lazyani

Onto 2012

2011-12-31T13:29:00.001+05:30

This year has been a year of hope---- mostly not – fulfilled and some fulfilled.

We completed the first year ofstaying in our new house and got acquainted with the neighbours. We now knowpeople by their names and can occasionally exchange a point or two withoutgetting too much into the depths of the contents.

The work front has taken off inour new venture, but at the moment we are experiencing the famed mid-lifechallenges of any such venture. We are doing barely enough to tide over the presenttroughs such that the crest next year is meaningful. But this also was the yearwhere new horizons opened up and enriched me with first hand knowledge. I havenever travelled so much for work after 1997.

On a personal front I had startedgoing to the gym for the first time after 1993. In fact, I like the experienceand lost a couple of kilos of the flab till the festive season hit. The fun,the food and the furious pace put paid to the experiment (at least for the timebeing) ands I have returned to much rotund self, thank you very much.

Well, this year also showed thatage has caught up with my ever-active parents. My father (a young 80 year old)has started having niggles which unfortunately are not really niggles but areflection of the wear and tear of 80 years of active life, from the later halfof the year. My mom, much younger, has started early on the same path. I guess,these ailments are signals for me to take up more responsibilities/chores athome. But it’s still fun when mom dutifully dyes her hair and baba goes in fora haircut in spite of having a near bald head.

Wifey and I completed two cyclesof the 7 year itch. The itches were there but none which were non-curable aftera couple of bouts of shouting, sulking and shopping. Thankfully, the basicfriendship remains the same.

My friends , as usual remained bymy side at the times of crisis and we had a great time meeting up andcelebrating 25 years of school leaving this year.

There were heartburns,heartbreaks at times, pains both physical and figurative and periods offrustration laced with anger that things did not go to plan.

I normally do not do this sort ofan annual review as I prefer a seamless transition of time where all activitiesare a continuum. However, at the end of this year, I somehow feel that 2012would be a watershed year of my life. My gut feel tells me that new majorresponsibilities would be thrust upon me by my choice. New horizons and unknownterritories are to be traversed. My abilities and strengths would be put totest and weaknesses attacked. Hence, as I embark on my own voyage in 2012, Iwanted the immediate past to be documented.

And all of you who may be readingthis, may the New Year be the best year that you have ever had till now. Mayall your dreams see the light in 2012.

Sign of Times ?

2011-09-30T17:42:00.000+05:30

Come September and I would waiteagerly for the special editions of the magazines slated to be published duringthe festive season. These magazines, puja shonkhya, as they are known as, wouldtake up majority of the time of my pre-pujo days.

It started with the specialeditions of the children like Anandamela, Sandesh, and Sukhtara with anoccasional dose of Kishore Bharati. These were mostly adventure stories andcomics aimed at the psyche of the growing child and they had wonderful authorswho wove magic through their word imagery.

With age, I have graduated to themore commonly known Puja Shankya for the grown ups like Desh, Anandabazar ,Patrika, Bartaman, and Anandalok ,too. Each year the newspaper vendor woulddeliver these by mid September and then on every free time between meetings orin the back seat of my car or Sundays would be spent in the joys of readingthrough myriad stories printed there.

I have always found the authorsdepicting present reality through these stories and events were woven round the‘in things’ at that time, save a few ‘period pieces’. I have seen classstruggle being the base of the majority of such stories in the early eighties.Cricket heroes replaced football heroes as a protagonist of the stories after oneSourav Ganguly proved that even the ‘mach bhat khaoa Bangali’ can play cricketat the very highest levels. A couple of years back many stories had ‘land acquisition’ as the backdrop.

The moot point is that I havefound that these stories are a veiled attempt at contemporary socialcommentary.

Of late, specially this year , Ihave found graphic descriptions of sex, lesbianism and seduction in a majorityof the stories.

Are we becoming adults or is thesocial fabric, as we knew it, going for a makeover? Or have the authorsrealised that sex sells? What say?

REVELATION

2011-07-17T15:50:00.000+05:30

And I saw myself being swept away

In the swirling muddied waters

While I sat in the safety of

A wet high branch of a banyan tree

And I laughed at my sense of false security

While I enjoyed my tea on my third floor balcony

On a wet dreary monsoon evening.

Then I snapped back to reality

And I rolled back into one whole self

I, Me and Myself.

Open Letter

2011-05-13T22:34:00.000+05:30

As I sit back and watch the breaking trends of the elections in Bengal unfold, I feel that a time has come when I should write an open letter to the new chief minister about what I as a common citizen and a voter expect from her.

Dear Madam (or Didi as you prefer to be called),

I represent that part of your electorate who have stayed back in Bengal throughout the last 34 years and tried to make a livelihood here whereas a majority of my friends have left for other states and look at the home state in dismay and with disdain.

The left front came to power when I was just 8 years old—too small to realise what had happened. I grew up, studied, worked and started a business in an environment which knew that the government belonged to just one party. The policies (whatever little there were) were the same and as statisticians pointed out, the state was going downhill. I refused to lose faith in my dear Bengal and struggled manfully along. Buddhababu came on to the scene in 2001 but flattered to deceive. Your parties brand of ‘opposition politics’ made life difficult for us. It felt that we were being shoved down a blind lane by both the parties.

My business makes me travel extensively across South Bengal, a majority of which is rural. I kept on meeting people who were excited by your call of change – or ‘Paribartan’. The urban population did not know what to do. The man on the street was faced with a choice where he did not know which way to go. This was all the more so for a majority of the electorate who had not seen a different party in power from their birth.

But, I guess the ‘Paribartan’ has caught on. People have given a huge mandate in your favour. They have agreed to your call for change.

Since, change is the platform on which this historic win has happened for you, I take this opportunity as a voter and a common man to request you to incorporate the following changes in our lives:-

a) Change the work culture of Bengal. I am tired of hearing that we are lazy and we shirk work. Believe me, we work equally hard as other states, but some laggards pull us down. Unfortunately, a majority of these are government employees and hence, directly your employees too. Please make sure that red tapism and bureaucratic delays do not happen

b) Create other work centers than Kolkata. Kolkata is chocked and development cannot be seen if it does not reach the corners of the state

c) Ban bandhs, dharnas or other such stupid things. Protests are a right in a democracy, but not at the cost of inconvenience to others.

d) Revamp the education and healthcare. These two basic requirements are in a shamble in the state, especially in the rural sectors.

e) Create job opportunities such that my friends can come back to their home and do not have to stay away for earning their livelihood. We cannot afford to lose our best brains anymore, can we?

f) Corruption has invaded our blood across the country. But can we just keep a check on that?

g) Let the law enforcing agencies be neutral such that the man on the street can go to a police station with hope and not with fear of reprisal from a hoodlum supported by a political bigwig.

h) Agriculture has been our backbone and needs to be supported. Can we still have some manufacturing industries please? There are enough parcels of land for such activities, if infrastructure can be provided.

i) Above all, can we have clean governance wherein we can get to feel that we matter as an individual – as a citizen

I am sorry if I have crossed limits, but this is an outflow of angst from a person who loves his Bengal, who takes pride in being a Bengali and who dreams of a Sonar Bangla.

No, I do not want a London in Kolkata, neither a Paris in Digha. I just want my Sonar Bangla. Can I please have that?

With Regards.

Me and My Cup

2011-03-31T10:00:00.000+05:30

In 1987, I was in class XI, under pressure to study hard such that I was well-prepared for the engineering entrance exams that I was scheduled to take the next year. I bunked my tuition classes and watched on Television, India being swept out (literally) of the World Cup Semi-finals by Graham Gooch and England. And just for the curious, I failed to clear the entrance exam whereas all my friends did.

The next time we had the world cup semi finals in India, I was doing my M.B.A. Needless to say, I bunked a presentation to be at the Eden Gardens and saw after a dream start (both Jayasurya and Kaluwitharna going cheaply), succumb to poor pitch reading and inept batting. I had to escape early, with minor injuries from a thrown bottle , to avoid being lathi-charged by the police after the crowd failed to accept defeat gracefully. There was another fallout too—A punishment assignment which screwed my grades in the 3^rd semester.

In 2003, Sourav and his merry men conjured visions of the impossible before the finals and I, obviously, bunked office. The story was repeated and the Aussies belted us out of the finals in the first half itself. And once again, I got a reprimand that had an implication in the annual appraisals that year.

This year Dhoni and his X- Gen reached the semi finals after defeating the erstwhile invincible Australia. It was mouth-watering stuff, as the semi final opponents were Pakistan. Now what do I do? Here I am running my business and there’s really no one to force me to work, if I don’t want to. But I took a call. I fixed a meeting in Durgapur late afternoon. I was not going to watch another defeat. I was going to work. My ‘didi’ was going to Mohali, my friends had bunked office and my colleagues had arranged for a mass viewing inside the office. But nah! I was going to work today.

