Aamin

Aamin Mondal (as i later knew his name was) : Didi, didi, money money, please, money...

Me : What? money? why?

AM: I kept your shoe safe, see here it is.

Apparently, he had saved me from lurking thieves who would like nothing better than to steal my shoe. For all of you who have seen the pair, it would be a good thing for me to have it stolen so I would finally get a new one. But that was not to be, as Aamin had kept it tucked safely between his legs. His intention however, was far from innocent. He used his cute facednes as a ploy to usurp money from others who visited the temple. I was another such victim.

Months of living in a country where such hardship lathered cuteness is hard to find, have however, taught me to look behind the obvious. I looked at his oversized blue jacket, probably the only one to survive the Kolkata cold, in the pavements below the bridge. Alone. With his group of friends. All now bickering for the ten Rupees note in AM's hands.

Me: Oye, you are all supposed to share this..

AM: ohhh...if you are so concerned, why dont you give me more eh?

Me: yeah right, then tomorrow I will have to ask you for money.

AM: Say what? give me that song thing you have ( referring to the pink mp3 in my hand, so guys like pink...hmmmm)

Me: you wont even know half the songs in here..

AM: O madam, even I know englis.

Me: Acchha?? you go to school?

AM: you dont believe me? come come, ill show my school to you...

Me: all of you go there?

AM's friend (female, very sweet, will grow up to be a killer): arre dont listen to him, he will take your money and eat gutkha...

Me: you dont like gutkha? or do you?

AM's friend : we all love it. even he. (pointing at the smallest kid in the group, who now smiles guiltily)

Me : but thats not good is it?

AM: Didi, nothing in our life is. You just give me another ten bucks and go. Go home.

Me : ........

There are very few instances in life where I dont talk back. There are even fewer people who can render me speechless. For this reason alone, if not for anything else, that I will always remember AM. Probably go back to the temple again, to talk to AM again, to partake in their stained lives, to feel oh i am so cool, i can talk to roadside kids without any hesitation, to feel the small glitch in my heart when the helplessness hits me and I realise how lucky I am to have a home.

As of now, I can do nothing. Except for write a blog.

jet unlagged

so..i reached home last night. i was anxious while in Newark, tensed at the airport, hungry in the flight (food in Continental sucks), awed to see a horizontal rainbow while flying above the clouds, very tired after the landing...

Excited about coming home? no. zero. zilch.

As the 'o my God, i am emotionaly drained' paranoia set in, i seeked alternate explanations for my lack of feeling. maybe its because i practically dont live in the USA, i live in Harrison, which as everyone knows, is a messier, dirtier, more concise version of India itself. Or maybe bcos its not even a year since i left. Or that i had met my parents in summer. Or probably (this is a very long shot), i had just given my Molbio paper, and i was too exhausted for any feeling...

But nothing made sense. As i spotted an older dad and a thinner mom, and after the customary exclamations about my loss in weight ( what lies, my jeans are proof), i practically threw in the luggage and fixed my eyes outside through the window of the car. Maybe, revisiting the places i grew up in would stir my dead emotions. Would you believe it, i even hummed "ye jo des hai mera, swades hai mera" for a minute waiting for the eyes watering, chokiness that should have overpowered me by now. oh come on......

Then i figured. i was not Shah Rukh Khan's heroine. i was not Karan Johar's either. i do not dance around in chiffon sarees when it snows, i do not go jogging in Central Park, i can never manage to not spill coffee while i walk ( i have tried, believe me), i do not have the luxury of crying over a heartbreak on Brooklyn Bridge. i lack a scripted life. i cannot be expected to get straight As, be stick thin, fall in love, and sing for my country at the same time. na na.

So when after a year of surviving on ramen noodles, subway and samosa paav,God bless the cart wallah, i come back to the secure confines of home, all i feel is relief.

That nothing has changed. Bombay is still hot, still pleasant, still trafficky, and although still punctuated by terror alerts, the mornings still sees a crowd of fisher-women with their hair adorned with fresh flowers, the bus driver in a rare mellow mood, the already busy vada pav stalls in Churchgate, joggers smiling their way through excreta of various kinds, a dog scrutinising left overs at Chowpatty, students grumbling over tution classes, wondering if going to Siddhivinayak would yield better grades, the everything market at Colaba, a couple sneaking behind Band stand, the water lapping over Haji Ali, from the sun feebly trying to climb over a heavy spread of fog to the queen's lavish necklace in Marine Drive....I am relieved my home is just as how i had seen it last.

In the midst of the silent humbleness, I miss Harrison. I miss the bridge, with the wind creating ripples in the water, i miss not looking for the stop sign when i cross the roads, i miss the gossip in the campus centre, i miss the mess i have made out of my room, and also the comfort of independence that i have achieved, i miss the cold blast of air that hits my face the moment i step out, i miss the very few friends i have there....

But then i look at the sky, and i see the odd shaped moon, the same one here, the same one there. And finally, i come to believe, wherever i am, i will always be at home.

Songs? Anyone?

A Farewell

when its dark outside and the noise is driving u crazy,
when every breath seems to confirm your final fear;
when at the end of the road, thers no glint of hope,
when every thought is discarded by lifes indecision,

all you need is me,
i know all you need is me..

look back to see my eyes on you,
look back to see the smiles,
think back to feel the touch, the smell,
the love in all its disguise..

you'll know all you need is me,
i hope all you need is me...

when silent stares are all you get,
when the hidden tears remain unseen,
when the confession hurts more than the honest mistake,
when the world's out to prove that you are wrong...

a hand will reach out for you strength,
a heart will still believe in you,
and when you get to see that faith,
without the lurking fear you'll know;

you'll know all you need is me,
y do i feel all you need is me?

you can reach out, and i may not come,
you can search, but i may hide,
in some other world, some other time,
you know im there beside...

but for now, my love, let this be it,
let the mystery be unsolved...
for the sake of the true lies that we lived,
let our stories be untold...

Obhyash

Bagane ekta togor gaach. sheta te shiit, grishwo, borsha, shara bochor chotto chotto shada phool fNote. niyomiito. emon kono din nei, jobe janala diye mukh baRiye ek jhNaak togor phool ke matha dolate dyakha jayeni. kharap o lage na. bhalo o lage na. baganer shobha emon kichu baReo na. sada matha phool, temon gondho o choRaye na. loke dekheo na dyakha kore dey.

Togor gach ta jyano kibhabe bujhte pare, tar kodor khub beshi na. tai she chupti kore janalar neech er chaya ghera jayga ta-e dNariye thake. she maali-r kache ador, jotno, bhalobasha, kichui asha kore na. she jaane, golaap, joba, dahlia, chondromollika der tulonaaye, she onek onek neeche. she tai niye matha ghamaye na. jak ge. baRir bou ti je nityo din pujo-r phool tolar somoy ek gaal heshe tar dikei ashbe, ei kotha mone kore she roj phool fNutiye jaye. ek din o bhool kore na.

Maali ta tar bagaan niye jar por nai gorbito. shara paRaye emon bagan ko khana ache. Babu ke diye boliye boliye shaar aniyeche. Babu muk kore bote, tobe phool dekhe bahoba o dey. ki shobha tar phool er. teen teen ronger golaap, jNui, chNapa, iyya boRo boRo gNyada... ki nei tar bagane. kopal dosh e jedin kono phool i fNote na, togor ta to achei. din din shukiye jachche gaach ta. jak ge jak. togor thaklei ba ki, na thaklei ba ki. byabostha hobe khon...

Bagaan e boshonto ashe. jyano mati te ramdhonu fNuteche. projapoti ta thik korte parche na kon dike jabe. baRi-r boRo chele-r photo tolar shokh. she khotash khotash chobi tulche. tar bon rong pencil tuli niye sondhya obdhi bagane. golaap er shonge rong na melale tar aar cholche na... e hyano byastota Togor gaach daRiye daRiye dyakhe. kichui bole na.

koyek mash jaye. baRite pujo.

phool tulye eshe dyakha jaye, e bochor shiuli ta kom. ja poReche, take diye kichui hobe na. gNyada gaach gulor thik pashe bishal boRo ek bolta-r chaak. golaap gaach e aaj shudui kNata. Joba diye ki aar pujo hoy? Dahlia cheRe kar sadhyo? ei ko mashe baaki phool der joubon shesh. ki kora? Shada phool chai je...

Togor gaach dyakhe, ebaar sobai tar dikei cheye. she kichui bole na. ebaar shudhui opekkha...

