5.Sum1

I have just read Five Point Someone…I cannot call it a GOOD book but it surely does well as a GOOD timepass! The story seems to be a saga of the underdogs, which is absolutely fine, actually great! Writing about people who generally go unnoticed or get noticed for all the wrong reasons in school or college, will always be game!

Ryan, Alok and Hari, the three bumchums at IIT, equally distant from each other in character, do the wrong things and more wrongs in order to get the things already done wrong, right! One after another, they land themselves in trouble, calling for more trouble in latter part of the course, to the extent that at one point, they rue about having done what they did. Well, you can’t blame them…they wanted to live a life they would love to…but they would not be given the choice to. Yet, loads of support from a young professor, some grit from themselves and a bagful of luck help the guys manage decent seats in the professional arena.

Guys (budding graduates), don’t just ever think that you can get away doing all this in IIT or for that matter, any decent college…it can, in fact, lead you to undesired and unsavory situations, dragging in legal and disciplinary hands to make things worse. And luck would surely be the last one to be by your side, let alone the one super-generous professor in college. You get into all this swamp; you know you have lost it. Coz these colleges are still miles away from implementing changes that you desire and long for…you have to slog it out, take that!

Now… for the book itself…Well, Chetan Bhagat seems to be a good light blog writer, (no offence please)! Once you are through the 27 chapters it feels more of a delicious tang for the teenager than that of an adult. I mean, it is difficult to imagine enjoying a ‘Munnabhai MBBS’ after a delightful watch of a Ray film, or relishing a mere nice blog after savoring Pamuk’s ‘My Name is Red’ (which I have been reading of late)… but, friends, trust me, it is true that it can work wonders! You don’t have to rack your brains, think deep or concentrate hard to suck in the juice.

A certain relief from the heavy reads we normally indulge in…a whiff of fresh air, you might say, allowing a break, temporary though, from deeper issues that otherwise fill our lives so much! Despite everything, once you are through, you know you have enjoyed a completely entertaining stretch of 24 hours (or two days for some, at the most to finish the book). Nice read!

Poetry-Words contradiction? Nah!!!

Friends, don't you think that I have hit upon a kind of blatant contradiction considering the two back to back posts that I have sent live lately?

Poetry does lose its soul once given shape on paper - that is what I feel. The essence dies down to a mere imitation of life once you bring out your emotions into the world. It is the feeling deep down within oneself which real poetry - something that you cannot define or describe. You have only got to feel. Well, there are means to let out this feeling, poetry being one of them and painting, sculpture and music some of the others. Poetry on paper is basically communicating to the world how or what you might have felt like with the poetry inside you.


But, my last blog post goes on to deify words. Hah! Words, mere words, I say (or Nathaniel Hawthorne says), can make or break things. True, words carry tremendous significance and if and when rightly arranged and used by the right minds, can create havoc. Words help define yourself; words help define others; words help define the world.


However, somewhere down the line there is a thread that binds these two together. One starts where the other ends. It is true about poetry losing its spirit once expressed; but it is equally true that your ex-pressions, when manifested in verse (or any art form, whatsoever), take a beautiful shape and words are the prime ingredients that go on to mold your poetry within your mind into the poetry on paper.

It is almost like:

Poetry in mind >via words>poetic verse on paper

And I do not pause to say that I love the lyrics, it's only words; and words are all I have; to take your heart away.

Tribute

This goes out to all my favorite writers:


"Words -- so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a
dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of
one who knows how to combine them," Nathaniel Hawthorne

I don't know what to call this!

Gosh...the day is once again round the corner. I know most of u will not agree with me here. Still, I must burst it out.

Valentine's Day is a thorough bore. Saying 'I love u' to your partner on this so-called special day almost means u are out of the passion for the rest of the twelvemonth. And well, what the hell is love? For me, it is unreal. Well, many of you may not agree. It is more of a feeling that u experience in any kind of event, person, action or sensation than just the love between man and woman.