And look what happened!! :))))))))))

I promise to work on this Saturday too.

FIE!!!

2011-01-12T16:31:00.000+05:30

I thought that I would not write anything about this.

I thought I would absolutely ignore this blaspheme. Like him. He has been quiet and dignified in his silence. ‘No reactions from him,’ cried the press. Coming from him who had always been quite sure and vocal about his points of view, it’s clear that he was answering back the assault with a snub of silence. I thought I would do the same.

But the amount of justification and pseudo chest-slapping by a bunch of people comprising of one hamming actor, one over the top businessman, two out of job actresses and some two - bit has been Indian ex-cricketers along with some corruption personifying sports officials have pushed me into this post.

I just wanted to put on record that the entire jing bang mentioned above and their cronies and assistants together would fail to assess what makes someone reach 17000 plus international runs aided by 38 centuries. They would obviously have no idea about what it takes to create a world beating side out of a rag tag team ravaged by match fixing allegations of such massive level that made even the Cricketing God himself was morally down. Of course, they do not have any idea of how to lead a team of mismatched individuals to victories in at least some of the matches and to be within the first four run makers of the competition, even though the team was longing at the bottom of the table.

But I forget! I am talking of people who would think that the ‘Late Cut’ was a new tax avoidance procedure and a ‘Long Leg’ was what one needed to create a hit!!

So, Lord forgive those for they know not what they have done!!

Moving on to 2011

2010-12-31T14:03:00.000+05:30

Another year draws to an end leaving behind with me more grey hairs, some bruises, some excitement, some milestones, some hope, some despair and a lot of experience.

Personally, the year 2010 -Twenty ten to some - leaves behind the aftertaste of a battlefield. It has been a year of struggle and fights with moments of exasperation, of grinding effort and relearning the art of warfare. Challenges flew in from all sides and it required all of my mental strength to ward them of. The effort left marks all over me but somehow the head did not dip.

Having said all that, 2010 also gave me the belief to take on new challenges and proceed towards untested waters. It did define new interpersonal relationships and raised the patience levels. Milestones did come in, like starting a new phase of business and shifting to my own house. A lot of people did extend their support in this fight and I remain ever indebted to them.

But above all, I feel that 2010 made me slog and create a platform for the future and 2011 would hopefully see the take off from there.

So here I raise a toast in anticipation and wish all of you a great and fulfilling 2011.

2010-12-07T16:23:00.000+05:30

Daekhcho tumi shomoy takae

Bhabcho bujhi ketey jaabey

Korcho kaaj aponmonae

Bhacho shob korae jaabey

Takiyae acho bahir paaney

Bhabcho raat ketey jaabey

Bhulcho tumi ashol kotha

Shesh banshi tey shunyo hobae

Chesta'

2010-11-11T14:15:00.001+05:30

Aaj thekey abar notun path chola

notun ashay buk bendhey thaka

tanaporon aar hanahanir majhey

jebon juddhae shudhu benche thaka.

Aaj thekey hridoy jurae shudhu

abar notun korae kono gaaner koli

hartey hartey jeeta jaoar chesta

jotodin na shomoy bolae ‘choli’.

Shift of Home

2010-10-12T12:30:00.002+05:30

Yesterday, I took the road to Durgapur once again.

As I hit the NH-2 and travelled outside the periphery of Kolkata, a whole mass of swaying ‘kash’ flowers carried me over to the past. For a period of 8 long years, every year around this time I used to take this road early morning to go home – home, where my parents stayed, where my friends waited for me and where I could be myself.

The rush of fond memories flooded me as I stepped off the bus and looked around to see the familiar signs.

But, thereon the things changed. I did not go to ‘my home’. I went to my office, instead. My parents had shifted to Kolkata. A majority of my friends have moved to other locations in quest of livelihood. I borrowed a bike and moved around all the places I used to hang out at, once upon a time. The pandals looked lovely, there was more pomp than I had ever seen but I felt like a tourist.

I took back the evening bus after I had finished my work. The same roads brought me back – to a place where my family is, where my friends waited for me, where the roads seemed so familiar, where the para pandal seemed to beckon.

I realised that ‘my home’ has shifted – or maybe I had multiple homes, now.

MAHALAYA

2010-10-07T15:50:00.001+05:30

‘Ashwiner Sharodo Probhatey--------.’ Intoned a nasal voice from the transistor at the crack of Dawn ( or probably before it, as the sky was still dark) and half awakened me from my sleep, I knew that Pujo had started. For me, Pujo meant one thing – Durga Pujo.

From childhood, this unforgettable voice of Birendra Krishna Bhadra was part of my waking up process on the day of Mahalaya. Back in Durgapur, I remember listening to the chants and the unforgettable songs half asleep, getting in and out of sleep, while I snuggled close to my Mom or Dad to keep away the early morning chill. The smell of Shiuli would drift in from the garden outside and add to the surreal feeling of the moment. I would fall into deep slumber towards the end of the recital and would wake up much later with the childhood joy in my heart for an ensuing vacation.

Two decades later, I found that not much has changed. I woke up with the same chant throbbing in my ears, drifted in and out of sleep and finally fell asleep at the end. True, that the chill was absent (effect of Global warming?) and there was no Shiuli tree near my 3^rd Floor apartment and it was raining. It was also true that my parents were in the next room sitting by the radio and listening to it. But the surreal feeling remained the same. The same dream like feel, the same warmth in the heart, the same unknown, unreasonable feeling of comfort. I still woke up with an unknown joy in my heart as I looked forward to a particularly hard earned vacation.

Two Decades and the feeling had not changed.

Bhorer bristi

2010-08-14T11:48:00.001+05:30

Aaj shokaley aakash bhorae megh

Aaj shoklaey ojhorae brishti jhora

Aaj shokaley bheja moner mela

Aaj shokaley chokhae tey baridhara

Aaj shokhaley mon kharap er khushi

Aaj shokaley aeka aeka gaan

Aaj shokaley obhuj chhobi aanka

Aaj shokaley ontoretey snan

Aaj shokaley jeebansmriti pora

Aaj shokaley jeebon niyae khela

Aaj shokaley okaron cholafera

Aaj shokaley shudhui helafela

Aaj shokaley bhijey shaliker khela

Aaj shokaley ghas foringer nach

Aaj shokaley notun bheja math

Aaj shokaley abar banchar aanch.

My Monsoon

2010-06-21T16:12:00.001+05:30

I am feeling jumpy these days.

The clouds are there. There are sudden gusts of water laden breeze. And even an occasional, short shower or two. But where are the rains? Where is the Monsoon?

I am missing the downpour, the nagging 'piter- pater' ,the horizon looking hazy behind the shower screen, the sky looking like a huge canvass drenched by the 'kajal' soaked tears of a child, the feeling of exhilaration at watching everything looking washed and new, the strange croaking of frogs, the first touch of the wet grass on the bare feet, the careless soaking in the rain on the way home from office, the 'telebhaja muri' on a windy wet evening while cuddling up with a thriller on the sofa and of course, the 'illish mach bhaja' with steaming 'khichuri' on an afternoon when the clouds would decide to pour endlessly.

I know in a couple of months time the perennially grey sky, the waterlogged streets, the muddy puddles, the wet clothes , the stomach upsets would get my goat.

But till then, I want my fair share of the romantic monsoon, newspaper reports and predictions be damned.

Pre-Marital Discussions

2010-05-11T17:05:00.003+05:30

My wife had gone off to the parlour. I was sitting alone at a café located in the next door shopping arcade nursing a long cool drink (of the non-alcoholic kind), thinking of the great tragedy of my life , namely why my wife (and girlfriend of years) should choose the beauty parlour over my company on a Friday evening. Add to it the potential attack on my already stretched finances and you get the general drift of my thoughts at that moment.

After about an hour of applying salves of self-pity on the unseen wounds to my ego and I had relaxed enough to look around at the general beauty offered by a modern shopping arcade, the lights went out. This being Kolkata, the back-up power system refused to start instantaneously. There was a lull and all activity ceased abruptly. In the shadows created by pale emergency lights, the entire shopping area looked strange as everyone stopped mid-step in whatever they were doing. It looked like a giant toy shop where all toys had stopped working together as the plug was pulled off the main switch.

AND there was silence—well, almost.

In that silence my ears picked up a snatch of murmurings—low and continuous. Having nothing else to do in the dark I strained to listen, uninvited.

The conversation was intense. A couple was talking. But ‘talking’ was hardly the word. The couple was measuring each other. Words were flowing from one to the other as each was sizing up the other. Words were being used like a rapier – thrust, probe, parry, feint --- all aspects of a skilful sword fight were in action; except that the sword had been replaced by words. It was a treat to listen to them. It was evident that they were educated, confident and fairly successful individual with varied interests and depths of thought. On and forth, the discussion continued till each one exposed a little bit him/her and each knew a bit more about the other.