Obhyash bhanganor.

khyala

tar chotto chotto hath pa dekhe keu bujhbe na, tar ki oshiim khomota. gol gol chokh gulo takush tukush, edik odik takaye, aar mathaye ohoroho dushtu buddhi ghore. ekbaar jodi kichu korbe bole thik korlo, to byas...aar jaye kothaye? kokhono khilkhil kore heshe uthche, kokhono abar bina karone osrupaat. kichu jiggesh korle, bole o na, shone to na i.

tobu take mathaye kore rakha hoy. she jokhon jeta hukum kore, bina bakkobyay e hajir kora hoy. bujhi ei kore kore i tar ashpordha beRe choleche. aage tobu ektu adhtu chokh raNgale, majhe sajhe duto mishti gaan gaile, tar mon bhijto. ekhon? sref obogga. e hyano opomaan sotteo, baRi shuddho lok tar kothatei othe boshe.

she bhalobashe sudhu khyala korte. shei khyala, jar kono matha nei, mundu nei, naam nei. bibhinno putul, ghor baRi, phol-phool, majhe sajhe jol, kokhono abar poka makoR, ki nei tar dol e? tar khyalar niyom she morji moto bhaNge, morji moto goRe. baki shongi ra maniye ney.

putul gulo r je koshto hoy na ta na. dhoro duto putul er khub bhaab. jei eta tar chokh e poRlo, dilo duto ke alada bakshe bondi kore. tarpor dhoro ekta phool jotno kore tar pasher kuRi ti ke agle rekheche, dilo emon taan, phool- kuRi shob hapish. jol niye khelche, bhalo kotha, nije bhijcho, bhejo, sobbai ke nakani-chobani khaoanor ki dorkar baba? tar por khelna gaRi. uff....gaRi gulo ke ek sathe thik kore chalano jaye, eta jyano she janei na. jotokkhon na duRum daRum kore ektar ekta upor na uthe jaye, she haal chaRe na. setai naki moja !

khelnar dol bohubaar thik koreche, ei obichaar er birodhita na korlei noy. tobu bojhoi to, putul gulo ek kotha bole, to haRi-koRa bNeke boshe. gaaRi-ghoRa bole hyan, to baagan bole na. aar amader babumoshai ke paye ke? er kotha take, tar kotha eke. shob nijeder moddhyey loRe more. byas...aar kono bhoy i nei. :-)

ei kore din jaye. onek din gyache. aro onek din jabe. she khyala thamabe na.

She Bhogoban bole kotha.

Agomoni

aar baro-tero din. tar porei Durga Pujo. er samne aar kichui matha tule daRate pare na. kokhonoi na.

chotobyalaye Ma bolto, kono kharap howa manei, samne bhalo asche. ami tokhon Ma-r shob kotha shuntam kina, tai eta monepraNe bishwash kortam. shei somoy "kharap" ta chilo porikkha, aar "bhalo" ta chilo Pujo. protibaar half yearly porikkha shesh hote na hotei Durga Pujo-r chuti shuru hoye jeto. porikkha dite ditei kolpona kortam, ei chuti kikore katano hobe, kon kon pandel e ghora hobe, ke ke baRite ashbe, kar kota jama holo, aar sobar upore, ki ki khaoa hobe tar list. tar shonge obosshoi pujabarshiki Anondomela.

tokhon pujor din e shokkal shokkal ful kuRote jetam. baRite ekta laal jhuRi chilo. aar bagane ekta shiuli gaach. ghum theke uthe dekhtam uthon moy sada aar komola roNger choRachoRi. gaach ta ke dhore naRa dile, toptop baaki ful gulo jhoRe jeto, aar shei shonge haath, mukh bhore jeto shishir e. ki sundor ekta gondho thakto charidike. shei ful diye, khub shokh hole mala banatam majhe sajhe.

er moddhyei rannaghor theke luchi bhaja r gondho ashto. kon gondho ta beshi bhalo, ful er na luchi-r, eta bola shokto. tobe dutoi pujo-r gondho. luchi -r shonge hoy cholar daal, noy alur dom, noy begun bhaja. bNode ba ledikeni ba jilipi :-) ei diye shokaal shuru hole to din emni i bhalo kaate, bolo? tokhon tv te chuti -chuti dyakhar dhum chilo. ekhon bachchader binodon-er shonge tulonaye hoyto go haran harbe, kintu nirbhejal moja chilo nonte-fonte, betaal, thakuma-r jhulir golpo gulo te.

ei shob er moddhyey pishi-r meye, Tumpa-r probesh ebong totkhonat, "bonu, shaRi poRe aye, amra khelbo" r aadesh. shaRi poRa amar kokhonoi roche na. tai ami sorbokkhon chele sajtam. bajare jetam. mane bagane. boRo boRo pata tule antam. Tumpa shei pata gulo cough syrup er botoler dhakna diye kete sobuj roNger ruti banato. tar shonge rannaghor theke shak sobji-r khosha. hoye gyalo putul-er khaoa. :-)

dupur byala ei bata, oi bata, ei ghonto, oi choRchoRi, ei mach, oi maNgsho diye jake bole bhoj. ki kore oto tingtinge roga chilam tokhon ke jane?

khaoa r porbo mitte na mittei shuru hoto, ajke ki jama poRe Thakur dekhte jaoa hobe? pochondoshoi fulchaap jama ta hole ekta Thakur kom dekhleo khoti nei. kintu oi mashi, shei pishi diyeche, na poRle kharap dyakhaye gocher jama holei shob pondo. tar shonge notun juto, aar mathaye hair-band. shaaj complete. ebaar beronor pala. train hok, bus hok, porer dike metro, tar o pore taxi, bigoto du bochor holo gaaRi, kore shei Barasat theke kothaye na beRate gechi amra. teen din Thakur dyakha to noy, gota Kolkata choshe beRano. tar upor abar Baba-r dhomkani, "bol to, kota Thakur dyakha holo?", ore baba, ekta miss hole aar rokkhe nei. kicchukhon por mone hoto, kokhon baRi firbo. eto haNta, eto bhiR kromosho oshojjo hoye uthto. pandel-er bhetore du minute, line e adh ghonta. kono mane hoy? tar majhei abar er baccha hariyeche, tar shalli okhane daRiye ache...brishti hole abar notun jutor dofarofa...

raat e baRi fire, alu sheddho bhaat ( shorir e kulole, ghee, lonka, pNeyaaj sohojoge), kheye bichanaye poton.

tokhon light er bahar, phuchka-r jhaal, aar Oshur er gayer noNgra roNg tai sudhu kheyal kore dekhtam, shiuli tulechi, ektu kalo thakle dur kore fele diyechi, Baba bolche, aar ekta dekhei fire jabo, ami line e daRiyei ghume dhole poRechi, train e jhalmuRi ala kaku ke onayashe obogga korechi, Maa ke bolechi, amader baRite cable tv nei kyano? keu laal roNger jama dile almaRir shesh tak e thele diyechi...patta diy ni kichukei.

ebaar Durga Pujo kyamon hobe ami janina. na shiuli ful ache, na dhaak, na dhunuchi. na mon matano pandel ache, na mike theke bheshe asha notun gaan er kolahol, na maa-r hather naRu ache, na Oshesh er iyya boRo pantua. okhane thakle, hoyto boltam, dhur ami ebar Thakur dekhte jabo na. oi bhiR bhatta aar poshaye na. kintu ami to okhane nei, tai monta okhanei poRe ache.

tobu, khaoar list ta ami baniyei rekhechi. bola to jayna, Maa jokhon tokhon eshe poRbe :-)

3/25

ko din age, professor amake ek taRa khata dilen. MCQ, matro 25 ta. ami sobai ke shuni kannakaati kore, "aar bolish na, khata dekhte hobe", amar to sottyi bolte ki, besh laglo. jodio amio maa ke phone e bolechi, "tumi aar ki bujhbe, etto khata dekhte hocche", moner kothaye jyano ekta odbhut bhalolaga, aha...ami kotoi na boRo hoye gechi.

chotobyalaye, amar ek dida ke dekhtam khata dekhte, tarpor dhoro school er madam ra, tader proti shei boyoshe ekta sundor bhalobasha thake, tara jai bolen tai thik, tader khushi korte parle (baaki class ke chotiye), mone hoy akashe bheshe bheshe byaRacchi...she byapaar i alada. tai, tara shei somoye ja korten, ami ajke shetai korchi, bhablei monta besh projapoti projapoti, balloon balloon, hoye othe. bojhate bolo na.