For me love exists in the idea of the passion itself. I believe anything of the sort that is even once incarnated, loses its flame. Like when you put down your ideas of poetry on paper it is longer poetry...they are mere good sounding rhymes. Poetry remains poetry as long as it exclusively stays in the mind. It is the feeling of the emotion that matters, not the embodiment.

Well, we still write, we still love, we still fall.

Don't call me an escapist, pls.

Reminiscence of the Past

Traveling down the memory lane is one of my favorite pastimes, dwelt into in far intervals though. Looking back into my childhood (as far as my memory goes) helps me relive some of the most precious moments that I hold close to my heart. I have tried to assimilate some of the striking ones into this blog. Incidentally many of them might coincide with the past experiences of other people my age or round about.

First day In school: This is an experience probably no memory can miss. Getting into the gates of Carmel Convent High School, M.A.M.C, Durgapur, walking past the beautiful rows of eucalyptuses and a huge rotary opposite each other and most shockingly being led into the kindergarten room behind locked doors is still alive in my mind. Amidst a crowd of blue skirt-white shirt-red sweater dressed kids, a bunch of teachers, a huge blackboard and lots of wailing sounds, I too cried to my heart's content but then managed to make a few friends and was in splits by the end of the day.

Making way through adolescent reads: Having enjoyed my share of reading stuff with fairy tales Cinderellas and Snow Whites, I slipped into the dream world of Noddy and soon after took to the adolescent adventures of Famous Five, Secret Seven and Hardy Boys. Side by side I do not regret having fed with loads of Archie editions and the occasional intrusions by Tinkle, (mostly supplied by my bro). Later on books by Agatha Christie, Maugham, H.G Wells, Dickens, O'Henry took over...the list grew.

'I'm loving it' kinds: Some of the tasty tidbits that once invoked my senses, continue to be my favorites. Starting with hojmi guli (a digestive globule), GEMS, Peppermint, Pepsi Cola pipes, it covered the platter of luchi, begun bhaja, fulkopir chorchori, sujir payesh and gota on Saraswati Puja, korai er dal and posto the occasional phuchka sessions, daal kochuri, aamsotto...the list is endless. However, today there can be further additions made, like rolls, bhel puris, momos, etc.

Ramayan and Mahabharat: While in mid school these two epics aired on Doordarshan were a must see for us. Come every Sunday and all and sundry got glued to the television to read our epic sagas on T.V. I still remember people who did not have a T.V set hopped into our place to have a glimpse of the serials. But they couldn't be missed at any cost.

Other television serials: Agatha Christie and Sherlock Holmes episodes, Street Hawk, Danger Bay, Jungle Book animated series, Buniyaad, Hum Log, Karamchand, Khandaan, Quiz Time were some of my favorite T.V shows in my teens. A little later Fauji and Circus became the greatest rage of the time. Some of us even had the hero's name (Lt. Abhimanyu Roy, played by Shahrukh Khan) written on our palms. I still pull my little brother's leg by teasing him that I am a greater fan of SRK and for a longer span of time much before he got to know of him.

Poster collection: collecting posters of sports stars, singers, filmstars was a craze back then. We even exchanged our valuable possessions of the likes of Viv Richards or Imran Khan post cards with George Michael or Michael Jackson posters.

There are a whole lot of other associations that arouse nostalgia in me. But my blog is already a tad too long and you see what it takes to get into a reverie.

You can chip in with your memory slots here as you wish. You are most welcome!

Sachin's Omission

I thought of not even giving it an iota of space in my blog but then, keeping away from it also does not make me happy. Hello, I am talking about Sachin Tendulkar's omission from the 'all time great' top 20 in Tests and ODIs. Most rightly and sarcastically as Abhinav Bindra has put it, they (the ICC) must have mistyped or rather untyped mistakingly the maestro's name in the list.

The fact that the likes of Hayden, Sangakkara, Hussey, Mohammad Yousuf etc leading ahead of Tendulkar in itself raises serious doubts about the credibility of the rankings and rankers. A man of indomitable talent and exemplary dedication and consistency, the Little Master has been baffling the cricket world (lovers, critics and players included) with his cricketing acumen for 19 years now. With over 12,000 Test runs and 15,000 ODI run in his kitty, he still strives to deliver and deliver at its best, I must say! And still, he has been questioned of consistency. The ICC has gone nuts and needs rigorous counseling.