Suddenly, the gensets were coaxed into life and the lights came on stunning all of us for a second time.

As I got my eyes used to this light, I turned my head to have a glance at the couple. I saw a young boy and a girl sitting facing each other. I guessed that they were probably out on a first/second date or maybe they were under the modern process of pre-marital arranged marriage interactions where the prospective bride and groom would meet in a neutral territory alone to get introduced to each other.

My glass was empty and the lights had broken the spell. I left my chair and thought that if my wife had subjected me to such brilliant scrutiny pre-marriage, I would have chickened out.

These people were more intelligent and pragmatic but I would always prefer my rather unconditional trusting wife, the unending , finance draining trips to the beauty parlour notwithstanding.

Oh Kolkata!

2010-03-24T12:15:00.000+05:30

Initially, I brushed off the information as trivial as it was a regular affair in Kolkata. In fact, it’s a miracle that such things don’t happen everyday. After all , the old buildings of the city are actually potential tinderboxes with low maintenance, web of illegal electrical wiring hanging about like a giant spider web, steep wooden staircases, ancient lifts and illegally tenanted over ten times the normal acceptable limit.

Then fire got its revenge. The small (?) flicker turned into an inferno. As I watched aghast and in awe, television screens showed people jumping off the fourth and fifth floors. The fire-fighters at that time were grossly outnumbered and ill-equipped.

Then came the realisation and the tears. People were dying. The fire brigade finally arrived with its might after an hour or so. The hydraulic lifts went into service, some people rescued and the fire, presumably, brought under control.

More than 5 hours had passed. Politicians came and mouthed allegations against each other. The iconic Flurys and Peter Cat possibly escaped with minor damages. But, so many lives were lost. So many people are still in hospital.

This is the third big fire in the last two years. Each time there are blame games and claims of starting a Disaster Management Group. Nothing happens. In the last two occasions, thankfully no lives were lost. But this time people died.

What more do the authorities need to act? Why don’t the politicians drop their posing and work, for a change? Why can’t we all be goaded out of our somnolent nonchalance? How much price we need to pay to be pushed into doing constructive work?

When shall we all wake up?

REGENT GRACE

2010-01-30T17:21:00.000+05:30

‘Cholae Aasun. Kono problem hobae na. Shobai besh milae mishey thakbo’, said the person with honest, friendly eyes from the doorstep. Roughly translated it means’ Come over and stay with us. There won’t be any problems and we would have a good time together’.

We were looking for a rented accommodation; my third rented house in Kolkata after being told by my previous landlord that I would have to vacate my present place of stay. After the usual running about with the brokers, we got a link to one apartment through the internet.

It was on Sunday afternoon that my father and I had gone to have a look at the same. We liked the housing complex but we were on two minds whether to freeze our choice then and there. As we were discussing about the car parking space (which the landlord did not have), the same friendly gentleman popped out of nowhere and offered me his space with this invitation.

There was something in his voice and demeanour which was warm and personal. We decided on the flat then and there.

It was my start of a great friendship with Ratanda; a man with a heart bigger than Howrah Bridge!

We shifted a couple of days before the Durga Puja and on the day of the puja, a strange thing happened. A familiar face from the memory emerged and after a lot of brainstorming and digging back into the hard disc of the mind, I found back my college mate Jayanta. And just imagine, he was married to Sarbari, another college mate of mine. Suddenly, the new apartment was something familiar and I started feeling a home. The rekindled friendship developed and blossomed everyday till we were all part of one big ‘soul group’.

Days passed and my new family grew. Gouri(wife of Ratanda) became buddies with my wife sharing titbits about shopping, cooking, dresses, handsome hunks and what not! Her cooking skills made her apartment our favourite party joint and together they really made my aged parents feel comfortable.

There was the elegant Sharmishta, educated and suave (without whose help my passport wouldn’t possibly have been done within 48 hours); there were her parents whose company made my parents fill up their friends list; there was Indrajit and Pinki, the young couple adding a zing to the forties team; there was Nirmalda and Boudi , planning innumerable short trips to picnic spots which remain etched in memory ; there was Sajal and Anindita , the multitalented couple ; there was Debasish and Debolina, the couple personifying bravery and above all there was a bunch of lovely, energetic, warm and fabulously talented kids Raja, Kuchi, Titli, Mitul and Neha, who made the life at Regent Grace such beautiful and fulfilling. My parents doted on them.

Yes Regent Grace!!!!

Two and half years passed like a dream. There was fun , games, picnics, Durga and Saraswati pujas, Holi and Diwali, daily addas and parties (planned and impromptu) and there was a zest for the daily life. There were thorns too! Awkward moments and unpleasant incidences! But the thrill and laughter trod upon these hiccups like an elephant in a sugarcane field.

Today, I have shifted to my own flat – located at a new place and away from Regent Grace. It’s a bigger apartment, fitted mostly to our taste and above all it’s owned by us. It’s an apartment of our dreams. The complex is bigger and probably has more amenities.

But the first week hasn’t been comfortable at all!! We are missing you all dear friends. So I never said Goodbye to you!! It’s only ‘Phir Milengey aagley party mein’ or better still ‘When is the next adda, friends? Count us in. Just remember that your Block II, Flat 2B is located just a few kilometres away.’

HAPPY NEW YEAR

2009-12-31T17:36:00.002+05:30

It's that time of the year again!

Today evening, people would party and enjoy, as if there was no tomorrow. There would be attempts to drown old sorrows of the previous year and an effort to look up to the future year. Shining (drunk?) faces would cheer as the clock strikes twelve tonight, ushering in a new year.

But what would change when that happens? Will there really be a new tomorrow?A tomorrow of justice, honour, truth and hope?

Others I know not, but HOPE surely. That's what we live on knowing fully well that tomorrow would be just one more date in our jaded lives. But as the poet said 'Hope springs eternal....'

Personally 2009 was a great year with lots of milestones reached and the necessary putdowns. I too look forward to 2010 with HOPE that the new year would be special. A year of love, laughter, fun and joy ;and the tears when they come would be few and far between.

And on this note I raise a toast to 2010 and also thank all those who made my 2009 special.

Wishing all my best wishes for a great 2010.

Buying a "Home"

2009-11-10T18:24:00.001+05:30

I have been working for an organisation which claims ‘Where homes come true’, for the last dozen years.

In the process, I must have had sold a few thousand apartments, bungalows, villas and condominiums. Every day someone would be sitting in front of me with slightly expectant, wary looks and listening to me extolling the virtues of the property I wanted then to buy. There was sooooooo much to talk about. The air funnel, the shadow line, the swimming pools, the garden for the children to play, the Vaastu compliance, the common amenities, the fittings and fixtures, ----------------.

Some were convinced and bought. Others just smiled and moved on to some other property. I shook my head whenever that happened. After all, why should they not buy after I have extolled the virtues of the property? At any point of time, I knew more about Real Estate than what they could ever dream off. Silly people! Didn’t even understand good and professional advice!
In this period I stayed in a rented apartment. All through the boom and bust of real estate I did not buy any property.

This year my family pushed me to buy an apartment for us. After all ‘it’s better to pay EMI with its tax benefits than to pay rent. After all, you build an asset in the process,’ they said. I had heard me saying that to a lot of people and it felt strange hearing it from others.

So it was decided that a house has to be bought! Pronto! And with my knowledge and experience, it was going to be a child’s play.

Four months and about 500 apartments later, I accepted defeat. I could not finalise a single apartment for buying. Some were above budget, some had defects, some were not having enough legal papers, some did not have ample choice to choose from and some were just not good enough. Many people, most of them my friends and colleagues from the industry tried to help and failed.

As I was accepting defeat and was resigning to my fate of a life in a rented accommodation, my family (parents and wife) took charge. One day they went out, saw a couple of projects and finalised on one. I was told to arrange for the finance as they liked the place. Defeated, I did as ordered.

After a couple of days, I visited the project with a lot of inhibition bracing for the worst. Yes! There was the not too good approach road, the buildings were located too close to each other, the basic workmanship was okay but the finishing could have been better, it was on the top floor and a host of other things. But since, I have paid for it , I wanted to go ahead.

Another six months and some interior developmental work later, we were ready for the Grihapravesh. As is the norm of the family, a couple of hundreds of my kindred souls and friends joined us for the puja and the lunch. All of them said kind words about the project—some out of genuine liking, some out of courtesy.

The ritual requires one to stay three nights at least in the apartment immediately after the puja. So I stayed back after all left and late at night as I reclined on the makeshift bed, I looked up and saw the moonlight filter in, creating a show in light and shade. I quietly rose from the bed, made my way to the balcony and reclined on the easy chair enjoying the soothing breeze of the early winter.