jai hok, mukh gombhiir kore, jama-r hatha gutiye, ekhane sekhane tick, cross korchi....emni somoy kheyal holo, thik bhalo nombor temon keu pachchena. mote ekta 22, beshirbhaag i 14-15, ekta abar 3.


prothome besh uttejiito hoye poRlam. shei class nine e ShouNok ke 1 nombor beshi deoa, tarpor aRshola-r life cycle na bolte parar jonno daR koriye rakha, ber korchi. besh emon koyekta shuddho bangla shobdo mathaye gurchilo, jader ekhane probesh nishedh.

edesh e ki niyom ami janina. baRir lokera khata dekhte chaye kina tao janina. 3/25 dekhe ki bolbe? "dont cry baby, momma is gonna make everything alright" bolbe, naki, baccha-r mon kharap ghNuchate ekta choto khato theme party i diye felbe?

ami ki kortam? khata ta lukiye rakhtam. buk dur dur kore baRi firtam, fire shoooob boi khata-r niche, otake gNuje ditam. tarpor jedin obhibabok er shoi kore dyakhanor shesh din, tar aager din otake chupi chupi ber kortam. kii bhoyanko piece ami chotobyalar thekei, hyan?

mukh chuun kore prothome maa ke dyakhatam. maa bolto, oi ek i dialogue, sharata school/college jibon... "ei nombor peyechish?, shob to perechili bolli, ki holo? baki ra ki peyeche? " eituku peRiye jete parle, dupur byala plus bikel byala shaanti. shedin khelte jaoa bosshyo pondo. raat-e baba ke face korar pala. ami chirokaal i bNete, bujhle? baba baRi fireche, bel bajacche, ma jachche dorja-r dike...aar amar uchchota kromosho hRash pacche. ei korei aar baRini. tarpor aarki, hath pa thanda hoye jaoa, kaan toktoke laal, payer nokh er dike thNyae cheye thaka, mukhe saat choRe raa na kata, hothath bhyak kore kNede fyala, mukh e kichu konomote gNujhe shue poRa. byas.

Nischinti....gota ek soptah-er jonno.

ei bhibishika moy sondhya gulor kotha bhebei hok, ba jai hok, hothath amar mon-er balloon shob chupshe gyalo. aha re, na hoy poRei ni, na hoy tv i dekheche, na hoy icche kore ni boi khulte, sottyi to, Darwin koto shaal e, kon boi er kon pata e kii likheche, jene ami i ba ki ulte dichchi?? thak na ora, oder violent games, rash driving, saturday nights, Wii, size zero aar fata cheRa jama kapoR er duniya tei. ek din to berotei hobe.

hath pa thanda hoyar din sobar emnii ashe...take deke deke anar to kono mane hoy na bolo?

aar shob cheye bhoy er kotha, amar baRite je khata dyakhanor din ekhono shesh hoyni.

laptop

eta amar notun laptop theke prothom post. :-)

notun kyano? kenoki purono ta mara geche. tar joubon onek kaal holo periye giyechilo, onek din dhorei bhugchilo. prothomei gyalo webcam. tarpor rog choRiye, tiltil kore shara shorir jha jha kore dilo. shukrobaar besh moja kore gonesh pujo-r prosad kheye bhabchi eibaar Sugata da ke bolbo photo gulo pathao, eshe dekhi hath pa thanda, laptop chirobidaye niyeche.

kharap laglo. kharap lagata i swabhabik. kintu oi "felte icche korche, tobu felte paRchi na" jonok chinta gulo korar obokash ar roilo na. online laptop kine anar siddhanto nite dosh minute o lageni. accha adh ghonta. taka boleo to ekta byapar ache.

na ache gmail, na ache youtube. bhablam ei sujog ta ke kaje lagiye boi khata der chomke deoa jak. shob guchiye, pen,pencil,emonki edesher lokjon er dyakhadekhi highlighter porjonto niye bosha gyalo.

adh ghonta por amar kagojer konaye, ekta kotha o baRiye bolchi na bishwash koro, ekta hash jole bhasche, ekta adh khana mukh, choshma poRa, ekta bajar korar list, ekta ki ki notun gaan shunte hobe tar talika, ekta kon poRa ta kokhon korle baaki kaaj gulo thik moto korte parbo tar bornona. tar pashe amar ekhonkar ojon aar "aha re kobe she din ashbe"-r ojon, tader parthokko, bhibishikamoy shonkhya ta ke baroNbar gol kore daag deoa. ebong blog korar ki ki topic hote pare, tar firisti.

shobar shesh e chotto kore lekha, "get a small diary".

bojha gyalo. poRashona bhondul. bhablam golper boi poRi. kheyal holo, she to laptop e. tarpor bhablam accha etto photo jome ache, addhek delete kore di. na...she o laptop e. gaan? prio bondhur shonge iyarki? notun recipe? ghor sajanor adhunik upaye? nehat paper khule ekta shobder dike thNaye takiye thaka? shooob laptop e.

etodin she chilo, tar dike takai ni. take diye jotto kaaj korano jaye, koriyechi. tar dwara amar jibon modhur theke modhurtomo hoye utheche, ami bhebechi, e to hobar i kotha. she majhe sajhe udbhot kandokarkhana koreche, patta diyini. tar keyboard er upor majhe sajhe cake biscuit er guRo, kromosho lop paoa chul er sheshaNso, shob i paoa jeto. she byatha peye bondho hoye geche, ami take ek choR mere abar chalu korechi.

por din giye ekta notun chokchoke laptop kine ana holo. New York ghora o holo, coffee khaoa o holo, mondo ki? ekhon shei laptop ke fu dite dite amar mukh byatha hoye gelo, gaye ekta daag jyano na lage, ektu gorom holei, dorja janla bondo kore dokaan tule fela hocche...theke sekha jake bole aar ki.

amar shob data, gaan, photo ekhono oi laptop e. shob kaaj er majhei, mon ta khNut khNut korche...jotoi forsha dekhte hok na kyano notun ti, purono to-r maya katano ki aar otoi sohoj?tar gaye ojosro daag, she besh bhaari, take lokjon er samne ber korte idaniNg amar kuntha hoto. tobu she amar chiroshongi. goto paaNch bochorer shob sMriti, asha, akankha, GRE- practice theke priojon ke bidaye janano porjonto, she i chilo. she bare bare eshe janan diye jaye, take hela fela kora thik bhalo hoy ni.

"ekdin jabo chole, ei ghor shunno kore, badhon chinno kore;
jodi chaho, jeyo bhule..."

bhola ki aar otoi sohoj ???

chopetaghat

amar ek chena dompoti ache. chena mane amader i paRaye, du teen te baRi cheRe.

bhodrolok kaan e kom shonen. maane na ke hyan, hyan ke na, phone ta dhoro, dyakho to ke eseche, ei dhoron er kaan e kom to shob bibahito purush ra i shune thaken. kintu ini shei dol e poren na. enar kom shona ta "kaan" joRito, "mogoj" joRito noy.

kichu manush ache jara kotha na bole thakte paren na. bhodromohila shei doler. ghor e kotha bolar osubhidha thakaye, tini thik korlen rannaghor er janala diye pasher baRir shonge kotha bolar quota puroN korben. tarpor tar pasher baRi. tar tar pasher baRi. oi ek i janala diye. shei theke, paRar lokjon, khub bhalobeshe tar naam dilo "mike". eta bossho shona ghotona.

bhodromohilar ekti beRal chilo. shada dhobdhobe. sundor dekhte. beRal tao kaan e kom shunto kina janina, tobe sorbhokkhon karur kaan er kache soptom shure "minni minni minni aaaayyyeeee" bole chNyachale kaan thik thakar kotha na. bhor dupur byala, paRa shuddho lok ghumocche, duure ice cream er gaRi jacche, baccha kokhon ma ghumobe aar ami khelte jabo bhabche, tiya pakhi adhkana peyara eNto kore jacche, ei somoy hothath nistobdota chiRe fele "minni ayye" er naki naki shur shunle, Ramgopal Verma patent koriye niten.

e hyano "made for each other" er sukher poribare, eirokom i ek dupur byala, maa jononi nidra giyechen. paRaye okhondo shanti. bhodrolok kothaye sheta proyojonio noy, hearing aid ta kaan e nei, eitukuni jana i jotheshto.

minni dekhlo ei sujog. dhakna tule uki mara macher matha, ghaash e phoriNg, jole nijer chaya-r moto bibidho akorshon cheRe take etodin aatke rakha hoyechilo. bhaba jaye. she guti guti paye ber hoye, nistobdota bojaye rekhe, pogar paar.

himesh reshammiya ke aar kotodin i ba shojjo kora jaye, bolun?

ghum theke uthe maa jononi byapar ter pelen. korta ke bedhe anar hukum holo. jera shuru to holo, kintu sofol holo na. korta shob proshner ek i uttor dyan...