Slumdog Millionaire

First of all, kudos to the entire team of Slumdog Millionaire who bagged some of the most prestigious awards at the Golden Globe Awards last week. Although I am yet to watch the film, I can surmise an outline of what it is all about from the reviews and analyses that have been splashing the media for the past few days. However, what I fail to gather is why Mr Amitabh Bachchan is so vociferous about the portrayal of glorification of slum dwellers in Mumbai, India through a rags to riches story!

Apparently, Mr Bachchan has problems with the image of India being tarnished at the international level with the country's poverty being displayed in the film. He is also upset about the fact that Satyajit Ray's films got noticed in the global standards while Bollywood's blockbusters never got recognition at the film festivals which matter most.

May I point out that it was Big B who portrayed characters like Vijay in Deewar and a handful of other films as well which categorically harped on the oppression of the poor in the hands of the rich – wasn't India's image being played with, if his argument is to be considered at all! Moreover, the portrayals of the roles of anti-heroes were no less discouraging for the young generation of the 70's, proving him to be no less caring about the society and its people. However, I am not such dumb to not admit that I enjoyed every bit of the work you did all your life.

But I like Satyajit Ray's work more. Firstly, he worked on reality and never fled from accepting that he was a part of a poor country. Just a sparkling portrayal of the unreal with an 'all's bright and beautiful' tag dangling from all sides does not hide the reality. Poverty is still rampant here and Mumbai is home to one of the greatest slums. Entertainment and poetic justice are not the same. Had it been so, a Noddy or a Famous Five would have bagged a Booker instead of 'English Patient' or 'Midnight's Children' winning their dues.

Instead of talking big and shutting oneself to the pathetic financial plight of majority of your countrymen by basking in the glory of Bollywood fantasies, set your foot forward towards some positive moves that would compel global producers to portray India in a better light. Well done, Slumdog Millionaire!

Pondering over Pithe

Come every Poush Sankranti each year and most Bengalis either munch away or reminisce about the grand old dessert dish, pithe. Unfortunately, I belong to the latter category, cursed to have only just nostalgic memories about this awesome sweet dish and not have them. Hold on, it is not because I have developed any kind of diabetic tendency but simply because the making of this sweet requires special expertise and my mom doesn't have it. Well, she can make lovely prawn malaikari though :-)!

However, the memories of me devouring endless pithes at our neighbors' place back in Durgapur are still fresh in my mind. Latika mashi was a true expert at it. Pithe, majorly a winter affair, is generally prepared around Poush Sankranti (some time in mid Dec - mid Jan) to mark the new crop harvest festival. Christmas, or rather, cake celebrations would then be taken over by pithe festivities. Needless to say, my friends and I queued up at mashi's place to get going at the assortment of pithes - pati shapta (like stuffed pancakes), dudh puli (with concentrated milk), soru chakli, ranga alur pithe (made of sweet potato), and gokul pithe.

Made of rice flour, which forms the base of the pouch, pithes are generously stuffed with grated coconut, kheer or vegetables. Shapes of different kinds – crepe, round oval, etc waited on the tray to be devoured by us. I am exaggerating not in the least, the taste was heavenly. I can still breathe the sweetness of those steaming yummy pithes, I swear.

I was traveling in time and was almost in a reverie when my sister-in-law just helped me with a box full of equally tasty assorted pithes today right here, in my Kolkata home. Thanks a ton, boudi!

Auto Ban – Breathe Fresh

The sudden surge of the anti auto-rickshaw campaign, courtesy, Kolkata High Court, has given the city and its denizens another new issue to talk about. This subject, however, connects to the endangered welfare of the ecosystem and so deserves special mention and discussion as well.