I woke up with a start when the first rays of light hit my face. I looked around and found my home.

The faults are still there, there is a lot of work to be done before I move in, and the area is still slightly undeveloped— yet from that very moment I have found my home.

These days I just mention the important virtues of the projects I am selling to prospective buyers and let them choose. After all , it’s their home they are choosing – not buying a house that I am offering to them.

A tryst with nature

2009-09-12T17:36:00.001+05:30

The road stretched out in front, inviting and relaxing – holding a promise of an unknown oasis of relaxation.

The three cars made good ground along the Durgapur Expressway as soon as they left the city limits. The parathas and dahi at Palsit charged the batteries and we were off again. Four hours after we had left the smog filled cloudy horizon of Kolkata we turned off the asphalt road into a lovely Kaccha pathway lined by greenery in all sorts of hue.

Travelling through this road we reached a new place off the river Ajoy, where one got to rest in a cosy little cottage lined with flower beds and with peacocks as company. The city bound tired souls looked around with their jaded eyes and suddenly, the adrenaline was back flowing through them.

The result – a trek through the gardens to the banks of Ajoy which lay there in a languid curl – almost too lazy to move with a lonely boat floating by itself.

After the stroll by the riverside and a quick bath, steaming rice, delicious ‘aloo patal’ and fish curry, there

was a long lazy adda under the watchful eyes of two local dogs and a few unknown birds flying by.

The evening unfolded early with gathering clouds muscling out the sun.

The rains started with a drizzle and then this happened.

Fifteen city bred rat race toughened individuals gaped at the peacock and turned into children all over again. We walked up further and sat in the pouring rain by a place drenched in tranquillity and dreamed of what we just saw. The lovely pond with its green cover in front of us made us yearn for more.

It rained the entire night and sleep was a cosy affair dotted with the dreams of the show that nature had put up for us the entire day.

The next morning the same jaded individuals returned to the din of the city aglow with newfound jest for life.

2, Moore Avenue

2009-07-03T18:39:00.004+05:30

It was a lovely Bungalow; nay a kothi.

The creaking gate made of ornate wrought iron engravings held together by wood was imposing. The hinges sighed reluctantly as I pushed it open and walked in. The gravel crunched under my feet and as I looked around , I could only see a jungle of weeds and non-descript trees greeting me.

I walked further in and the gravel path took a sharp left turn and I looked at what was a momento from a hundred years back -A kothi stood out blocking my path. The entire building had elements of English Architecture married into the what looked like Western Indian frills. The dirty looking exterior had vines and roots coming out of the walls but could not hide the alabaster marble it was made of. A few steps further down and I had reached the broken door to the building. I moved in.

A wide semi-circular verandah, fringed by dirty marble staircases which led to the upper floor, lay in front. The verandah opened upon a hall which had lovely inlay work on the walls and broken glass strewn on the floor. I took the stairs and reached another balcony at the first floor level. There were four rooms opening out from this balcony on one side and the other side looked down on the open space below.

The atmosphere was pregnant with history.

There was a half broken chair on the verandah and I sat down on it for a moment. As I looked out , I could make out the old tennis court now covered by unkempt grass and weed, the abandoned pond on the left alongwith its semi broken ghat, the collection of shrubs at the right corner --wild and abandoned-- looking eerily like a Rose Garden and some magnificent Mango trees lined up by the pond.

I drifted into the thoughts of a possible golden past of the building when this house was possibly the pride of the owner. Then there were the days of Burra khana, nautch parties, horsedriven carriages , barbeque by the side of the pond, strolls by the Rose Garden, badminton by long gowned and gloved ladies and fun & foxtrot under arguably the biggest chandeliers of South Kolkata- or Calcutta, as I should correctly say.

My reverie was broken by the people who had taken me there for my opinion about the market feasibility of an apartment block in that plot of land.

Today , instead of the famous Kothi of Mr. Moore of Moore Avenue , South Calcutta, stands a new apartment block which, for the want of a better word , is ugly and sans character.

Sorry Mr. Moore.

Even my romantically coloured biased report did not help to protect your lovely historical Kothi and Calcutta lost a little more of its graceful history.

Reality (shows) bite

2009-06-24T16:54:00.002+05:30

I had been to a musical concert arranged on the occasion of World Music Day.

It was a good experience with music and songs by Bickram Ghosh, Usha Uthup, Lopamudra Mitra, Hassan Raza and the brilliant Shankar Mahadevan. The little ones from the finals of 'Sa Re Ga Ma Pa Little Champs' were also there and they stole the show with their innocent charm and brilliant singing talent.

As I sat enthralled at their skills, I noticed a small kid sitting in the row in front of me behaving strangely. He was twisting, turning , looking away to all corners of the hall, making strange hand signals to no one in particular-- and doing everything to draw attention to him. I looked back again and realised that this little boy had been part of the same singing competition and had been eliminated a few episodes back.

Realisation dawned upon me! This little guy had seen the glamour and had felt the attention. Now, he just couldn't digest the fact that he was not getting the old attention like his friends and was behaving strangely such that people noticed him. And he was probably only 8 years old!!

What a tragedy! Innocence was killed and I stopped enjoying the show even though Mr. Mahadevan was being kept in able company by the five little finalists.

Aekdin Hothat

2009-05-26T18:10:00.003+05:30

Aekdin hothat

Dubonto Surjota abar bhush korey bheshe uthar chesta korechilo

Onek ta ashahoto manusher mon er shesh khorkutor moto

Bukae asha bendhey lolup chokey ghure danriyae chilo shey

Takeae aekbar chokher daekhar jonyae

Thik tokhoni aelo aek shorbo grashi proloy

Probol dhuli jhor ae dhekey gaelo char dik

Hariyae gaelo dristi hotae shesh khorkutor roktim joulush

Royae gaelo tar diganto bistrito hahakar

Aar kichu manusher stothbakyo –

‘Bhoy ki, Chand to roilo’

Shey hanshey -- Aekantey.

Mukul Revisited

2009-03-28T15:51:00.000+05:30

I do not like going to movies. But because of my love for the Feluda stories I accompanied my parents to see ‘Sonar Kella’—the first film that Satyajit Ray made with the story of Feluda (the middle class, intelligent, super sleuth created by Ray himself). That was somewhere in the early eighties, if my memory serves me right.

I fell in love with the film. The immortal characterisation of Lalmohan babu, the photographic tour of majestic Rajasthan, the legendary background score and the handling of the film-making by the master himself, made it a film worth remembering. To my teenaged eyes and mind, it was an experience worth remembering for life.

The film spawned a lot of new stories about Feluda and continues to be the benchmark for the new films being made now in Bengal. But what remained in mind the most is a rather strange thing happening at the end of the story.

The story is based on the quest of a previous life of a child named Mukul who remembers bits of it in his present birth and culminates in him finding his old place of residence in a Golden Fortress in Rajasthan. The film shows the child crossing the ruins mentioning each house with the name of an occupant who used to stay there during his previous birth. Then he approaches his own residence of his previous birth and breaks down into tears in front of it.

As a child and later on too, I have often thought about the reason behind his sudden tears and have never found a plausible reason behind it. After all a child having got what he was looking for, should have laughed out in sheer joy!!!

I have been travelling to Durgapur (the place where I was born and lived up to the first 22 years of my life) quite sporadically of late to meet my professional demands. Durgapur is place of nostalgia to me since the time we left it for good in 1995. Since, the restart of my journeys I had been feeling the ‘call’ to visit the house where I had spent my entire growing up period; the place where my entire childhood and a major part of my youth were spent.

Last week, I had decided to answer the ‘call’ during my visit to Durgapur. The moment I entered the area, memories came flooding into my head. I remembered each of the residential quarters and the names of the occupants who had been my neighbours during the two decades of my stay. I felt like Mukul and just stopped short of mentioning the names of my erstwhile neighbours audibly as I crossed the respective quarters.

Then I stood in front of my beloved house----- the quarter which housed memories of twenty years for me. I looked hard and saw what a lot had changed. The manicured garden is gone, the peripheral hedge has been replaced by concrete fencing, the veranda has been converted into a room and the fruit trees have disappeared. The only remembrance is a single mango tree, planted by my mother, standing tall.

I felt a strange sense of loss, as if, someone has wiped clean a slate containing my childhood.

I suddenly knew why Mukul had cried.

Awareness Drive

2009-01-21T17:09:00.001+05:30

They do it differently in the U.S. of A.

Till date I knew that they drove on the other side of the road, they spelled English differently, they hated Russians and they even had children before marriage!!

We, the perfect copycat Indians, learnt fast. We changed our English spellings and pronunciations, our dress codes and have even had children out of wedlock. We learnt to hate the Russians. We learnt to enjoy reality shows. The only thing that was ignored was about which side of the road to drive along and that was because no real Indian is bothered about traffic rules.