"kii bolchoooo????"

jotoi kNede, kokiye, raag kore, humki diye, paye poRe, uttejonaye kNaapte kNaapte take jiggesh kora hoy, she nirlipto mukh kore hashte thaken. aar thakte na pere, "mike" emon ekti kaaj korlen ja paati bangladesh er mofossol elakay e odwittio.

tini thash kore ek choR marlen. tar aNgul er daag korta-r forsha mukh e tuktuk kore fute uthlo.

ami dekhini. shunechi.

ekhon tini "mike tyson".

haar-jeet

choto boyeshe manush ke onek kichui shekhano sohoj. bhul bhal ja ta ekta kichu bole dilei holo. amar moto hada gongaram hole, tota pakhi-r moto bina dwidhaye shob gule khabe. ja ja gul ami chotobyala te mene niyechilam, tar moddhyey jwolonto udaharoN hocche "manush er sobsomoy bhalo korbe, keu kichu chaile hashimukhe sahajjo korbe, bipode phele ashbe na" ityadi probhriti....

besh. manlam. kintu mukh buje kichu hojom korle je kii poriNoti hoy, sheita ebar okkhore okkhore bujhte parchi.

amar college er bondhu-r dol kal Niagara dekhte jabe. tara prakiritik shobha dekhe mugdho hobe, ebong shei mugdhota hojom hobe na jotokkhon facebook e tara kii dekhlen sheta baaki duniya na dekhe fele. dosh er kichu na. amar o obikol ei onubhuti guloi hoy majhe sajhe. kintu byapar hocche eibar ami jabo na. shutoraNg amar chokher moNi camera ta "long weekend" e bekaar i poRe thakbe.

ghotona nischoi bojha hoye geche etokkhone? amar ek besh bhalo bondhu amar camera ti cheyeche. tar shonge etao boleche je she tar jibon diye amar camera rokkha korbe. onno karur hathe debe na. camera te jodi ekta daag o lage tahole or naam mitthye.

kintu byapaar hocche, ami to aar choto nei. bhalo buddhi nai baRuk, baje buddhi to tortor kore beRe choleche. shahajjo kora uchit ta to holo, kintu nischoy raat -er ghum keRe noy?

nijer mon ke koshto diye, dushchinta baRiye, parchen na othocho bondhu sthaniyo lokeder shahajjo korechen nischoi kokhono na kokhono? ki gero tahole bhaloi janen. blog likhte likhtei ami bujhte paRchi, monta boddo choto hoye gyache. abar mon er bhetor thekei minmin kore awaj asche, "kintu camera-r jodi kichu hoy? amar camera..." tobu bondhu-r cheye ki camera boRo? camera, taka poisha, shob theke prio golper boi, ek adh din cellphone er talktime?

amra shahajjo korte motamuti shokolei, unmukh na holeo, ghabRai na. tobe shahajjo kora aar nijeke bNash diye shahajjo korar modhyey tulona hoyna. janina camera debo ki debo na, kintu eituku jani, na dite parle, ami amar chotobyalar kache here jabo. she koto koshto korei na koto kichu mene niyechilo, tar kichu daam to ditei hobe, na?

kintu amar camera???

meye hoya

eita aamar raag kora post. ami sadharoNoto etota khepe jai na. kintu eibaar amar dhoirjo aar dharon hote chaiche na.

chotobyalar kotha, ektu kanna kaati korlei baba bolto, "amar samne meyeder moto nyakami korle kichu hobe na, chupchap ja bolchi tai koro". ta amio kichu kom danpite chilam na. shutorang gaach-e choRte giye poRe jaoa theke khelar dol theke bonchito hoa porjonto, kono kichu niyei ami khub ekta ghyan ghyan korar sujog pai ni. tai bole amar tai niye kono apshosh nei. ekebarei nei. sottyi bolte ki, ami aajke baba-r kache kritogyo, je tar koRa shashon er jor e ami onek kichu sikhechi.

ekta jinish i shekha hoy ni.... "meyeder moto nyakami".

baba mone hoy jaanto na, poroborti kaale ei obhab ta tar meye-r samne, meye hoya niye ek kothin badha hoye daRabe.

ami amar nijer bag nijei boite pari. jotoi bhari hok na kyano, oi mishti heshe pasher cheleti ke "ektu help korben, please" bolte amar kothaye jyano badhe. tarpor dhoro bhut-er cinema. ami khub bhoy pai. shutorang dekhi na. oi dekhbo abar bhoy o pabo, aar pasher joner hath khimche dhorar sujog ta chaRbo na, oiti amar dara hobe na. amar ghum theke uth te deri hoy boiki, kintu ekbaar uthle, pant aar shirt goliye chule chiruni dite 7-8 minute er beshi lage na. amake roj 30 minute heNte college jete hoy, shutorang ami mone kori, sneeker (oi keds) poRai sob theke sreyo. heel? babbah... pa-r dofa rofa. amar twilight niye kotha bolte lojja kore, ebong kono hero-r naam shune oggyan hoye jaoar moto komjori hridoy amar nei. ami shokh kore chul kaati bote, kintu du din jete na jetei she ek kaaker basha-e poriNoto hoy. keu hashir kotha bolle ami praN khule haha kore hashi, bhalobeshe hashi, rumal e mukh dheke dNaat na dekhiye mridumondo hashi ta ayotto hoy ni ekhono. shob kotha shona-r probol agroho prokash korbo, aar shunei "ishhh, emaaa ki je bole" bole shiure uthbo...uhun...parlamna. ohetuk "attitude" dyakhano amar pochondo noy, amar kauke bhalo lagle, ami shei sottyi ta mene neyoar shahosh rakhi. tobe amaye keu bhul kotha bolte ashle ami shudhu regei jai na, riitimoto giye dui choR lagiye ashte pari. aro onek kichui pari, ja meyeder para-r kotha noy. kintu baba je amaye baron koreni...

ami meyeder moto dhoirjo dhorte pari, bhalobashte pari, baroNbar khoma korte pari, je kono obosthaye maniye nite pari, na bola kotha bujhe nite pari, keu proshoNsha korle oprostut hote pari, ektu adhtu gaan naach aNka ranna, pari na ta noy, "gene" ghotito ashirbad e amar mathaye gobor er porimaanN khub beshi na... kintu ta diye ki aar aajkal meye hoy bolo?

baba-r kotha to aar fele dite pari na. meye na hoy na i holam.

room-mate

goto ek soptaho dhore amar room mate tar didi-r baRi geche. ami gota ghor ta juRe besh raajokiyo bhabe baash korchi. jamakapoR cheRe edik odik chuRe chuRe felchi, school er bag er theke jinish upche poRche, payer moja theke mathar clip shob-i besh nijomone ghora fera korche. ami cha-er bodole coffee khacchi (tar abar coffee rochena, chini chaRa cha khan, jotto shob), bina headphone e gaan sunchi, phone e fishfish korte hocche na...ei to chai! adha rent e gota ghor, MS student er kache er cheye lobhoNiyo khub kom jinish i ache..

tobu odbhut kando dyakho, ami pray roj i take phone kore khNoj nicchi, she kobe firbe....eka eka boddo boring. onyano room mate gulo ke niye kutlibaji na kora porjonto thik mone shanti hocche na. college e jaoa-r rastaye je ami protidin bina karoNe ottohashyo kore lok chomkate expert, shei ami ajkal bhNuru kuchke, matha nichu kore hNati. jah baba!!!