Surprisingly, it took unexpectedly long to enforce the law of taking illegally running autos off from the city roads. Amidst clouds of polluted black air spewing out from the tailpipe of the three wheelers, thanks to the kaata tel funda, I feel my metabolic system being nastily overturned whenever I encounter one of those monster vehicles and what with older people of my parents' age! Myopics are gifted with several more layers of smoky dust, weak-hearts get blood pressure surges, chronic lung patients and dust allergies cough a lot more and even the most robust of mortals see a marked decline in their overall health system.

Had the West Bengal Government been a bit more cautious about their duties and responsibilities, there could have been much cleaner air to breathe in this city. Having abetted the plying of illegal autos (be it two stroke or five sitters or kaata tel feeders) for over two decades, the ruling party has encouraged outlawry, air pollution and a rise in physical maladies. This is an earnest plea to the government : wake up and take the blame on yourself and act accordingly to make the already dying city a better place to breathe in. Now!

Visit to the South City Mall

I know I should have visited this awesome shopping plaza named South City Mall at Anwar Shah Road, Kolkata, much earlier, but for my job, home and not to mention my famous lackadaisical me replicating the true spirit of my dear city held me from doing so for so long.

Well, thanks to my bro who had come down from London for a vacation, that I was literally pulled out of my room to this massive piece of extravagance. As I stepped into the mall I stammered to measure its hugeness, most of it lying in my blind spot. Getting into it was even breathtaking...Huge is a derogatory word perhaps - the ground floor spread across several square meters and the floors above held similar opulence to the core. The Christmas tree added zing to the scene as it was around the winter festival.

Having had rounds of the exclusive showrooms of Marks and Spencer, Next, Pantaloons, Shopper's Stop and many such houses of stunning salable items was really great. My bro even picked a bagful of goodies for me and we shared some good laughs over a cup of coffee and cake as well at the cafe upstairs. But while checking out of the mall the sorry faces of a few street urchins begging along the mall area was not all that entertaining. Wish the new year, 2009, strives towards a better effort on our part to narrow the gap between the rich and the broke.

Welcome 2009!

One more year gone and one to follow...resolutions to be made and broken...bads and goods to be faced anew...but one thing lives on and that is Hope. I am sorry to say that 2008 was a year of major lows, sprinkled here and there with some good times, however.

While Barack Obama's electoral win manifests a triumph over racism, the terror attack in Mumbai is a shame to mankind, politics and religion; while the Sensex dives down to abysmal depths, Abhinav Bindra wins his nation Olympic gold; while Nano rolls out of Singur, West Bengal, depriving the communist territory of a rise in the industrial arena, top cops of Mumbai lay slain for their beloved country and its people.

These incidents have had rippling effects as well. For example, the Sensex meltdown, possibly the worst of all blows, has mercilessly triggered job slashes, salary cuts, an overall downfall of the national as well as international economy and a series of psychological slumps as well. The Mumbai attacks have sacrificed the lives of hundreds of innocents and a number of dedicated professionals (cops and commandos) who laid their lives in defense of their countrymen. Not to mention the floods and famine across the world!

However, despite the loads of bads that people have witnessed in the bygone year, we are ready to hope for a better tomorrow. Natural calamities cannot be averted perhaps but, friends, let us pledge to try and wipe out the evils within us. Let us rise and shine. Welcome 2009.

The Tale of Mistaken Identities

I have sometimes wondered why our actors in Bollywood put on the get up of certain stereotyped characters e.g, a Sardar or a typical layman or an Imam etc for a self boost (?) in the industry! I cannot help talking about the most recent instance of the same - the awkward look of Shahrukh Khan in 'Rab ne Bana di Jodi'. Wearing the garb of the common man, side parted hair, a pair of black framed spectacles and most awkwardly and contradictorily, exhibiting the typical Shahrukh Khan-like gait and gab do not get along too well. In other words, the get up fails to bring out the layman in SRK.

The prances and dances of Surinder Sahni (SRK's role in RNBDJ) just cannot get over the frisk and frolic once projected by Rahul Khanna (SRK's role in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai) or Raj (SRK as in DDLJ). I am sorry to say it is very difficult to differentiate the roles apart from the contributions lent by the costume designer and the story.

