aykta gacher opor.Tawp kore neme bose porlo Kokil-r pashe aykta chotto pachil-r opor.Kakta nemei Kokil-r dike ha
kore cheye thaklo.Tarpor gharta dan dik,ba dik kat korlo kawekbar.Tarpor ka ka shuru korlo.

Kokil-r mon kharap hoye gyalo.Ayato boi poreche kintu boi-te kothao lekha nei kak ghar dan dik ba dik korle ki tar mane.Tai Kokil nije nijei bhabte laglo ar kak-r dike cheye thaklo.Kintu
Kak-r ka-ka awnekkhon dhore shuneo konoi mane bar korte parlo na.Ei bhabei Kokil-r prothomdiner body language obhijan shesh holo.

Pawrer shonibar Kokil bikele-r yahoo chat bhule fer pouche gyalo lake-r bhetor sei jaigai.
Aj-o sekhane pachiler opor aykta kak bose kintu seta ager sawptar kak-tai kina Kokil awnek bhebeo thik korte parlo na.Mone holo sawb kak-i sawman.Sawbar habbhab,bhongima,daka,takano jyano hubohu ayk.Kothao awmil nei.Pachil-r opor kak,gacher opor kak, chhader opor ba antenna-r opore bawsha kak-r moddhe kono probhed nei-sawb
ayk.Sawkale uthe ka ka kore chilliye nijeder ostitter attendance dyai.Tarpor sara din nongra ghete byarai.Tarpor sondhe-byalai bashai fere.Ferar age fer arekbar ka ka kore
nijeder ostitto jahir kawre.

Kokil-r awnek bondhui bawle je kak naki swawmajer bhishon upokare lage- sawhorke porishkar rakhe.Kintu Kokil jawto dur jane prithibir khub beshi shawhore kak nei.Se shuneche sekhane
corporation sawhorke porishkar rakhe.

-----------------------------

Kokil O Chil ( Part 1 of 3 )

2005-11-11T10:50:00.000+05:30

Kokiler bhalo nam Kuhelika.Ma dake Kuhu bondhura Kokil.

Kokilra thake purbo Kolkatai,Beleghata C.I.T More-e.Ayk bhai, baba ma- ei holo Kokilder chotto shukhi poribar. Kokil choto bhaike bhishon bhalobase kintu majhe majhei bhabe jodi bhai tar age jawnmato tahole besh hoto-dadar ador khaowa jeto.Kintu pawro muhurtei bhabe jodi bhai tar age jawnmato tahole hoito take Lake Gardens ba Shyambajar ba awnno kothao jawnmate hoto.Ajkal meyeder dada khub kawm thake.Sawb bhai.

Kokil Shibpur-e meyeder hostel Pandiya-i thake na.Roj sawkale o Kankurgachi ashe.Tarpor sekhan theke Tram Company-r C14 bus dhore college jai.Bikele class sere soja bari.Bondhuder sathe class-r gawlpo class-ei shesh kore fire ase bari.

Kokil pawrashonai besh bhalo.Prothom du tin joner moddhei prottek semester-e rank kawre.Tai samner bawchor jawkhon campus selection shuru hawbe tawkhon ki hawbe ta niye khub beshi bhabe na.Asole manush ja bhalobashe take niyei beshi bhabe.Kokil-r to engineering portei bhalo lage na.

Kokil-r khub bhalo lagto itihash porte.Kintu Kaka theke pishi sawbbai bollo itihas niye porle biye hawbe na.Tawbe Kokil je oi karonei itihash niye pawre ni ta noi.Kokil bhaloi jane meyeder mukh motamuti chawlonsoi holei biye-tiye niye bhabte hoi na ar Kokil motei chawlonsoi na.Besh bhaloi dekhte oke.Gayer rawng ektu tamate.Gharer cheye ektu bawro chul.Chokhe age chawshma chilo.Ayakhon contact lens. Kokiler mukher sawb cheye akorshonio bostu or buddhidipto,kalo jawl-jawle duto chokh.Oke dekhlei mone hoi kokil.