ei room mate manush ti emon kichu ahamori na. nehat i sadamatha. saat choRe raa kate na. take ekbaar ami bhul kore "ek thabRa marbo" bolay, she khilkhil kore heshe uthechilo. bojho. ektu gobechara bote, kintu rege gele (oi baaki room mate der opor, bicchu ek ek ta) rokkhe nei. motamuti rannaghore ekta mini tandob! she Madhuri Dixit o na, Madam Curie o na. she gaan o gaye na, chobi o anke na. she ultra emotional serial er ektai episode baroNbar dyakhe, ar thik totobar i amaye golpo (chilo rumal, hoye gyalo beRal) ta shonaye. she naki bollywood er encyclopaedia niye ghore, kintu jiggesh korle sothik somoy ekta naam o mone korte pare na. tobe???

she shaat sokale amaye deke tule breakfast khete baddho kore. she amar eNto bashon sonamukh kore dhuye dey, ebong ta ektibaar er jonno ullekh kore na. she tar kaaj shesh kore lab er moto bhoyaboho jaygay professor der nagaler moddhyei boshe thake, jotokkhon na amar chuti hoy. bajaar er duto bag hole, she amaye halka ta diye nije bharita ney. du pa giye daRiye poRe sheta onnyo byapar. she amar pallay poRe non veg tyaag kore tel moshla hiin niramish i sudhu khacche na, tar byapok tareef o korche. she raat e amar shonge golpo korte korte hothath bole othe-"are bhor hoye geche dyakh, cho park e jai".

tar shonge theke amar mone hoy, ekta didi thakle hoyto erokom hoto. tahole chotobyala-e mathaye asha odbhut kheyal gulo sottyi te poriNoto korar ekta songi paoa jeto. tahole chad-er ghore mon kharap kore lukiye na theke, tar samne gola cheRe kNada jeto. tahole bondhu-bhaab ebong bondhu-bicched er ghorotoro pNyaach gulo diary bore likhte hoto na. tahole 23 bochorer durghotona gulo 28 bochorer onubhob diye rukhe rakha jeto.

she ektu mathamota, ektu bokashoka, besh khanikta pagol. kintu she sudhu amar room mate na, she amar bondhu. she bhoy peye odbhut hashyokor bhabe douRe rasta cross kore hoyto, kintu tar moton sahoshi meye ami khub ekta dekhini.

tai jonnoi ami chai, she jyano taratari fire ashe.

relativity

she woke up in the morning, switched on her laptop, checked her mail. nothing of importance whatsoever. not what she wanted. she checked her cell. no miscalls. she switched to facebook. no new notifications. wrong start to the day. all day long she did everything she had to, with her heart in a far away country, wondering, waiting. her mother called her incessantly. she refused to take the call. what did it matter anymore? the woman who divorced her father could no longer be of any importance to her. all she wanted was to talk to him, to find out if what she optimistically hoped for was true... what did she not do for him? anyways...she starved herself daylong. one amongst many goals of her life at present was to fit into the hot pair of skinny jeans she had spied at the mall...at 48kg, she was ridiculously overweight! no wonder the calls didn't come...oh what agony life was...would anyone ever understand?

she woke up and looked for her lone companion. the dog sat patiently beside her head, waiting for her to stir. she fished in her rags for the few leftover crumbs and fed it to her friend. suddenly, a car zoomed by, splashing a rush of muddy water on her. wrong start of the day.all day long she had to walk from one signal to another, trying in vain to convince the travellers to buy her bunch of stale flowers. she wished she had a family. a person who would take responsibility. a person who would feed her. a person who would worry if she came back late to the plastic tent she called home. she needed food.at 48 kg, she could hardly bear the labour. she looked as wasted as the flowers she sold. no wonder the money didn't come. the old, bald, paunchy man would snatch away her money as it is...

her mother sent her a happy meal through the driver. God, that woman...didn't she know burgers were sin? she opened the window of her car...and unflinchingly threw the packet on the pavement. the girl caught it.

not a bad day at all.

Wireless

Every now and then I come across new and newer inventions, or at least upgrades of technology. Meant to make the world smaller and life bigger. It slows time, eases access, shortens distance, enables communication... It allows us to form a "network", in which we willingly surround ourselves with the closest family, the choicest friends, making a distinct, individualistic world for ourselves, that is linked to, yet separable from the universe.

In the process, our lives become highly publicised. But we only display what we want others to appreciate, a mere iota of our lives, which lives up to the standard and expectation of others. The glamour and glitz is out there for everyone to see, comment on, give a thumbs up to. But the notorious remains within us.

In the gimmick of acquiring virtual friends, we fail to recognise, and preserve the human ones. There are enough pings, but no face to face conversations. There are enough :)s, but not enough sound of appreciative laughter. Suddenly one day, we find ourselves staring at the screen, wondering who the hell in the goddamn friend list will understand how it feels to lose a loved one, to be dumped, to get pathetic marks, to lose a job. And it strikes, in a world of globalised connections, we are terribly alone.

Maybe technology did not do us a favour after all. It left us waiting for one single call deep into the night, it made us relentlessly worry about things we have absolutely no control over, but which pops up in the headline nevertheless, it heightened blood pressure, it created rifts (remember the last time you sneaked into someones inbox?). It gave us inappropriate exposure, intolerable closeness, and unlimited information. Not good. Not the way it was supposed to happen. And we are looking for a way out. Slowly.

But there was a time when hearing a voice thousands of miles away, flying through continents, and such normal feats would be considered a miracle. Such capabilities were considered Godly. Are we the Gods our ancestors worshipped? Are we the answers to the questions they asked? If so, we are probably the wrong answers. The wrong Gods.

Now, if and when you think of God, you imagine a peaceful old man (woman for the feminists), wandering somewhere in the mountains, surrounded with fluffy animals and uninterrupted greenery. You surely don't think of a cool dude with earphones plugged in, swooshing away on a Yamaha R1. Does that signify we are subconsciously looking up to such a life, without the network problems?

Do not ask me to explain further, but for all we know, Nature could simply take a steep turn, pushing us all into the World where we came from. Minus the distractions, the exposure, the long distance relationships and the network problems..

A life where apple and blackberry are just fruits. Eaten by the Gods.

Disclaimer: 1. I love technology. please do not take my laptop away from me.
2. I have terrific friends. From a time before facebook.
3. And, for the record, I am still to invade some one's inbox. Sigh!

a semester later...

Aim of Experiment :
To honestly represent SP'10, NJIT.

Materials and Methods :
1. A backpack with laptop, mp3 player, camera, charger for each. Notice the absence of study material, laptop suffises.
2. Coffee mug. Red, Blue, Steel, Empty. Anything will do. The eternal sign of a serious student. Though I wonder, isn't it an indication that one feels sleepy in class, suggesting the lecture is sleep inducing...oh well, who am i to judge?
3. Windcheater/Umbrella/Anything to cover your head- It snows. It rains. Its hot.
4. Cash. If mugging phobia grips you, get a flex card. And the public safety number.
5. ID. Gateway to anywhere except the classroom. And we all know, fun lies anywhere except the classroom.
6. A Smile- might just get you an on campus job. No guarantee.

Protocol:
Class starts usually in the evening, for some rare unlucky ones, in the afternoon. Anyway, you get enough time to sleep. That is, if you are the good student. If you are like the rest of us, the later class starts, the more time you have. For Youtube, for New York, for GSA, for Clubs. And a lot of other things. Resulting in a steep decrease in the hours of sleep. Ahh...hence, the coffee. Get it?

The most populated site in NJIT has to be the library. Apart from the Food Court, of course. And before you get into your head that we are a hungry, geeky lot, let it be known the most visited site is...you got it, facebook. Well, to do justice to ourselves, we do study. When nobody is online, that is.. And it is so much fun, in those small rooms. You get friends, you form a group, you get laptop, you study.You do not discuss the latest movie, you do not talk about your newest gadget, you study. Trust me.

Whoever decided on the location and design of the Campus Centre "actually" knew students. Inside Out. Imagine going from library to class. Heart heavy, head bowed, face long, life downtrodden. From reading papers to reading notes...huh! Wait...you think you have just seen your friends. No, you have seen three of them. Relaxing in armchairs, protected from the latest nuisance that the weather has decided to be, gorging on Taco Bell/Hersheys/Starbucks, whichever takes your fancy...Salads too, if you are the healthy type. Life just perks up, doesnt it? What more does a student need? Except Friends and Food? Welcome to the Campus Centre. A small break, just when you need it. The "small" break might just become long enough for you to miss class. But thats obviously besides the point.

I am not going to details about what happens inside class. You all know it. and those who dont... lucky you.

The Gym. The only place where you perspire happily. Where you can move in whichever way you want to, and not be laughed upon. Where you work out with such enthusiasm and dedication, which if given to your research, PhD would have been well over by now. Personally speaking, what with the whole school laden with either food or food vending machines, this has to be the most important place of all.