Well, SRK is not the only in the run of donning new avatars. Akshay Kumar (sardar) in Singh is King, Salman Khan (sardar) in Heroes have started it...the list has just begun much like any of the common dhoti salwar/slacks/plastic bangles trends (which more often die down after an initial flurry). This trend is okay as long as you depict the right essence of the role. Grow up, men; it is more about getting into the identity of the role than into the outfit (literally) of the character you are playing.

Any similar or opposite views are more than welcome...do chip in with your opinions.

Thanks Orkut!

What is the weight of Orkut? An established two year old craze for social interaction? Or more than that? Ashima, one of my friends has been particularly vocal about its utter uselessness and irrelevance to any kind of 'constructiveness' as such. She even nicknamed it 'Morkut' in her initial stage of handshake with the 'friendly neighborhood', Orkut and preferred age-old emails to this socializing option. I used to think the same but now I think otherwise. It was due to Orkut that I got to reconnect with her as well as a host of my other school friends...

I cannot be more thankful to this otherwise non productive site for helping me get together my adolescent days, golden school memories and my oh! so special friends. And my once-upon-a-time anti-Orkut friend really loves it too.

Today, the once-in-a-month adda sessions that we are blessed with when we hit one of those reasonably priced family restaurants in Park Street (so that we can rattle on incessantly without attracting too much of attention from other customers as it mostly remains empty), the sharing of highs and lows and most importantly, the boon to laugh together, are very special to me.

Thanks Orkut! Today Ashima and I and a whole lot of initial Orkut haters share an invisible bond with you.

Maradona – the Living Legend

The City of Joy was, as expected, booming and bubbling with love, respect, emotion and affection for the legendary Maradona when he was here on a short visit a few days back. Soccer, for me has been nothing much beyond the sensationalism and adrenaline pumping; but Maradona surely was special ever since my school days.

Certainly having brought back sweet adolescent memories of my past, when I was in Std V, in 1986, it was almost like revisiting the days of yore:). The sky blue and white striped dressed little Maradona sliding and gliding through the defenders' den of the opposition looked like a newly whetted knife going through butter.

What was most striking about that World Cup was that it threw up a whole new battalion of soccer freaks overnight, courtesy, Maradona. Even one of my friends penned down a poem on this star footballer. Believe it or not, the last lines of it ran as, 'Maradona you are number 10; my pen comes to an end.' His pen might might have not progressed any further but Kolkata's love for the man himself grew taller and stronger...His visit and our grand response stood as a testimony to that.

Relation – Nieces and Nephews

Nieces and nephews were always a matter of great love, affection and a strange genetic understanding. My little niece, Sneha, all of four, is a little glob of happiness in my otherwise loveless life. A relation so difficult to outline, it surely lends an inexplicable joy and contentment in anybody's life (or should I say most people).

I have tried jotting down some possible reasons for this strange affinity of aunts to nieces and nephews.

• Firstly, since you get to see, know, nurture and watch them grow inch by inch (if they are staying in the same house or at least in the same city, that is), you are more often than not attracted to these little things on a personal level. Given that he/she is your sibling's child makes the sentiment grow stronger.
  
• Secondly, bearing the same gene in your system leads you to an uncontrollable attraction towards the tot. Due to biological as well as emotional reasons the child is drawn towards its aunt or uncle. Sad, but a lot of clinical reasoning goes into this.
  
• Thirdly, a child in the family is a treasure for all. Starting from its grandparents to parents to aunts and uncles, all extend constant and loving attention to the little child, making him/her feel a special thing and stimulating an attraction in them towards their affection-givers.
  

Sneha's love for her pipi is a sheer testimonial to this article. Come each Saturday and I wait as much as she does when she comes down to our place with her parents to visit her grandparents. Call it a strange relation - nieces and nephews do matter a lot.

Interview – Shivers?

Not that this blog deals with a very recent happening but nevertheless, I must pen it down for your pleasure and my satisfaction. Two months back when I was undergoing the agony of job hunt and rejections and job hunts again, I landed up at one of the interview scenes here in Kolkata that was more than just scare and fear.