But as Obamania sweeps the world off its feet and India with the rest of the world jumps in to join the race to become more American than the ones in USA, I found something in the reports about his swearing – in, (oops, oath – taking) which has left me disturbed and shaken up.

I saw the present President and the First Lady of the USA take part in a ‘Ball’ just after the oath-taking ceremony! All media covered the occasion with aplomb.

Now just think. What would happen, if the winner in the next Lok Sabha elections of India, the next Prime Minister, gets inspired by this and decides to follow suit!!

Just to remind you all, the possible candidates in the fray would be Mr. Manmohan Singh, Mr. L.K. Advani, Mr. Lalu Yadav, Ms. Mayavati,-----------.With the above choices that we have for our future Prime Minster, I am feeling rather frightened about what would be the result of such a decision.

I need to start an awareness campaign about the same or I would be too afraid even to vote the next time!!!

Painful Pink Slips

2009-01-14T16:44:00.001+05:30

These days it may seem to be routine.

However, the most difficult job in the corporate life is to be entrusted by the management to tell someone to leave. It’s a different matter when someone leaves on ones own, whether out of frustration or in search of greener pastures. Then the decision is of the person who decides to leave. But when one is told to leave, that is painful.

And, when you are person handing over the pink slip to a colleague, it hurts. Good business sense may be behind such decisions but it leaves the one doing the job, emotionally drained.

And I will spend the rest of today in numbed silence.

Whither next?

2008-11-27T17:11:00.002+05:30

I am sad. I am shaken.

I thought terrorist encounters happened in Israel or in Beirut. Grenades were thrown in Afghanisthan.

I thought we were safe. I thought we had strong borders. I thought -----

AND then, there were TV channels showing gunmen and police running about on the streets with drawn weapons, bodies being flung onto ambulances, blasts happening on the elite monuments of Mumbai, the figures of the casualties were rising like mercury in heat.

I felt numb. I felt helpless.

Then the tears came. Tears of anger and rage at the incompetence -- the incompetence of the intelligence agencies, the incompetence of the authorities but above all the incompetence of myself.

I want to give it back in kind to these scums but I don't know how!!!!!

Adios, Maharaj

2008-11-08T14:59:00.004+05:30

It probably was in the year 1990. We were playing an inter college cricket tournament and on a day off for us we trooped in to watch St. Xavier’s ,Kolkata take on Hooghly Mohsin College. We had walked in to gauge the strength of probable opponents but we ended up seeing a young guy scorch the turf with impeccable timing and balance and make the game a rather one-sided farce.

At that time, he was unknown to the world.

In 1991, he was in the India team and he returned in disgrace unable to cope with the cut throat competition of the game at the highest levels. In 1996, under allegations of being a Quota selection, he returned with a test debut hundred on the hallowed turf of Lords. The Indian cricket scenario changed forever!

Sourav Ganguly – Sourav Chandidas Ganguly to the media, Maharaj to friends and fans, Dada to team mates had had a second coming. This time it was for real, though what followed is stuff that mere mortals just dream off.

The back to back test centuries on debut, the 5 match ODI series against Pakistan in Toronto, the fighting 144 against Australia under terrible assault with the ball and words, the chasing of 300 plus against Pakistan in Bangladesh, the first series win at Pakistan and the tremendous showing in the 2003 World Cup. One could also mention his 22 ODI and 16 Test Centuries , 19000 international runs and the world record holding , now legendary, opening partnerships with Sachin Tendulkar. But these are mere statistics.

But what really sets him apart is his character. His grit, his mental strength, his ability to lead from scratch, identify and back potential match winners to the hilt, his ability to rise over petty regionalism, and give it back to the opposition in the same coin without batting an eyelid. Steve Waugh and a whole generation of Aussie cricketers know it, Greg Chappel knows it , Andrew Flintoff knows it and even a lot of retired/ forced to retire Indian cricketers know it. Yuvraj, Kaif, Harbhajan , Nehra, Zaheer, Sehwag know it too.

Unfortunately, that is what brought his early exit from the world cricket scenario. No one likes to be proven wrong or exposed in public. The ‘know-it-all’ Shastris, Roebucks, Srikanths, Vengsarkars, Mores and Chappels were under pressure. Each time they picked up and highlighted the fallacies and shortcomings of him, Sourav shut them up with his bat or at times even the ball.

And what audacity? He never subscribed to any lobby and the traditional region controlled politics was under severe strain. People got worried. How would they hide their in- competencies if there was no ‘divide and rule’ policy. So drastic measures were required. A captain was dropped from the team after having scored a test century. Rumour mongering and character assassination was started in right earnest. The powers to be heaved a sigh of relief that their fiefdom was safe.

But again, this guy (what audacity ? ) worked his way back into the team and created a third fairytale comeback. It was a dream two years which showed that he still was miles ahead of his detractors. But insecure incompetents would always be the same. He was dropped from the ODI team on the pretext of creating a team for the future, even after him being the highest run getter in the previous year. One debacle in a test series and knives were out again.

Maharaj had had enough. He decided to call it a day in style. And what style!! A century and an average of well over 60 in the last series against the world champs. (No doubt the Aussies hate him).

Fare you well DADA. We will miss those flowing ethereal drives through the covers, the lofted sixers over long-on , the lofted drives over the point boundary, the innocuous outswinger befuddling the batsmen into edging to the wicketkeeper , the jaw set in fierce determination, the tensed chewing of the nails, the swagger to the middle of the pitch and above all, the clenched fist raised to the sky in victory.

And before I end, Indian cricket needs you even today – may be in a different avatar. We shall keep our hopes alive for a new innings on a different pitch which may take Indian cricket to new heights – the ‘know-it-all’s be damned.

Strange Month

2008-11-01T14:45:00.003+05:30

It has been a rather strange month.

It was the biggest festival month of the year with the two biggest festivals falling in this month. It was deemed to be a month of fun, frolic and gaiety.

It was a ruthlessly depressing month which brought apprehension and despondency to the minds of a lot of people.

It started with the Nano factory being withdrawn and Sourav announcing retirement. For the individual worshipping and hoping for a resurgence Bengali, it was a double whammy. Then the international community joined in the fun!

Big names like Lehman Brothers fell like nine pins and the stock market fell as if it were out to reprove the theories of gravity. Across states and continents came the groans of bankruptcy and for the man on the street the future was an eerie unknown threat.

The Gods and Goddesses came on schedule and there was lights, pandals , works of art strewn on the roads, dhakis and cultural programmes. However, the prayers on the lips were slightly more fervent, the frolic slightly forced.

Diwali, the festival of lights, came with its normal cache of lights, diyas , firecrackers and also an abnormal package of bombs. With the government trying to concentrate on the ban on loud sounding firecrackers, there were actual bombs being blasted across the country and entire Bihar was in flames.

India sent its first vehicle to the moon and simultaneously local leaders worked up such regional passion that the country is seeing localised civil war. Anand re-established his world champion status and the Aussies were drubbed at the Mohali test. On the same day a labourer from the North of India got lynched in the West because he came from the North and Assam got hit by 18 bombs at one shot.

It was a month which was special, but who wanted a special month anyway!!!

Gardens make Homes

2008-09-25T13:08:00.002+05:30

The first house which I learnt to call my home was in Durgapur in a place called Joydev Avenue. It was a small two roomed single storied house belonging to the Durgapur Steel Plant.

No, I was not born there. But I spent the best part of my life there.

My father, an employee of Durgapur Steel Plant, moved into that house with my mother and myself (all of two and a half years) in the early seventies and we vacated it when my father retired from the same organisation in the early nineties. By that time I was already in college and that house had become my first HOME.

The house had a patch of land both in the front and at the back like all such quarters in Durgapur. My father being an avid gardener did magic there. The patch at the back was transformed into a brilliant fruit and vegetable bearing space, wherein we grew almost everything needed in the kitchen. We had plots growing potatoes, tomatoes, green chillies, cabbage, cauliflowers, onions, spring onions and God knows what else. We probably stopped short of cultivating our own paddy. The fruit section had Jackfruit, Mango, Banana, Lemon, Black Grape and my favourite ‘Peara Gach’ (my own Guava Tree). I had spent many a summer holiday acting the Mowgli on the branches of these trees. In fact, I remember lazing on one of the branches of the Guava tree on a winter afternoon and falling asleep subsequently. I woke up in a shock when I fell on the thorny Lemon shrub and learnt an important lesson of life---Never fall asleep on a thin branch of a tree.