Kintu Kokil gan gaite jane na.Kintu pare.Shune shune jekono gan motamuti tule felte pare.Tarpor bus-e jete jete sara rastai nijer mone gungun kawre.

Kokil-r bhishon ichche samner bawchor pawrashonar pat chukle gan shekha shuru korbe.Electronics Engineering-ke jawtoi Kokil-r baje laguk na kyano o tar kache rhini ayktai karone.Engineering oke du byala bhat jogabe.Bhater jonne oke kawkhono likhte hawbe na ba jodi gan shekhe to gaite hawbe na.

Bolte bhule giyechilam Kokil choto thekei tuktak kobita gawlpo lekhe.Kintu Sunil theke Indranil,sawbbar lekha pore,gan shune or mone hoi jodi oder bhat jotanor awnno kono aykta
upai thakto !

Kintu kichu din ageo Kokil erokom chilo na.Din rat eta seta,akash patal bhableo or bhabnai sagorer gobhirawta chilo na.Chilo swimming pool-r mapa-mapa chinta-dhara.Chilo na bhabnar barbarota romantikawta.

Tarpor elo boi mela.Kokil tawkhon first year-e pawre.
Choto kakar sathe byarate gyalo boi mela.Mela theke etaota awnek boi kinlo Kokil-sydney sheldon,harrold robins,mills and boon.Kaku ayk sawmoi bollo,ki re,ayato mota mota bhari boi
kinli,spondilitis hoye jabe to- ki korbi ayato boi diye? Kal theke Ultadanga station-e thyala lagabi ?

Kokil kawtmawt kore kakur dike takiye bollo,esawb tumi bujhbe na, egulo porte hoi.

Tai bujhi? noile ki pichhiye porte hoi?

uff !

Achcha dara,kaku bollo muchki hese,aykta mawjar boi chokhe porlo.Toke kine di.

Boi mela theke kakur kine dewa Allan Pease-r BodyLanguage-r boitai amader ei gawlper sutropat.
---------------------------------

Love in August...............(Part 1)

2005-11-10T15:16:00.000+05:30

*** 8th August 2005

9:30 AM.

--------

Subhankar was in great distress. Sitting cramped in the small space of the mini bus seat he switched his stance clearly bothered by the lack of leg space in front of him. Those who had only seen him would take him for an ordinary and not so intelligent person. That was how he looked. But that would be a mistake. Subhankar was a fair and was well built. Body building has always been his passion and without a forty minute jogging and stretching in the morning he would be sick. Having completed his MBBS from the Medical College Kolkata last year he was associated with the SSKM Hospital as an intern and he was damn intelligent. He only had a pronunciation difficulty for the letter “S”, the kind you will find common in people from Burdwan (no malice intended) and that seemed to be his only problem and negated his smartness to some extent.

It would be difficult to get down negotiating the way through passengers onboard he thought, as he made adjustments to how he sat. There was something else that bothered him very deeply. For the last two weeks he had been trying to engage himself in a conversation with this girl, Deboti, but it always turned out that since the accidental introduction to her two weeks back when he had helped her with some change, she has made up her mind not to look his way or speak to him. Staring two seats ahead of him he made out the slender neck and her neatly tied hair yet again. Her ears were so white and looked so soft that the fashionable earrings seemed too heavy for them. He saw her rise from her seat and knew he should also be doing the same. Getting out after a lot of difficulty and making sure that he stayed just behind Deboti, he made his way to the gate. When he got down at SSKM following Deboti, he deliberately crossed her and kept walking fast till he reached the entrance of the hospital. He was disappointed. He had hoped that somehow Deboti would call him and they would talk about... what? He did not know but he wished she would call him. Deboti did not call. He watched as he entered the hospital gates, Deboti kept on walking and then crossing the street went in her college Gokhale. Enough is enough; he decided to consult Sailen that evening.