And then night falls. A day in life at NJIT comes to an end.

Observation and Result:
There were, and will be a lot of "firsts" in USA in general, and NJIT in particular. The first day, in the Campus Centre, being welcomed to this strange, unknown world at Orientation, to the first time you speak aloud in class, wondering about others' reactions, the first time you see Times Square, the first time your throat dries up before a presentation, the first time you see a snowfall, the first time you walk through it, the first time you buy a calling card to speak at home, the first time you eat out of the cart, the first time you hear the sweet chimes of the bell, the first time you realise you have unknowingly made a friend, the first time you apply for jobs, the first time you sit for an exam....

All through these firsts, you realise your own powers of adaptation. Suddenly, you fall in love with all the problems, the eating at ungodly hours in Subway, the fact that you can eat in class, the festivals and functions, the realisation that other than you own self, you have no one else as your guardian. You have finally become an adult. Like all around you.

What was that? GPA? What GPA? Refer to the absence of study material !

Conclusion:
To survive here, all you need is the ability to go on. Constantly. Not a fake accent.

Cha

aajke khub porisrom gelo. ekta kaaj eRiye chola, alshe meye-r jonno bajar kora, ranna kora, shei ranna chokh kaan buje khaoa, kom koshtokor noy. shob kichu konomote khyanto deoar por jei ektu guchiye boshar sujog paoa holo, bojha gelo, mone ekta cha cha icche jagche. ta raat tokhon praye 10 ta. tate ki? cha er abar kono somoy ache naki?

cha-e ami chini beshi khai. jotoi jeans er botam birodhita koruk na kyano, ei jinish tar shonge ami kono rokom compromise e jete parbo na. oi panshe panshe dudh chaRa, chini chaRa, laal laal podartho paan kore ami kono din i "waah taj" bole uthte parbo na. tar jonno besh kore chini (chini i, sugar free othoba sweet and low na) diye, jompesh kore ek dhumayito peyala dorkar. e hyano cha gilte gilte, klanti flanti kothaye ube gelo. tokhon amaye bolle ami chaar baar appartment er khaRa shiRi othanama kore dyakhate pari. tai bhablam, jotoi frappe aar smoothie bajar dapak na kyano, amader cha ke topkabe, emon buker pata kaar ache?

cha je sudhui olosh ke pranobonto, ba bhyabla ke chonmone korar upokoron, eta bhable cha er proti onyay-er shesh thakbe na. cha holo socialism er jeeta jaagta udharon. cha ke khaye na bolun to? ghor er chate bosha malik, ghore-r bagane kaaj kora maali, AC ghore bosha babu, baire ghormakto daroan, vote khaoa montri, vote deoa proja, rasta banano promoter, rastaye bosha bhikhiri, cha sobar jonyo soman. cha pata-r gondho aar dudh er porimaan tai ja dNepomi kore. amader gorib desh e aar jai thakuk na kyano, adi theke onto obdhi emon kono moR nei, jekhane cha er dokan, tar tin er chaad aar kaath er benchi nei...

cha ekaki dupur er janlar dhare bosha Shonkor, brishti bheja bikele pNeyajir sathe Satyajit ebong haR hiim kora leper tolaye lukono sheet er Shrishendu-r jogyo sohokari. Coffee jinish ta jemon detective golpo ebong thanda-r shongei jome bhalo, cha er baba tyamon kono baynakka nei. je jekhane jerokom acho, cha ke chao, cha chole ashbe.

amader baRite cha hoto dupur goRiye bikeler dike jetei. tai na holei baRi shuddho loker mathaye bojropat. ekjon tv dekche, ekjon chade paychari korche, ekjon naak deke ghumocche, sobai ke deke deke cha poribeshon na korle..hNu hNu baba.... ei jonnoi hoyto meye dekhte gele, take cha niyei ashte dyakha jaye. aar kichu she paruk na paruk, cha ta thik somoy hajir korte parlei holo.

amar mone hoy cha ekta shoNshar er obostha ba durobostha-r protik. je kono pujo, biyebaRi, onnoprashon er aage, cha er cup er size niye besh ekta uttejona dyakha jaye. kon size hole kipte mone hobe, kon size hole cha er bonna boye jabe, eirokom onek kothai ami sunechi. ekta baRite jotogulo tea set thake, aar kichu mone hoy na thake bole. konota sonali border deoa, konota abar golapi sobuj lota pata sojjito, konotate jhimono nil ful er abcha abhash. lok bujhe cup showcase theke ber hobe. rong dekhe thahor kora sohoj, ke ashaye baRiwala dhonnyo ar kake bidaye korte parle hoy. aar baRi-r lokjon? tader abar cup-plate ki? huh...tader sudhui cup. oi ekta nouko gocher kichu ekta aNka.

cha er moto bondhu amar moto anaRi-r aar keu nei. aar kichu pari na pari, ami ei ekta jinish besh pari. onek lojja jonok poristhiti theke onekbaar rokkha peyechi. "ke boleche o kichu parena, ei to besh sundor cha kore eneche" :-) aar porikkha-r somoy chotto chotto koto cup cha je ami kheyechi, tar hisheb nei. poRa egiyeche ki na jani na, tobe plastic onek joRo hoyechilo, eituku bolte pari.

amader onektai lok dyakhano, shoRojontre thasha, meki hashi-r jogote, cha shekhaye ki kore ekta samanyo jinish nijoguNe, shadharon bhabe, sobar kache odwitio hoye uthte pare.

ei pocha desh e nestea-r khub chol. tar abar flavour er ki ghota. lemon to achei, raspberry, abar passion fruit. dhuuush...

Dadu

Being a single child is sometimes described as being lonely. Not for me. As far as i fathomed, there was always another child in the family. My grandfather. My Dadu. I have no earliest memory or any such thing. Dadu was always there. When, from being the eldest member of the family, he became my friend, i dont know. I have a best memory, I have a hilarious memory, I have a sad memory, I have a proud one... but no early, and no last.

My conversations with Dadu was often on the terrace. With his evening cup of tea with me, I went to him whenever I got tired of Enid Blyton. Along with being highly calory unconscious, Dadu was a great story teller. With his simple words, the jungles of Ramayan, the battlefield of Mahabharat, the frolic of Krishna, the adventures of his own life in the Sunderbans came alive on a warm evening on a warmer terrace. He gave to me a world that existed only in my imaginations. I do not know if it coincided with his, but who cares? All that mattered to me then, was that no one had the guts to take me away and make me study as long as i was with Dadu. He would not tolerate such tortures inflicted on his Shona.

For a long time, Dadu was my shield. There was only one place to go to, one bed to sleep in, when my bad marks, worse behavior, and worst food habits came into my father's attention. Dadu would unflinchingly praise me even if I burnt the food, tore up his rose garden, or got pathetic marks in every single exam. In his eyes, I was perfect. I could do no wrong. Even the time I replaced his sweater for a similar coloured mosquito net, and he actually went halfway down the road untill someone pointed it out to him, even when I broke his specs into two, in a futile attempt to look studious. Not only did he not mind, he proudly went about telling the same to all his friends, showing off how naughty his Shona was. As if I was not notorious enough!

Dadu thought he was the luckiest man alive. Coming from a very poor family that migrated from Bangladesh, he could never tire of wondering how in the world he landed up taking an evening stroll in Juhu beach for the last years of his life. To remind himself of the days gone by, he kept rubbish in his small bag. It consisted of the most unnecessary things ever collected by man. But to him, they were priceless, they spoke the same language as he did when he himself, was a child. He often told me, "to be successful, all you need to do is remember how hard you worked to get till here". And perhaps to keep reminding me of his humble life, he always got me the same gift throughout his life. A single sweet in a small paper box, found in any roadside sweetshop in Kolkata. It was too sweet, too small, too cheap, but to me, it was priceless. Just like the stuff in his bag.

Then a time came when this relation was reversed. Dadu became ill. He became old. He often became, a child. And then, I became his mother. A very indulgent one at that. I bathed him, read him his newspapers, told him gossip from my teenage school life, supplied him with an occassional ciggarette. He was a demanding, yet happy child. One day, the happy child fell. In the closed confines of the bathroom.

