Moving on to 2011

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.

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 ta shunyo hobae

Chesta'

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

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

‘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

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

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.