Adieu 2018

As I get ready to step into 2019 from 2018, I look back upon 2018 as a year which was bittersweet.

Bitter, because it threw up fresh challenges which I was unprepared for and which tested my financial strength and mental power. There were health concerns of my fast ageing parents which threw everything off gear for 2 months; there were personal problems of getting used to lack of energy on my part and of course, the pressure to get used to surviving in a tough job environment.

Sweet, as I could garner enough financial and mental strength to tide over these road-bumps and still be there to look back on these as a survivor. I daresay, I can look back on these moments and say that I managed with pride. Also, I do look forward to the next year as my intuition keeps on hinting that there would be a positive twist in the year.

Also, every year my daughter grows, not only in age, but as a person and her personality development till date has left me pleasantly surprised. She continues to be a major source of sustenance for me.

Adieu 2018, as a battle hardened, balding, greyed and grizzly me gets ready to take on 2019.

Haar Jeet

Happy 6th Birthday my dear. Below is my birthday Gift to you.

হারজিত

ঘূম থেকে উঠেই হারতে থাকি ...

রাস্তায় পথ চলতে চলতে, গাড়িতে চড়তে চড়তে ,

ফাঁকা চোখে বাইরে তাকাতে তাকাতে,

হারতে থাকি।

অফিস এর কাজ করতে করতে, ফাইল সই করতে করতে,

বড় সাহেবের চোখ রাঙ্গানি সইতে সইতে ,

হারতে থাকি।

অর্থের খোঁজে হাহাকার করতে করতে, চাহিদা মেটাবার ব্যারথতায় পুড়তে পুড়তে,

কিছু না করতে পারার বেদনা সইতে সইতে,

হারতে থাকি।

তবু দিনের শেষে তোর ছোট্ট দুটি হাত যখন জড়িয়ে ধরে আমায়,

সব হারানোর ব্যাথা ভুলে জিতে যাই আমি ,

হারতে হারতে। ।

দাদু

দাদু

একটা ট্রেন ছুটে আসছে।

তীব্র গতি , থামার উপায় নেই।

বৃদ্ধ চলেছেন সেই লাইন ধরে, 

তার আজ ফেরার তাড়া নেই।

ট্রেন চলে গেল

বৃদ্ধ চলে গেলেন

থেকে যাবে রেশ

আর বেদনাময় এই শেষ ! 

Hothat Prouro

Jaanish, aei bochor ami boimela jaini! Jetei parini.

Icchey chilo khuub – jaemon proti bochor thakey. Kintu parini.

Anekei  hoyto ba bolbey tatey khotita ki holo!!

Asholey boimela ta aamar shathey oshonkhyo boier ‘khulley aam’’ romance.

Jaanish , aei bochor ami Eden Gardens jaini. India er Khela thaka shorteo .

Ticket chilo , jaemon protibar thakey. Kintu parini.

Aabar aeki proshno! Tatey khotita ki holo???

Asholey Eden ta amar swapner khelar sathey amar aek byaktigoto romance.

Jaanish, aei bochor ami Jamshedpur er barite jaini.

Khub icchey korey din charek katiyae ashar. Kintu sujog hoy na.

Onekei bhabbey, giye hobey ta ki. Baba, Ma, shobai to achey aei Kolkatay.

Asholey Jamshedpur amay sikhor er taaney kaachey taaney.  

Aar niye ashey oshonkhyo opotto sneher romance.

Jaanish, aajkal ami cholonto garitey boi portey pari na.

Garitey onek boi achey. Chokher shomosshao nei.

Sabai bolbey, bhaloi hoyechey. Cholonto garitey boi pora theek noy.

Asholey pathcholti boi pora ta rastar klanti kae shoriyae manshik obokash er romance.

Jaanish, amar aekhon boro gaari, boro chakri, bhora songshar.

Kintu choto choto romance gulo choley gaechey shomoy er aaraley.

Shomoy jae amar kach thekey shomoy kedhey nilo, sheta bhalo holo ki mondo ?

Uttorer opekhhay kokhon jaeno prourottey pounchey gaelam.

Looking back on 2016

Another year draws to an end. Another one looms ahead.

Last year, at about this time I felt that I had just swam the Amazon chased by the crocodiles after my own boat got wrecked and got away with some lost limbs. But the overriding feeling was that of having got away.

This year I had a new rented boat with me, all new and shiny and fitted with some gadgets. The ride has been smoother and more comfortable. But having said that, the trip forward has forebodings of unknown. The shine of the boat is gone, the water is showing signs of early choppiness and I just sense that a few crocs may rear their heads again. Maybe these ones latched on to the rear of the boat and are waiting to snap again. It is just good that I do not own the boat this time.