The front patch was a treat for the eyes and nose. Neatly arranged in rows were the permanent beds of Bougainvillea, Marigold, Roses, Spanish bouquet and a host of seasonal flowers like Sylvia, Cosmos, Gerbera, Rajnigandha, Pansies and Bleeding Hearts. Bengal also had its presence through Togor, Kolkey, Phurush and Bel. These beds fringed a small, yet lush lawn. The Geometry of the layout of such beds and the lawn was brilliant, creating a sense of a neat and wholesome choreographed movement of colour. There were also a series of Chrysanthemums and Dahlias in pots during winter. If summer was a treat of exotic smells, then winter was a party of colours. The entire front patch was surrounded by a hedge which acted as a natural boundary for the plot. I had the honour of seeing Dahlias of a diameter of 14 inches bloom in front of my eyes and also had the thrill of knowing about 30 varieties of Roses by their names. There was also a delectable collection of about 40 different types of Cacti along with Foliage and Succulents.

The garden survived and grew into a veritable landmark of the street in spite of the challenge created by my cricketing pursuits in the lawn or in the passageways. It inspired many neighbours to create their own patch of Green.

My father knew each plant by its twigs and leaves and I seriously believed that he cared more for them than me, at times. He proved his expertise in land composition, cross breeding and identification of plant types. He never entered into any Flower Show Competitions but was revered as a master in the field by the locals.

It was fun to grow up inside an Oasis located within the stern heart of a Steel City and it was painful to leave that house when my father retired.

It was probably more painful for my father as he refused to recreate that magic in any of the houses that we subsequently lived in.

P.S.:- My blog completes the first year of existence today. Thanks are due to all my readers and friends who cajolled me and gave me the necessary push to shove my laziness aside and keep posting. So thank you all and Happy Birthday to my Blog.

Bombs and Gods

2008-09-17T11:49:00.002+05:30

Today is Vishwakarma Puja.

The God of industries and machines is worshipped today. All factories, mechanics, engineers, technical hands pray today such that their endeavours in their working fields see positive results with the blessings of the God. This day has always been rather special to me as I come from a Steel City and my present vocation is in Real Estate—both industries worship the Lord with great fervour.

And if Bengal and its people needed the blessings of Lord Vishwakarma, it is now. With a short-sighted Jihad against setting up of an industry being fanned by politicians and the international new age industries reeling in the aftermath of the economic massacre in USA, the future of industrial growth in the state looks to be heading nowhere.

Of course, today in India one needs to have the blessings of God to able to even live. With bombs set by terrorists going off across the nation like crackers on a Diwali night and the Government and its agencies reduced to plastic faced powerless individuals mouthing meaningless statements , one really has to be alive on the strength of ones luck.

With the onset of that period of the year when the Gods make their annual journey to the Earth one by one, I can not but wonder whether this would herald a new dawn of peace and hope. I know I sound strange, impractical and old-fashioned in the new world order. But when you are living in bleak times as these, logic takes leave and one tends to survive on hope, faith and belief – that tomorrow would be a better day.

Political Bankruptcy

2008-08-30T16:42:00.002+05:30

I was born and brought up in the steel township of Durgapur.

The city was a brainchild of the most dynamic chief minister of West Bengal, Dr. Bidhan Chandra Roy. At that time it was the most modern steel factory in the entire country embodying the hopes and aspirations of a surging newly independent nation state.I grew up in an industrial environment where the household clocks were set to time depending on the siren heard from the factory. All of us knew a little bit of the steel making process by the time we were in high school.

For a long time I believed that working for a livelihood meant working in a steel plant. All other professions were either dependent subsidiaries/ancillaries or did not exist at all. Above all, I was a first hand witness to the growth and prosperity that the factory and its ancillaries brought on to the peripheral regions of Durgapur. It had the best educational institutions, medical services and entertainment areas of the entire district.

I had also been a first hand witness to the fall of the steel plant from a place of pride at the hands of militant trade unionism. The other premier steel plants grew from strength to strength whereas, Durgapur Steel Plant moved from one strike to another. The union leaders grew so powerful that they held the factory at ransom and the degeneration was definite to the point of being complete.

Dr. Roy’s dream became a problem child. My entire generation was forced to look outside for livelihood and till date we all regret to have left our place of dreams at the behest of some short sighted individuals.

Now, seeing the daily happenings at Singur, I feel frightened. It’s ironical that the political parties have changed sides and the erstwhile tormentors are mouthing platitudes. But what is really spine chilling is the ease with which a handful few are holding the future of the entire next working generation in balance.

I feel so tired to think that the idiosyncrasies of a few would decide whether the average ethnic educated male would be in a position to be able to earn his livelihood whilst staying in his place of birth. My present profession forces me to get in touch with land selling agents and believe me; they come from all corners of the political spectrum irrespective of the public stances taken by their leaders.

Where are we going? Whose gain are we talking about? Who cares for us?

These questions at the moment have no answers as my home state braces itself towards another plunge into darkness—and no, I am not talking of the present power cuts only

Independence Day

2008-08-18T11:07:00.002+05:30

One more Independence Day anniversary has come and gone.

There were the usual annual parades and the speeches to the nation, flag hoisting ceremonies in various organisations and institutions, oaths and pledges taken in chorus, fluttering paper flags being sold with gusto at the street corners and the electronic media showing innumerable videos related to ‘Deshbhakti’.

There were also the usual threats from militant groups, bomb blasts in expected places like the North East, routine attempts to cross the LOC by the neighbouring nation and the Valley of Gods erupted in ethnic quasi religious violence which nurtured back a secessionist movement.

In sports, the cricketing glamour boys got whipped again in Sri Lanka, the glamorous tennis stars got whipped in Olympics and India with a population of 100 million once again personified the Olympic motto of Participation being more important than winning. (Kudos to Abhinav Bindra, but he is an aberration and we all know that in our heart of hearts.)

In politics, the usual crooks and corrupt rule the roost. Bundles of currency are shown up in the Parliament and that too on National Television. Strange partnerships have been created and we may have a choice between two most uncouth people as the next leader of the nation.

So, if one sits back to look at the 61 years gone by , what does he/she see? Hopelessness? Or is there something round the corner? What would make this land of 100 million carry on?

The answer is a cliché. The answer lies in the hands of the common man. The battered and taken for granted man on the street. The ability of the mass to survive this outrageous onslaught and continue regardless will be the determining factor of the future.

I know that the above point is open to challenge. But at he end I will leave you with is image:-

It was around 11:30 at night on the 14th of August and I was standing on the footpath outside a marriage house waiting for my car to pick me up. The roads were deserted with only a few vehicles plying. Suddenly, from a side lane emerged a young man (must have been in late teens or early twenties) furiously pedalling on a bicycle with the tricolour hoisted high above his head and mounted on the handle bar. I watched the young man moving away with the national flag fluttering above his head – a head held high with obvious pride of carrying the flag.

My day was made. I felt the same pride swell in me. Jai Hind.

Ahem!

2008-07-14T14:50:00.003+05:30

The biggest challenge as a blogger that I have faced till now is that people keep asking you about your next post.

In such cases I either keep a know-all sombre face and shake my head and hope that the person interpretes my answer to my and his liking or say that I am thinking of/cooking up something to be posted very soon.

In either case, it is an euphemism. For at that moment, I have not the simplest of inclination to write-- either due to the dearth of ideas at that time or due to my age old lethargic nature.

So, all those who wanted to know, the cat is now out of the bag and , you all have to make do with this pathetic attempt masquerading as a post.

And no Sniggers please:)))))))

It is raining

2008-06-17T15:32:00.002+05:30

As soon as the first monsoon clouds team up to darken the horizon, all sorts of strange memories invade my mind.

Here I am sitting at the verandah of the small quarter in Durgapur looking out at the horizon and marvelling at the downpour washing away the grime of the trees , flowers, roads and even the pebbles of our garden with the sound of rainfall on the various surfaces and tree leaves creating a marvellous symphony of its own.

Then there I am straining away on my small blue bicycle away from the cricket field as I continue my struggle to reach the safety of my home before the fast approaching rain drops catch up with me.

Of course, there is a fun filled moment of a few of us , all teenagers, having a time of our lives playing football in a slushy mud spattered field in a rain soaked day, while the neighbourhood damsels watched us from the convenient safety of their verandahs. Maan, how we showcased our talents that day in the 'Inter para' football championship.

There is a complete collage of picking mangoes, playing ' Jumping in the puddle' , wrestling matches on the wet school ground and intentional rain drenching sessions to be able to get French leave from school.

Add to that, the memories of being huddled inside the room as the first 'Kalboishaki' lashed the city armed with generous doses of thunder and lightning and aided by storms reaching 90 km per hour. The fear and apprehension gave way to the pleasure created by the sudden fall in temperature as one sat back in the evening munching away at 'telebhaja' and 'muri' or huddled under the mango or guava tree to pick up the fruits dislodged by the storm. An occasional 'shilabristi' added to the charm and it was fun to reach out in the rain to get hold of the icicles falling from the sky.