As directed by the person at the venue, I took an auto to the place from where I had to take a rickshaw. Started off with a greeting of non stop drizzle and the inadequate conveyance options, I edged on to my destination. Having boarded the rickshaw I found myself amid heaps and piles of dirt, trash and rubble on both sides of the road as the vehicle moved along. I was just beginning to wonder where was the awful stench coming from and was soon enlightened – there were pig sties on both sides of the road with clusters of pigs, piglets and sows ambling along the sidewalks. At long last I was there at my address, in front of a building in shambles, almost.

To add more woe to my already acquired anxiety, there were these two bespectacled interviewers volleying questions at me followed by the written test which required me to scribble an article on 'Qutab Minar and Lollypop'. But to my utter amazement and joy, I thoroughly enjoyed writing the piece. Did somebody say 'assigned works turn out more interesting than the spontaneous ones'? I enjoyed my interview! Tough tests are not all that bad anyways!

Lunch out of Office

As it is I was getting bored having my home packed fare of chapatis and bhaji everyday at lunch in the office. To top it, the maid was absent yesterday and mom had to go out for her eye surgery tests. I was almost forced by destiny to have my lunch out of office.

Thanks to a couple of my colleagues who suggested a nearby restaurant down the park side lane along the main road at Jodhpur Park. The eatery was a small yet clean one, safe for a wretched soul with a weak stomach like me to have a good nosh at an unbelievably modest price.

I ordered a paper masala dosa and my table was ready in no time. Hot and crisp, the huge wrap of fried rice-powder paste filled in with potato curry, accompanied with two bowls of chutney and sambhar each, were quite easy for my pocket at twenty four bucks! Having had my fill in no more than twenty minutes, I was back in office much before time. Not bad to skip home food once in a while!

Mumbai Terror – Effects on Non-Mumbaites

A week and a half have passed and the terror still grips on to one and all around the country and beyond. My cousin and his wife in London are as much amid a cauldron of worry and anxiety for their parents in Mumbai as we are, sitting here in Kolkata in the very nation of terror attacks. Analysts can easily pass it off saying it is hardly a scare for people in this otherwise lackadaisical city of joy, but trust me, it is worse.

I was at a house warming function last week and one of the little invitees was almost rampaging around the apartment posing like the terrorist he had been viewing on television for the past few days. God save these tots, but what on earth are they imbibing – terror is the best form of entertainment!!!

The maid and her daughter, the other day, landed up with an ax peeping out of their bag which they regularly carry. When asked about it, she prompted, 'don't you see in the papers and the TV there is a constant fear of life everywhere and we travel by train daily. Isn't that reason enough? You too should keep some weapon, didi, they say attacks can happen anywhere in India.'

What are we living with? Fear, hatred, disbelief? Can anything under the sun change this crisis situation that gives eerie goose bumps to one and all around?

Phuchka - the Ball of Fire

Guys, you have got to believe this. I made Sara have her first run of phuchkas in one of the by-lanes of Kolkata, India. Hang on, this is something I will gradually unfurl and you will suck in bit by bit to have a hell of a time laughing for the next twenty five minutes.

Sara, my American friend through a chatting site, happened to visit India a few days ago and for obvious reasons, dropped in at my place to have a good round of this communist kingdom.

So much for the phuchka episode...A good six feet tall, Sara looked awful beside my diminutive magnitude of a bare five feet in front of the hugely built mustachioed potbellied phuchka vendor along Vivekananda Park. The scene in itself was hilarious as ever, but more was to follow.

The boss of the situation as I was, I ordered some five of those roly-poly crispy covered spicy stuffed balls of semolina for each of us. As the first ball of fire dipped in tamarind water crawled into Sara's mouth, to our amazement and her woe, briny waters began rolling down her cheeks – Sara was crying. Guess what! Touched by her comic gloom, the phuchka vendor offered her some sugared phuchka balls, sans the filling of spicy mashed potato and she loved it. Or should I say she was relieved! But something in those little little globules of fire must have allured her so that she proposed another round of phuchka gobbling session before leaving for the US.