Enough of rhetoric and imagery!

2016 would remain special because we could celebrate two unique occasions—the golden jubilee of my parents marital life and the attainment of 5 years by my daughter. Two occasions where I put in my whole effort and barring a few small blemishes, managed to do justice to expectations. That is important because living upto expectations are the biggest challenges of life.

This year was more financially comfortable and I believe I made a successful transit from being an entrepreneur to a domesticated obedient worker. It was the need of the year and I proudly claim that I managed to do it without much ado. Only the death of a few dreams ended up being collateral damage.

My daughter grew up this year. She continues to stun me at times when she lowers her guard and I feel surprised to see how well she hides her real self. I hope that I live up to her levels.

My parents grow older and every year takes a bigger bite into their health. A matter of concern about which I can do nothing!! I feel helpless but that is perhaps inevitable. The umbrella under which I grew up continues to become thinner every year.

And friends!! What would I have done without them!!!  Thanks for being there once again.

ADIEU 2016!! Thanks for teaching me that you are only as good as what the others perceive you to be and it’s the results as expected and interpreted by the person facing you and not the reality which matters in the end.

The Golden Moment

50 years is a long time.

Living together for 50 years is a helluva long time.

It speaks of immense patience served with generous dollops of love, sacrifice, ability to fight odds without giving an inch and garnished with respect for each other.

It is an achievement which everyone does not  have the ability to reach.

On the 10^th of July 2016, my parents just did that. They completed a journey of 50 years of roller coaster married life full of the proverbial ups and downs.

Being their only child I had the privilege to share 47 of these glorious years – and it has been more of a joy ride than a bumpy one for me, thanks to the cushion laid out on my pathway by my parents.

Maaaan, am I lucky and proud!!!

On the 10^th when I was asked to speak on the occasion in front of a gathering consisting of family members who had gathered to celebrate the occasion, I found myself at a loss of words. After all, what do you say about someone to whom you owe your existence and sustenance. Does one eulogise? Or wax eloquent on the relationship high points? Or does one recount the golden days of the childhood? Or even joke about the rare differences of opinion? 

You do not thank or speak to the pillars of your life. You just hug them and hope to hold on to them for your entire life.

So, I took the easy way out. I just let my emotions take over. I said mighty little, most of which was incoherent babble.

 But hopefully people understood that I meant nothing more than the following:-

‘Ma and Baba, may I have the honour of being your child for all my subsequent lives?”

That sums it all I guess.

2015 -- The annual round up

The year-end synopsis is well due I guess. Also, I should follow the ritual that I had started about 3 years back—Looking back at the year passed and end it with an eye to the future.

Well, here goes …..

2015 – A watershed year surely in my life ; a year that pushed me into the abyss of financial trouble with all sources virtually drying up. It was an hourly fight for creating funds for survival. Having said that, this was also the year where benefactors loomed up and lent me their shoulders to help me scrape through at the very last moment.

Maitreyi De Sarkar, Shubhayu Sengupta, Anannya Chakraborty and Antora Chauhan—if you are reading this – I owe you all big time and would pray to the almighty to provide me with the necessary muscle to shore you up if, God forbid, you happen to land in a dump. Even when the accounts get settled, these debts would remain unpaid as it was not only the finances but the psychological boosters given by you which pulled me through.

This year would also surprise at the very end with me deciding to leave business and take up a job again after 8 long years.6 months ago, I would have scoffed at the possibility of such occurrence as frivolous and impossible. This goes to show how the plans for the future are best left to the almighty.

The consistent positive has been my daughter. She has been a constant source of joy and fun and has grown every hour. Also, a word for my family who have really felt the brunt of this crisis without much ado!

That brings us to the next year.

As I said and learnt the hard way, planning for the future is for fools but I can always hope for an easier time ahead --- specially more comfort in finances , more work , more joys from my daughter as she grows up and challenges me to grow up with her and consistent improved health from my now rapidly aging parents. Also, I hope that my partner in crime, my wife, gets her due in her career. God knows that she deserves it.

Au Revoir and wish you all a very happy new year.

My dear Mamma,                                                                            07 November 2014

I prefer calling you that! I also know that you will not be able to read this letter now. If at all you get to read this , then hopefully by then , you would have grown up to understand what lies beneath the letters covering this page.

Tomorrow you turn Three! It’s your birthday tomorrow! A grand old age of 3 years J.