There is also one memorable holiday in Darjeeling where I spent one full hour alone in the Mall sitting in the pouring rain, enjoying two cones of ice cream as I tried to get a feel of the mist covered mountains in the blurred horizon.

Then there were the romantic escapades of the mind pushing me to offer umbrella space to a good looking college mate (met with rejections almost always), offered lifts on a dilapidated scooter such that the dainty selves do not soil their lovely feet in the puddles (generally accepted) and of course, participation in typical college groups walking cheerfully in the pouring rain with the hope of getting close to the most recent infatuation.

Aah, those were the days when youth was me. Those were the days of monsoon magic and romance.

These days , when I see the same clouds, I am more worried about the waterlogging, work disruptions, the maid not turning up, car stalling in the water and water borne stomach ailments.

Is that a sign that I am aging?

Who knows? Maybe.

But this year, at least one day, I am going to deliberately wade in the monsoon puddle and enjoy it. That is a promise!!

Chalo Let's Go

2008-06-09T17:35:00.003+05:30

I was never a film buff.

I mean I do not enjoy sitting inside a dark hall sharing some tear jerking melodrama with a group of unknown individuals; or for that matter neither do I appreciate laughing at some antics on the screen. I would rather read a quiet book at home and let my imagination run wild or go to the Eden Gardens and shout my guts out in favour of the Indian Cricket team (and not for a certain Mr. Khan) .

My experiences of a cinema hall were for Feluda films, Goopy Gyne series and of course, some love stories which I had seen with my wife ( which was when we were dating pre-marriage).

I have also sat through a lot of good movies in my living room, reclining on my sofa and with occasional flipping of sports channels in between thrown in for good measure. And I for a good measure diligently read the film reviews and gossip published in the Tabloid section of The Telegraph, Ananda Bazar Patrika and the Times of India -- such that I do not feel left out of the office lunch corner.

With that sort of background I contrive to do this blog on a film - a recent one by Anjan Dutta.

The seeds were sown with us (my wife and I) attending the Music Release of the film ' Chalo Let's Go'. This had to do with my love for the songs of Anjan Dutta and the presence of my 'Orkut Friend' Rudranil as one of the actors in the film. I loved the music and my wife seizing my moment of vulnerability (wives do have a sixth sense in reading the vulnerable moments of their husbands) extracted a promise out of me to see the film.

And so there I was at the movie hall with mixed feelings -- waiting for the movie to set rolling.

Two hours later I emerged out of the hall slightly uncomfortable-- dazed by the simplicity of the story, uplifted by the complexity dealt out in this span. A simple non linear story line dealing with the myriad nature of what we call the human mind embellished by the lush backdrop of North Bengal , nurtured by mind blowing music and held together by superb acting by non-stars made my evening.

I am tempted to discuss the nuances in detail . But I desist as neither do I have the capacity to express such depth, nor do I intend to give out the hidden joys that the film holds for the viewer. I would rather wish that individuals walk in to see the film and appreciate it in their own way. I know that it is not a 'classic'. But If you are a Bengali in the strange world of today, then the film would have held a small bit of recognition of yourself in any or many of the characters portrayed.

So I would recommend to all and sundry to 'Chalo let's go'.

Celebrating an epitaph

2008-04-29T18:42:00.000+05:30

This is courtesy someone whose profile I bumped into in Orkut.

Thanks 'Sanjhbatir** Roopkothara***'.

I guess I would be proud if I could write something of a depth and quality remotely close to this:-

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning hush
I am the swift uplifting rush.
Of quiet birds in circled flight,
I am the soft stars that shine at the night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there , I did not die.

Darjeeling- A Love Story

2008-04-10T18:00:00.000+05:30

I do not know from when I had fallen in love with Darjeeling.

I cannot place a precise time frame from when I had yearned for that place. It was also not the first hill station to be visited by me. In fact, I had already traveled through Jammu and Kashmir and had seen Mussorie. They were splendid hill stations but my mind somehow wandered towards Darjeeling. Blame it on the Feluda stories, which started from Darjeeling or on the wonderful songs of Anjan Dutta weaving dreamy tales about it – both are my favourites—Darjeeling always stood out. Always!!!!!

I visited Darjeeling for the first time in 1992, when I had just completed college and Darjeeling had just recovered from a rather bloody phase of unrest. The feeling of waiting to see my beloved was so overwhelming that I scarcely noticed any thing on the three and half hour journey from Siliguri.

Then after Ghoom, when the car turned one more S-curve on the road, there loomed she – the queen of the hills.

Four days of intoxication followed – intoxication of colours, smell, peace and -----, I don’t know what else. I came back happy to have whetted my thirst for the place. There was satiety in having known my beloved so closely and there was hunger for more – much more. And not even the fact that I could not get a single glimpse of Kanchenzonga during that period of stay could take away my happiness!!

I have visited Darjeeling about 8 to 10 times after that and my thirst refuses to get quenched. These days I know the curves of the Hill Cart road so well that I can even drive in the night. I have a crush on the hot chocolate and sausage breakfast of Keventers. I love the liquor chocolates of Glennarys. I have another affair with the Joeys Pub. I love to wake up early and take a walk around the Observatory hill as the Majestic Kanchenzonga looms in the front and takes a bath in the light of the rising sun. I love taking lonely walks around the tea gardens. I love watching the Blue Toy Train making its meandering progress. I love sitting upon the observatory hill, watching the sun set in the distance. But best of all, I love to sit lazily on one of the green benches in the Mall, doing absolutely nothing as hordes of people move around.

I know that crass consumerism is eating away at my beloved. I know the various struggles of recognition by various sects have eroded the Buddha like calm of the place. I know that the visiting throngs have denuded away the water reserve of the place. I know that the knowing population speaks highly of other places like Kurseong, Pelling, Ravangla and Sikkim.

But can you do away with your beloved and look for new love just because your love of your life has fallen ill? Does a love affair look into physical deformity?

No way, sir. I love my beloved Darjeeling.

MITRALAYA- My house

2008-03-08T14:42:00.000+05:30

The first and the most lingering memory of the house is of a big iron gate with creepers over it blooming with flowers of myriad colours and a tall dark handsome gentleman with a baritone voice standing behind enquiring from us --- me and my parents--- whether the Tata Patna express was behind schedule as usual. If my memory of about 35 years back serves me right, the month must have been May.

Why that particularly non- exciting routine inquiry from my grandfather remains etched in my memory defies normal logic. For I have visited that house three times every year for the next 32 years without fail!! Whenever, I have had school vacations, we rushed of to that house in Jamshedpur. Is it possibly because that was the last time I had seen my grand father fit and walking? Maybe. Or is it possibly that I had reached that age when one tends to recognize the yearnings and love in the voice of ones grand parents? Maybe.

My grandfather, or Dabhai as I called him, died of cancer within 2 years of the above incident leaving behind his large family, a lot of difficult to emulate legacy and a lovely house, aptly named ‘Mitralaya.’

The house became part of my growing up. My father worked in another steel city and we would look forward to going to this house in during each vacation. Built around a facade supported by huge Gothic pillars, the house housed all sorts of interesting things for my growing childhood.

First of all my cousins lived here.

Then there were the circular rooms with 12 windows, a huge kitchen garden filled with fruit and vegetable trees, a flower garden with a manicured lawn and a stately Magnolia Grandiflora tree presiding over all of it. Add to the above umpteen bookcases filled to the brim, a dining table fit to serve 12 covers, a bathroom with red floors, winding marble staircases to the roof and the roof itself—from where one could see the rolling Dalma hills in the horizon.

The wonders were many and so was the flow of love and affection.

12 years back, a burgeoning family and sheer economic considerations forced the unwilling family to do away with the dream. Now, there stands a mid rise multi-storied apartment block -- very modern, updated and without any history and character.

I have an apartment there and so do each of my cousins who like me are settled all across the globe.
Each of us are successful in our little way but we all pine for that house which took away our childhood with it.

A Fiasco Named Kolkata Book Fair

2008-01-29T13:43:00.000+05:30

The Kolkata Book Fair has been called off!!

I could not believe it the first time though perhaps everyone would say that it was always on the cards. Caught between the crossfire of an unbending arrogant Guild (people who organize the fair) and the environment protecting experts who had taken on the Book Fair as a soft target, the future of the fair was suspect. The last moment verdict by the court of law was the proverbial last straw.

Given the situation, a few questions do arise.

Who gave the guild the right to play with the emotions of the common mass of Kolkata who look forward to this annual event?

Since it is a repetition of the last year near fiasco, why did the guild not have a Plan B?

Why did the authorities allow even the initial work to start when now they are trying to avoid the blame?

Since this has got a history from the last few years, why has an alternative site not been offered? After all, last year the fair at the Salt Lake stadium had lost much of its vaunted flair!