7:40 PM.

--------

“What do you mean you cannot muster courage?” Sailen was saying with a look of disbelief. “You perform all the dangerous operations everyday, you take all tough decisions concerning the life and death of your patients everyday and you tell me you are afraid?”

Sensing the touch of incredulity in his voice Subhankar could not help but make a sorry face and a gesture of helplessness. The idea of walking up to Deboti in a packed bus and taking the initiative to request her to hold his bag was too much, thought Subhankar. The idea had some purpose but the cat needs to be belled before the reactions could be judged. Cutting up corpses or treating a third degree burn patient seemed far more comforting. “No, I am really helpless Sailo... I would surely make a blunder of things and perhaps there is no use...”

“Then it is over, thank God! You don't really want to talk to Deboti and take your acquaintance to another level...” Sailen cut in “If you want something really bad then you should not let your ego get on top of you... rather ease yourself and be positive... I am not advising you to give up your self respect but be a little bold for 'No risk no gain'” he remarked with a wink.

“What do you think she would do?” Subhankar asked.

“Look Subha, this is no algebra that you can equate, it is real life. You may predict something but things might not go that way. You can never know what the other person might be thinking by not knowing the person at all.... even if you know the person for a long time it hardly will give you any clue ... at the most you might just predict from your experiences. You cannot expect her to just understand you and accept you as the introvert you are.” started Sailen, “About the options she has, she can a) refuse to hold your bag... b)Ignore you or c) hold your bag. The worst is if she refuses and the best is that she holds your bag. You would have then made what it is technically called your 'Contact'. If everything goes fine then you could extend your conversations in bits and pieces like isn't it very hot today? And the sorts...Surely she would not be so reserved that she would not talk”

“What do you mean introvert?” Subhankar fumed “and what if she decided to go fuzzy?”

“Look let's not deviate from what we had been discussing... you tell me that you cannot speak your mind and yet I cannot call you an introvert... that is funny. You will have to speak up and let you mind out or else you will be left sulking forever” Sailen said with finality, “Moreover if she decide to ignore you and pretend that she did not hear you that might just be as good.... she also might be trying to speak to you and is shy... and if she ignores then you cannot throw away this angle”.

Subhankar could not make out how cold-shoulder is going to bring some positive outcomes but did not say it. Saying it loud would mean a lengthy discourse and an almost-brainwashing session with Sailen. Feeling desperate now, he decided “... that's it; I will have to do as Sailen says and take my chances...”

*** 11th August 2005

10:20 AM.

---------

“My God! Sailo you are a genius!! You are a Love Guru! You are a soul reader...”

Sailo had to literally cut short Subha on the phone “...Thank you Subha... Yes but.... STOP. Will you PLEASE tell me why you are acting this way?”

“I did as we planned... I boarded the bus and saw her sitting and walked straight up to her and handed her my bag.” Subha said in a single breath, obviously enjoying the effect of the words on Sailo, for his voice carried that savoring, that suspense a person might show when he is very excited.

“What happened then?” Sailo asked, “Surely Deboti had thrown the bag out of the window?”

“Stop bugging and listen, will you?” Subha's voice sounded hurt. “She asked for my mobile number...”

“What! What have you done my dear friend! She asked for your mobile number on your first real meet?!!...”

“Actually she wanted some help from me... She knew from our brief introduction that I was a doctor. She wanted me to help her get through in some reputed hospital for a project she is doing on Nutrition and Health...”

“Oh!”

“No, no listen, this is not the end of it...” continued Subha hurriedly, “we talked for about FIVE minutes...”

Sailo was at the end of his wit and suppressed a giggle but he also had a pity for Subha who, he knew was a gem of a person. He could have easily punctured the balloon of hope Subha has so carefully built but decided it was too early to actually discourage his best friend. “Tell me the story” was all that he said.