Mamma, mamma, I have such a lot to tell you and i know not whether I will be able to share it all with you, because, you will realise with time that I am not really a very strong person who likes to share all in public.. But I guess that this is the right time to start and as your “mumum “says I am probably better off with the written word than with the verbal.

Tomorrow also marks more than two years of sheer unbridled joy for me! It’s the joy of having you in my life. It’s the joy of growing up all over again with you, it’s the joy of smiling with you, playing with you, fighting with you and getting my tear wiped by you. It’s joy of riding the roller coaster of life with you, the joy of belonging to you.

I remember the lusty cry that you gave once you were placed in my arms and how you quietened down and slept on my shoulders. I remember how I did not move a muscle for an hour lest you would wake up. But I remember the most the sunshine that you brought into our lives the moment you smiled once you woke up.

It has coincidentally been a rather trying period for me professionally and financially. Some days it has been more than an effort just to drag one off to home. It has been a tightrope jugglery for over a year and as I write this, this is not over yet. It is consuming every inch of my energy and patience to pull through. However, the moment I reach home and get welcomed with the yelps of joy and a hug from you, I get an added boost to take upon the whole darned world.

It is at this crucial juncture that I finally get my mind together to write to you.

My love, in you I see a rare understanding self and a rather soft and caring persona.  That I dare say is a lovely combination. But the world that you inherit would be a harsh one and my job would be to groom you with the shield for protection against such barbs.

I would not burden you with much more in the first letter itself. Hopefully, I would continue this trend of writing to you till both of us mature enough to talk and understand directly.

At the moment, let me raise my hands in silent thanks to the Almighty for selecting me as your father.

Happy Birthday my dear! May God bless you!

Love and Love again,

Baba

My Teachers

I have always been lucky that I had been taught by people with special acumen.

Starting with my parents who quickly understood what the need of the day was promptly got me admitted in a great school ( first in my family to be admitted to an english medium ICSE school) and also allowed me the leeway to form my own opinions about life.

St. Xavier's School , Durgapur would be the institution which really created me as I am today. it taught me that education is serious business and education is fun. I shall not mention any one separately lest I commit the sin of missing out someone. I learnt that maths, physics, chemistry, biology is fun. I learnt that history created me, geography lives round me, and english is a love affair. I also learnt that cricket , football and table tennis is serious business. I had also learnt that exams are routine affairs which are not to be frightened off! Above all, I learnt to get along in life with a smile on my lips come what may!

Bidhan Institution taught me competition and time management--- how to snatch time away for a cricket match when you are getting ready for the heavy duty things like entrance examinations.

Durgapur Government college taught me that there is nothing called ultimate failure. There is always a new path to take once the original one is closed.

Department of Business Management , Jadavpur University taught me the rules of daily survival  and broke the shell of the shy little boy that I was then.

Work took me across the east and north east of India and the different bosses taught me how to build the future and how to think on my feet.

And of course, my friends!! They continue to teach me till date , every moment!

Thank you my teachers! I am truly blessed!

Shuvo Naba Borsho

My parents, like all middle class Bengali parents, believed that an extra training in fine arts was an additional shot in the arm along with the traditional education imparted in the school.

As a result, I was inducted in the drawing class conducted on Sundays in the local club. It took me 3 weeks (that’s 3 classes actually) to understand that I hated sitting in a room staring at an object and that I could never ever have a co-ordination between my mind, my eyes and the pencil in hand. I bunked the next class to join the cricket coaching class being held outside. It was obvious when my father came to collect me from the class that no amount of effort in drawing would create a bruise in the knee and the knuckles simultaneously. In short, I was caught red handed and we came to attend a ‘gol table boithak’ (round table conference) with my parents.

They reasoned with me that everyone my age had some ‘EXTRA CURRICULAR ACTIVITY’! Playing in the sun and rolling in the mud or climbing trees was not qualified to be taken as such. So, I had to learn something!! Playing the tabla or guitar was suggested and harmonica was the compromise solution. Not even my otherwise doting parents dared to suggest singing as they knew that I would probably create disharmony in the neighbourhood through my ‘hende gola’ and lack of understanding of ‘sur’! I was gifted a harmonica and there I was trying to blow my lungs out. My friend/brother next door played this instrument like a dream and when I heard him play better with every passing day, the harmonica took the shortest route to my drawer.

Well, that was the end of my tryst with fine and performing arts!

It brought a relief to me and my energy was shifted to my love of cricket and football. My parents knew when to retreat and they never tried to convince me again.