Why has the environment experts taken on only about the Book Fair? Is it because this is a soft target, which does not have the backing of big corporate houses or political honchos? After all, when every month 10,000 new cars hit the cramped up roads of Kolkata, thousands of new polluting restaurants open up, trees are hacked mercilessly to create new skyscrapers, the Tolly Nullah or the Krishnapur Canal remain pollution personified, Kolkata gets annual floods twice as the exit route of the storm water has been damaged or blocked in the name of development, a cigarette company does not want to move out of Kolkata as the number of smokers is maximum in the state, government vehicles belch smoke with impunity , 15 year old vehicles refuse to leave the roads, why only the book fair of all things?????

We in Kolkata have lost a lot of our heritage and culture in the name of Development and Progress. When other towns do protect their heritage and yet grow at a double speed than us, then why can’t we?

The Kolkata Book Fair is a part of our heritage—a heritage for which we should be damned proud of!!!

So please Messrs. Dutta, De, Bhattacharya, et all. Stop this stupid bickering and make sure that the Book Fair is back in all its grandeur irrespective of the location --- theories be damned!!!

PASSING WINTER

2008-01-11T15:24:00.000+05:30

If you are a resident of Kolkata, you would spend the entire year looking forward to it. Waiting with bated breath as you sweat your way to work and home, with frustration and apprehension as the monsoon drags on, with appreciative eagerness as the festive season sets it up and then it is finally on you.

WINTER.

The first signs are in the evening breeze cooling off and immediately like a waiting guerrilla army the woollens make their presence felt. Every resident worth his salt immediately brings out whatever warm clothing he/ she has and sets upon letting the world know that winter has arrived in Kolkata.

The new shopping malls display new winterware on their display cases, the local presence is in the form of Bhutias from the hills of Darjeeling and the craftsmen in the handicraft expos in the maidan.The maidan is filled up with teeming populace , the zoo is overcrowded enough to make the animals feel cranky, the cake shops glow in the hum of good business and suddenly the blazers, ties, pullovers are on you. Names like Nahoums and Flurys are bandied about.

Ironically, it is the period to flaunt. To flaunt your faux mink coat , your odd sized leather jacket, your ankle high leather boots, your branded cuff links, you pashmina, your knowledge of the hills, your capacity to sip wine , your knowledge about the authenticity of the 'Gur' , 'Mowa' and Nolen Gurer Sandesh, of handicrafts and even your love for books, theatre , films or fairs.

And people in the know do it fast, very fast. Because people know that the good times do not last. Like all good love affairs the expectancy period is much much more than the actual time of experience.

Then suddenly, when the Northern Hemisphere is still reeling under cold and new blasts of snowfall, sleeves start shortening , fans start moving and sweat reappearing in Kolkata.

Warm Memories of the cold remain to sustain the yearning for another 10 months.

10 years - like a dream

2007-11-27T10:42:00.000+05:30

27th November 1997. A young man , escaping from the clutches of ULFA and trying to establish a foothold in the City of Kolkata, and a young woman, cheerful, ever smiling and optimistic, decided to give social recognition to a relationship which they had nurtured over the last three years.

Enter the fanfare brigade-- conch shells, streams of relatives, seven days of song and dance, unending good wishes, 36 hours of Honeymoon in Puri. It was a dream start and the hangover is still there in the the deep recesses of the mind and available on easy recall.

Reality struck. Financial strain, hard corporate pressure for survival, changing of three rented apartments/houses, buying of essential amenities - ONE BY ONE , moments of anger and frustration, occasional fights, health related complaints, occasional accidents creating permanent disabilities.

The two weathered the storm. Arguments were never carried on for long, the smiles, the laughter added the zing to the fight, supportive parents provided a base to work on, growth happened, assets grew, and the dream carried on. A trip here, a film there, a car and a music system -------- the roots have grown and continue to grow and bind the relationship in a bond which grows stronger with time.

27th November 2007. The now not so young man, pot bellied and balding and the woman still charming and smiling and maturing with age like some rare vintage wine, sit back together and look back on the past decade with a proud grin and say to each other -
h
WE HAVE DONE IT AND WE ARE LOOKING GOOD FOR A FEW MORE DECADES.

My Shame- My Sorrow

2007-11-13T16:32:00.000+05:30

I love my birth place. I love my birth state. I am proud to be a Bengali. I love poetry, films, fine arts, cricket, Sourav Ganguly, Satyajit Ray, Amartya Sen, Anjan Chatterjee, Buddhadeb Bhattacharya------------- I feel proud that I belong to a community which places culture and courtesy above all else. I feel proud that in these days of market capitalization, a shopping mall shares a pride of place with a theatre hall. I feel pride that we have time for each other. I feel proud that we have a Chief Minister who is equally adept in the cultural forum as he is in wooing corporate investors. I feel pride that he can quote poetry as fast as he can work out profitability. SORRY!

I do not feel all that any more! The Chief Minister's name no longer features in the list above. I lament and I feel let down.

Pujo- Past Perfect

2007-11-01T15:24:00.000+05:30

This pujo we had shifted to a new apartment block. New and shining facade, new entry points, well maintained terraces, in house pujo celebrations, nice neighbours, community eating and cultural functions everyday. Good fun actually.

For once mom and wifey got the chance to be part of the arranging team. For once baba got a chance to see all the fun from the shelter of the balcony. For once one could write to friends about the own apartment pujo.

One should be have been happy and contented.

But the Lazy one was not!!!!

The lazy roads lined with trees, the huge fields with swaying 'Kash', the unending unannounced arrival of friends at ones home, the addas at the pandals of different zones , the anticipated meetings with old friends at these pandals, the erratic timings of of coming home and going out, the fun and anticipation of "going home" on Shosthi, the angst of returning to the city on Ekadoshi, the unadulterated fun of living on Phuchka, Eggroll and other such manna from Heaven, the sadness tinged fun of the Bhasan ------ were all missing.

As was the place where one got it all!!!

As was the age that appreciated all of it!!

Phirbena , Sheto ar phirbena,
Phirbena ar kono din!

Nostalgia and Madness

2007-10-15T10:32:00.000+05:30

It's that time of the year again. The Goddess is going to start her annual visit to her parental home.

Forget whether Ma Durga actually hails from Bengal, Forget that this visit is now stretched from Kolkata to Kuala Lumpur, from Boston to Bombay and Calicut to Cincinnati.Forget that with the changing vagaries of nature the traditional fleecy white clouds against the azure blue sky has been replaced by the dark water laden ones against a predominantly gloomy grey sky.

It's just that time of the year when we loose reason and happily so. It's that time when we get into a buying frenzy as if there were no tomorrow. It is that time of the year when the city streets turn into Venice, Rome,Italy and even Brazil at times. It is that time when everyone feels a tug at the heartstrings to go back to their homes.It is that time when perfectly well behaved stable people take the license to act the goat. It is that time when One carries a permanent idiotic grin on ones face. It is that time ----------

Oh c'mon!!! Forget all this! Just freak out and let go! Hail the Goddess!!!

IN - human

2007-10-04T11:01:00.000+05:30

He had celebrated his 35th birthday. He had just crossed a milestone of his standard daily life. He sat on the park bench, cigarette in hand- thoughtful, alone and sad.

And he had just had a birthday bash. There were friends all around, his relatives made him feel special and he had the best gifts in the world.

Yet, he walked out of the celebrations at the first opportunity. He looked for solitude- for time with himself.

As he now sat ruminating, his life flashed by. He had achieved a lot in the 35 years that he had trod on Mother Earth. He had achieved academic success, he had reached dizzy heights in his career, he had the world at his feet. Everyone envied his single minded dedication.

He was happy. He was sad.

In 35 years, he had ceased to be a Human Being.

Upswing and Downswing

2007-09-26T13:02:00.000+05:30

The last 48 hours has been a veritable vertical pendulum.

From a Zenith of unbridled joy created by Mahi & Co. , it was a rude splash down into a city looking like a endless gutter due to rains. The sewage and the storm water drainage failed in Tandem and the city was drowned-- and it still continues to be under water in some parts even 36 hours after the Sun made a reappearance.

The exalted Mayor makes a statement on television that the water would recede once the rains stop. As if one would require Rocket Science or Insider Information to know that!!!!!

Believe me it is quite galling to be wading in knee deep muck and listening to such profound theories.

Started

2007-09-24T12:24:00.000+05:30

It has been years since I wrote down something. The urge was there and so was the inherent laziness. There were moments of thoughts that were so overwhelming that I would feel the urge to write.

But then, it would take an actual effort to do so! Nah! Too lazy for that.

That' when Oreen (dragons-fly@blogspot.com) walked in, or rather I chanced in on to his blog. Some deep rooted shared memories were stirred and Here I am. For Good or for Worse and for how long? I know not.

It's just I am here.