Seeing the most vibrant man lying helpless in a hospital is probably the most scared I have ever been. I still dont know what ailment he suffered from. His lost his eyesight, he lost the strength in his legs, he kept losing his breath. I knew he would go anyday. As the doctor ruthlessly told us, it could be three days, it could be three years. I knew it was the beginning of the end. And i still allowed him to smoke in stealth. I wanted to give him what gave him joy. It would not make a difference as it was. Night after night, I woke up to see if he was breathing. If he was still in form to tell me another story. If he would still be my playmate.

Years have passed. I do not have to share my room with anyone anymore. I am finally, a single child, whose motherly instincts are uncalled for. His luck was with him untill the very end. He breathed his last among the closest people he had, in a second, without any pain, any prior warning. He just....vanished. He had gone to Kolkata to visit my aunt, and the day before he was supposed to be back, he called me saying the journey back home would be tiring. The next morning, he made his shortest, simplest, tireless journey possible.

I gave away his bag of rubbish with him. I was not sad. I did not cry. I did not know then.

Now I know. Now I need him again, to be proud of me when I am not good, to comfort me when nobody else will, to listen to my ramblings when all are too busy, to partake my imagination which nobody else understands...

Because now, you see, I am lonely.

blog bondhu

ami jaani Kuntala di move koreche. ghor-dor thik thak guchono hoy ni mone hoy. tomar poltu-biltu-r ki obostha? tader teen tolay tulte khub ekta oshubidhe hoyni to? porshu bhor raate jege chile. ta amio bosshyo jegei chilam...Agatha Christie poRchilam. tumi ki korchile? nirghaat paper lekhar naam kore youtube dekhchile? ba prolaap? Oreo-r mini othoba low fat Ritz er sohojoge? thik jantam.

tomay ami dekhini. oi photo. tobu ami jani, tumi pNepe khaona. moolo joRito kono ranna mone hoy khub ekta roche na. tumi amar baRite ele, sudhui pNauruti khaoabo. amar kache sandwich er hazaar rokom recipe ache. tumi douRe tarokeshwar local dhorte, ami school bus. tumi laal fite bnaadte, ami neel. tumi London khelte, ami lock and key. bossho dumb charades e ami tomaye asaani se hariye debo, challenge. tumi ki kore paar pete janina, kintu PE period e amar pet mochoR debei. aha, ki timing ! oi somoy koto guruttopUrno kaaj uddhar kora jeto, tar ekhana "list" baniye felte pari. putul khelar cheye je aamer achaar sohojoge detective novel poRa onek beshi lobhonio, aar keu na bujhuk, tumi bujhbei. tomake ami dekhini, tobu ami jani.

Sugata da, lojjaye poRe jaccho to, nijer naam dekhe? tomake ami jani, chini, pray proti soptahe dekhi. tumi "tumi" theke ekhon "tui" bolo. besh lage. tomake ami gym e National Geography-r magazine haate prothom dekhechilam. bangali je, bujhte ekebarei oshubidhe hoyni. tumi amay photo tolar tips, bhalo blog er sondhan, New York ghorar pontha aar cake chaRao ekta oti guruttopUrno jinish diyecho....upodesh. room mate niye thaka theke bag e beshi taka na rakhar.

kintu eta sombhob hoto na, jodi na tomar "joyful experience" guli tumi, kokhono Charminar, kokhono Niagara, kokhono Hoogly Setu ba kokhono Grand Canyon er sohojoge tule dhorte. tomar blog poRte poRte ami, photography-r lecture deoa bhodrolokti-r pechone Harry Potter niye 6 mash aage theke uttejiito ekta chele dekhi, je makoRsha ke bhoy ebong nijer photo tule dite bolte lojja pay. chee chee.. :-) je khete (alu posto), coding ebong kukur bhalobashe, je onayashe Robindronath er kobita torjoma korte pare, je kina shokh kore (Kuntala di, bojjo !!!) bNadhakopi diye macher matha randhte jaye.

bhagyish blog chilo. bhagyish mathaye utpotang kheyal ashe, ebong shoto byastotar modhyeo tomra ta likhe felte dwidha koro na :) besh duur theke ke ki korche jana jaye, bojha jaye, na dekheo kauke bondhu bhaba jaye....karur sukh, dukkho, byastota (oi du din blog na kora manei kaajjer chaap), raag, oshohoyta-e saath deoa jaye. she tara Hoogly te thakuk ki Columbia-e, Rishra-e thakuk ki Edison e. koi fark nahi padta!

ei na hole bondhu?

in 2 minutes

i woke up. it was dark. i was tired and hungry. u know the kind of tired, when you sleep at the wrong times, and open your eyes to see darkness everywhere, and realise that it is past dinnertime. and hungry, as, oh well as hungry u can be when it is past dinnertime. as i pulled my body straight up, i realised i will have to cook. i will have to peel, cut, wash, stir, mix, pour, wash some more. by then my appetite would go for another round of sleep. the best, easiest and tastiest fix was maggi. good old maggi. just two minutes.

feeling extremely proud of my culinary judgements, i broke the solid slab of noodles into two...aah, how like the advertisements. but wait, how much water should i put. a cup? whose cup? never mind. i just put enough for all the singular threads to have a nice, long swim. then the tastemaker. in the meantime the roomie comes and advises that the tastemaker goes before the water. what the hell? its all going in the same place..."sab moh maya hai". i advance unperturbed.

as the water boiled, i had another idea..why not make this a healthy maggi ( as if!!!)? out came the veggies. and with surgeon like preciseness i made equally sized, absolutely unbiased pieces of them all. my two minute dream was long shattered. the water still boiled.

as the oil shrieked (there goes my healthy), and the veggies screamed, i realised i had no chillies. now, being a bengali has several advantages, very few disadvantages. one of them is reluctance to bland food. chilli-less food is unimaginable, unthinkable, unpalatable. so out they came from an ungodly corner in the refrigerator. and forgetting all preciseness, i chopped it. inhumanly. without thought or mercy, the sharp edge of the sparkling knife came down on them with unmistaken aim. every time. except once. when, having an evil mind of its own, it decided to land on my finger. left hand. grimace. facial contours changed as i kept the agonized hell burning heaven freezing pain unexpressed. the water still boiled.

i dropped the chopped chillies in the heated pan. and grabbed it to give it a good shake. one needs to show who is the boss. uh oh.... was it hot? i guess so....as i dont have any more sensation left in the small scalded portion of my fingers, i cannot trully describe the degree of heat. right hand. the water boiled still.

with parts of both my hands sacrificed, i sat glum waiting for the maggi to be finally done. and then i realised. 2 minutes? it was past twenty. why was the maggi taking so long? oh dear friends, it was maggi no longer! it was a mashed, white, unseparable mix of gooyey noodles. :(

with motherly love nevertheless, making as much use of my hands as i mortally could, i mixed the two. the maggi and the veggi, overboiled and overburnt. by now, my appetite, judging the situation and realising nothing good could happen here, had taken its hunger elsewhere. but adamant and stubborn i am. i will eat my over cooked maggi, i did.

so what if maggi is now off the charts for the next six months?

shei lokgulo

aajkal sobai boddo byasto. karur ektu daRiye kotha bolbar somoy nei. ektu bhabar somoy nei. ki thik, ki bhul, bhalo, mondo, pochondo, opochondo...sob mile mishe ekakar hoye geche mathar bhetore. amar nijer i nei, shutorang onnyo kauke dosh diye labh nei. kintu ekta somoy chilo, jokhon sara din amar kono kaaj chilo na. amar ashe pashe manush gulo o kemon jeno byastotaheen chilo. eta tader niye.

amader baRite, kolkata-r onek baRi-r motoi, bashon bikri korte ek mashi ashten. chotto khatto,mota shota, gayer rong moyla, chul kutkute kalo ebong chitchite, gaye shuti-r shaRi goRali chaRiye praye haNtu-r kache. ek jhuRi bashon niye shoptahe ekbaar she ashbe. ashbei. chokh mukh roddure poRa, ghamakranto obosthaye eshe bell bajato. kintu hashlei baajimaat. otogulo daaNt manusher hoy? holeo oto shada? tar chilo. she koto golpo. tar chele ki kore, koto boyesh, kothaye poRe,baRite aar ke ache, bashon bikri kore ko poisha paye,bor kobe maara geche, ei dhoroner onek kotha maa-r deoa jol,mishti sohojoge she bolte thake. bashon she amader baRi theke kono din i peto na. tobu ashto. ekdin eshe bollo, or cheler tumour hoyeche. brain e. daktar dekhale boleche naki kichui kora jabe na. ekta bashon ali-r jonnye to aroi na. er pore ki hoyeche ami janina. take aar dekhini.