However, there was a time every year when I really regretted my inability to play the instruments or sing or get involved in such ‘cultural activities’. Come the month of Baishak with the ushering of the Bengali New Year and every corner of the then Bengal would have thousands of cultural programmes commemorating the new year and the birthdays of Rabindranath , Nazrul and Sukanto. These would be ‘para’ based and all local ‘para’ artistes would get to showcase their skills in the stage created in the local grounds. The rehearsals would continue for about a month before the D-day.

This was the period of romance.

All ‘eligible’ boys and girls would get to meet and showcase their talents to impress the chosen one. The hot and often humid air of April would hold an additional burden of such budding romances and the heat wouldn’t seem so oppressive! But this was limited to those who could perform and people like us would watch from a distance and go green with envy. As one of those who indulged in outdoor games and lacked the fine arts, we had the duty of volunteers. It was to keep the outside crowd at bay on the day of the programme, or function, as we called it then. Other jobs would be to carry heavy articles, collect chanda and other such odd jobs!  I would stop near the rehearsal area, listen to the songs or discussions or the strains of music emanating from behind the doors, cringe at the bonhomie between the boys and girls and curse my inability to be a part of it. This feeling would last till the start of the next cricket season when all such things would be drowned under the sound of the willow hitting leather.

I would reason that after all someone has said that cricket was the poetry of the willow!

Today, I wonder whether such tender moments still spring in the summer under the guidance of the three bards of Bengal! Or whether, poetry- fuelled romance has vanished like the romance having vanished from cricket!!!

Aajkaal brishti porley boro bhoy korey

Jhann chokchokey flat er rongin dewaler

Phaank diye purono quarter er dewal tah beriyae porae

Proshno korae kotota paeley aei jeebon thekey

Amar ferari bheeru mon paliyae beray

Nijer kachhey jobabdihir bhoy

Janalar paash diyae unki mere daekhi

Notun swapner notun suryadoyer asha

Bheshey otha notun asha ra proshno rekhey jay

Purono shopno gulor ki holo sheshey!

Her small hand held mine, the head rested on my shoulder and from a moment of tears she went off to sleep. Seeing the trust in her closed eyes and feeling the tug of her other hand on my collar, I gave my heart to her.  She slept the entire way and when we entered our home and tried to let her slide onto the bed, she opened her eyes wide and smiled. Everyone in the room smiled back and my daughter had reached her home.

It took 14 years for our family to be complete. It was a fight of 14 long years through an emotional rollercoaster. But when she came home, it was worth the wait. Our world has changed since then and these days we spend our every waking (and sleeping) hours trying to adjust to her whims and fancies.

These days the small toothless grin and the artful raising of her eyebrows make our day worthwhile and every hint of tear is met with anxious glances. She is all of 9 months now and yet, my daughter knows how to rule already! She has won over the most prosaic men and she has more well wishers than what I could have ever envisioned.

These days as I play with her or just let her cosy upto my amply cushioned stomach, I feel a sense of pleasing warmth creep up my spine. I pray to the almighty to let me have the strength to help her realise her potential and to help her lead a fulfilling life.

Kolkata and KKR

Phew!! The hectic month of IPL is over , finally!!

For the last one month the country had been divided on regional lines depending upon the allegiance to the region based cricket teams. Yesterday night all of Kolkata( at least the most of it) erupted in unadulterated glee after Kolkata Night Riders managed to stage a wonderful win to lay their hands on a lovely cup and about 10 crores INR among all other things. The glee of its famous owner at having won the cup for the first time hogged the television screens and the daily newspapers of today. After all, the much beleaguered backbencher city had some achievement to show!!!

The present local government was overjoyed and promptly the airwaves were ruled by the right comments. Suddenly, local sweets like rossogolla and mishti doi was the toast of everyone and every heart started beating for the city.

But , it was a tough day for me!! Having  been identified as someone whose sympathies were not with the 'local team' but with an individual who did not play for the team, all hell broke loose the moment the winning runs were hit by Manoj Tiwari. In a span of about 5 minutes I was called some beautiful names like parochial, loser, worthless, and some other ones which I would not repeat here as I guess that would lower the dignity of this blog.

However, I was happy that KKR won-- for two reasons. Reason one was that CSK was trying to armtwist the tournament as a personal backyard tournament and reason two was that my Kolkata had some thing to cheer about.

But, the cynic in me has a few more questions to which I seek answers:-

a) How is KKR representing Kolkata? After all, this a profit seeking commercial venture which operates out of Mumbai and do not , I repeat, do not, till date have an office or representation in Kolkata.

b) What happens if tomorrow, the name is changed to just knight riders and it operates out of Bhubaneswar or Dhaka? After all, the owner is free to do it!!

c) Heard that the state government would have a grand reception for the winners! Great idea this! but what about the Bengal cricket team which had won the Vijay Hazare trophy for the first time this year. I know that most of us do not know about this. Just for the information, this tournament is the premier tournament for one dayers in India. This year the champions team list had the following names:- Manoj Tiwary, Laxmi ratan Shukla, Debabrata Das, Anustup Mazumdar, Wriddhiman Saha, Sreevats Goswami, Ashok Dinda, Iresh Saxena, Shami Ahmed, Sourav Ganguly among others. Any plans for felicitating these pioneers? Or will it be the only those guys belonging to the Mumbai based franchise?

I know these questions are uncomfortable but these are to be asked. After all, it is the name of my beloved city that is at stake.

P.S.:- Mr. SRK, if you really mean what you said after the match, one would expect you to invest a sizeable amount of your huge earnings at the expense of the loyal Kolkatans in making the game grow and in nurturing talent from this state. But I guess, that is expecting too much. After all, you are here for business and you would like to encash on ready talent. Nurturing young talent is someone else's forte and I guess you know his name rather well!!! 

And a friendly caution at the end :- this city is infamous for being ruthless against its own icons at the first hint of failure or mis-step . You can ask Sunil Gavaskar, Bhaichung Bhutia, Jose Ramirez Baretto, Sourav Ganguly , old players of East bengal and Mohun Bagan for reference.

God Bless You for the moments!!!

2012- what a start!!

I have aged in the first two months of this year.

It has been a terrifying two months—the extra day of the leap year included.

It started with an early morning phone call in late January; it was a wail informing me that my younger brother had expired in his sleep. How do you react when your brother, the one you grew up with,  is suddenly no more? I could feel the rib - breaking pain as a kaleidoscope of images of our life together unrolled in my mind. I cried, yet I could not cry as I was supposed to act as the strong person who would give the shoulder to the others to cry. I prayed that it was a bad dream and one day I would wake up to find that all is well. I still pray the same. But Life is not an Aamir Khan movie. So the recurring pain continues, throbbing at the back of my mind. I have thought often to put my anguish on paper but I guess it was too painful

Just six days after this, one fine morning while stretching to pick up something I felt some sharp twinge at my back and there I was down with a terrible pain. ‘Back spasm’ said the doctors and advised me complete rest for the rest of the week. The cause has to do with carrying laptops and my excess body weight. Well, here I am much better thank you but hobbling across and watching my diet like a sick old man. Hmmn, for an ex sportsman and a gourmet, it will take some getting used to. When you add to it the inputs that I receive from all and sundry about healthy living, it just adds to the fun.

Well, two months have gone and I have been shaken, stirred and fried. And as I have said before, aged and I am not talking about my chronological age. 

I must have been a Mayan in one of my previous births.

Onto 2012

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

We completed the first year of staying in our new house and got acquainted with the neighbours. We now know people by their names and can occasionally exchange a point or two without getting too much into the depths of the contents.

The work front has taken off in our new venture, but at the moment we are experiencing the famed mid-life challenges of any such venture. We are doing barely enough to tide over the present troughs such that the crest next year is meaningful. But this also was the year where new horizons opened up and enriched me with first hand knowledge. I have never travelled so much for work after 1997.

On a personal front I had started going to the gym for the first time after 1993. In fact, I like the experience and 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 time being) ands I have returned to much rotund self, thank you very much.

Well, this year also showed that age 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 a reflection of the wear and tear of 80 years of active life, from the later half of 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 at home. But it’s still fun when mom dutifully dyes her hair and baba goes in for a haircut in spite of having a near bald head.

Wifey and I completed two cycles of the 7 year itch. The itches were there but none which were non-curable after a couple of bouts of shouting, sulking and shopping. Thankfully, the basic friendship remains the same.

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

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

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

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

Sign of Times ?

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

It started with the special editions of the children like Anandamela, Sandesh, and Sukhtara with an occasional dose of Kishore Bharati. These were mostly adventure stories and comics aimed at the psyche of the growing child and they had wonderful authors who wove magic through their word imagery.

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

I have always found the authors depicting present reality through these stories and events were woven round the ‘in things’ at that time, save a few ‘period pieces’. I have seen class struggle 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 one Sourav Ganguly proved that even the ‘mach bhat khaoa Bangali’ can play cricket at the very highest levels. A couple of years back many stories had  ‘land acquisition’ as the backdrop.

The moot point is that I have found that these stories are a veiled attempt at contemporary social commentary.

Of late, specially this year , I have found graphic descriptions of sex, lesbianism and seduction in a majority of the stories.

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

REVELATION

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

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

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!!!

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!!