tarpor chilo amader paRay thaka ek dompoti. udiya. khub i gorib. budo eiii mota bhuRiala, budi totadhik rugno. Shib mondirer pashe ekta jhupRite ora thakto. school e jaoar somoy budo amar dike takiye protidin hashto. ami hashtam na. ke na ke baba. oder jhupRite sobsomoye kacher botol aar khoborer kagojer mela thakto. ki korto ke jane. sukher kotha ei je ager bar baRi giyeo eder dekha peyechi. eibaar aar buRo hasheni. kintu ami haslam. ami to aar bhoy paina.

ekbaar aamra sobai puri beRate gechilam. guest house er pahaRadar chilo ek buRo bhodrolok. puro kuNjo. chotto khatto. amar oke khub bhalo lagto. boshe boshe ranna korto. ba ruti banato. amake ekdin golpo korchilo, or ek meye ek chele. tara khub bhalo chakri kore naki. amar sudhu mone holo, tahole babake niye jaye na keno. ei kotha bolate, buRo amar maa-ke bollo, "aapnar meyer khub maya". ekhon mone hoy ei jonnoi amar oke bhalo lagto. proshongsha kaar na bhalo lage!

amader baRite tokhon onek lok. maa eka samlate parto na bole ekta chele rakha hoyechilo. gonesh. kintu dekhte michke kartik tar moto. amar oke ekdom bhalo lagto na. aam, lebu, kul eshob peRe dito bote, kintu onko ta amar cheye bhalo korto. du minute e sesh kore felto. moha raag hoto amar. khamche khumche ditam. ekbaar bisshokorma pujo-r somoy baba, amake aar oke niye thakur dekhte beriyechilo. tar kichu din porei o baRi chole gelo. naki onno kothao gelo, janina.

amader baRite ekta kukur chilo. na posha na. o ashole paRa-r kukur chilo. edike amar abar sanghatik bhoy. kintu Lalu ke amar kono din bhoy kore ni. o chilo amar bondhu.amake dekhle or gheu gheu daak obodharito chilo. or ekbaar teen te baccha hoyechilo. amader janlar karnisher neeche. tokhon gache sobe peyara hoyeche. baNdorer khub utpaat. addhek peyara to orai kheto. khuble khuble. ekdin Lalu-r ekta baccha keo.

aro chilo, bijoy kaku je protidin amaye schol e niye jeto, jar cheye beshi bhorsha ami ekta somoy kauke kortam na, ma-ke protidin tatka mach bechte asha ekta lok, mudikhanar dokaner gujrati malik, je gelei amar hathe pauNruti-r packet guNje dito, chootobelar amader baRite kaaj kora Fujia mashi, je amay lojens kine dito protidin.je ekhon dekhleo amaye chinbena.

Lalu aaj nei. shei bashon wali-r motoi. keno hothath ajke tader kotha mone poRlo janina. sudhu mone hoy, jader ami aaj chini, jader shonge roj kotha hoy, jara amar bondhu, tader theke bhalo bodhoy ami eder chintam.

Erai Sottyi.

cinema

ei ektu aagei ekta bangla cinema dekhlam. khub kharap kichu na, tobe boddo jeno odorkari kobita meshano hoyeche. dialogue kom, gaan beshi. gaan-er abar shur nei, choritro gulo kemon jeno beshi matraye kabbyik, bhabuk ebong odorkari byapar shyapar niye chintito. jai hok na keno, modda kotha holo,ei shob jana sotteo, amio jeno kiram ekta ghor-er modhyey chilam, ei ponero minute khanek.ekta besh dukkho dukkho bhab, ki hote parto, ki holo na, keno holo na, ittyadi ittyadi...tarpor aar bhabte icche korlo na, dur chai bole uthe poRlam.

tokhon i byaparta mathaye elo. ei cinema jinishta boddo sanghatik. aamra ja noi, ja kokhonoi hote pari na, korte pari na, taii korte, ba hote baddhyo kore. korei. jemon rang de basanti dekhe e heno manush nei, jar mone 'ishhh amar desh koto bhalo, ami desher jonno kisui korlam na' gocher bhabnar udoy hoy ni. othoba hum aap ke hai kaun. uribbas....shei dekhei na choto kakar biye te antakshari-r ashor boshlo. otota jome ni jodio. kintu ekta 'ami bhalo, amar ashe pasher sob manush bhalo, kukur bedal porjonto' byapar upobhog kora gelo. ekta sondhyer jonyoi. ke kake kobe ki bolechilo tai niye chulochuli 'pause' kore. kimba dhorun dilwale dulhania le jayenge jatio kono aro lomba nam-er chobi. durga pujoy jake 'onjoli kotar somoy?" jiggesh korechilen, jar sathe aar kokhono kotha hoyni, je dwitiobaar na takiyeche, na heseche, na bakyalap korar ichche prokash koreche, shei taake niyei koto jolpona kolpona...aro ache,harry potter. bishwash korben na jani, kintu ota dekha-r por ami mone mone opekkha kortam, ekta chithi-r. jeta amake bolbe amio besh daini buRi. ki moja.

moja ta beshikkhon thakena. cinema hall theke badi asha porjonto, byas. bus-er janla e boshe akash patal bhabte bhabte badi eshe jaye. amader nijosshyo jogot o. sekhane na kothaye kothaye kobita ache, na jaadubole "bhul" ke "thik" e porinito korar soronjam. sekhane hajaar byatha ache, byabodhan ache, bojhapoRa ache, kintu happy ending ache ki? jani na. sudhu mone hoy, oi tuku somoy ekta notun prithibi ke onubhob kora gelo, jeta amar noy. emon kichu onubhuti holo, ja hoyto cinema ta na dekhle kono din hoto na. nijer moner onek onek ojana dik, jekhane emon ekta "aami" ache, jake chini na, jani na, kintu je hote parto, tar dekha paoa gelo. ei ba kom ki?

cinemawalloh, the show must definitely go on!!

garbage

so in my on campus job, i clean stuff. table, windows, beds,carpets... dustbins even. initially, i hesitated in giving the description, but as time went by, i realised there was really no shame in doing what i was doing. menial and unworthy it may sound, but a bird in hand is worth two in the bush i guess!! on a more profound note, all this cleaning was long pending, ignoring mom's instructions do not pay off! but this blog isnt about how i have suddenly woken up to labour rights and equality, or how i love my hands smelling like an infusion of latex-rubber gloves and the greenish blue cleaning spray( i dont). it is about the innumerous items of interest we chance upon, and sometimes sneak, while pretending to be Mr.Clean.

the very first item to be metioned must be the pennies. for the love of God, i still do not know why some guy stuck pennies with a chewing gum? all over his side of the bed, we had a penny party going on..needless to say, most of them have found their wayto the pockets. quoting a fellow cleaner- "i have so much change in my pocket my pants are falling off !".
on the same day we found an ironing board, a mandolin, 3 guitar picks, rolls of toilet paper, a printer, a soft toy, t shirts, underwear,nike shoes too big my size, magazines,decorative magnets, a box of wafers,pencils of various sizes,condoms, a blue tumbler, writing boards, ethernet cables, a shawl, gold jewelery...huh...my job isnt that bad after all...

what i wonder is why were these tings left behind? i agree carrying toilet paper might be ridiculous, the shoes may have been torn, the wafers might have been past their expiry date, but what about the others? they seemed like stuff either bought fancifully to please oneself or a gift. had they lost their importance? the small soft toy left in a corner smelled sadly like a break up, the mandolin unused indicated a life of deadlines, unaccustomed to small pleasures, the inexpensive but cute magnets had lost their attraction, the trip lay forgotten;only the souvenir remained, the nikes and the golds were probably from people who had either a very forgetful nature or too much in their lives to remember anything anymore...

while i emptied the rubbish, i thought of my habit of collecting trash. from all the birthday gift wrappers to the first starbucks coffee cup to the portrait of the first crush,the exam papers from ten years back,the stones from a certain fort in Rajasthan,the saved chats that i read over and over again( do not call me a freak),some of dad's snaps he thinks are lost,innumerous friendship day bands,a ticket from the best train journey of my life,a rusting chain that disadorns my neck,all the useless conversations and un-needed memories that dwell bright and proud in my head,in my heart...are these really worth collecting? are these testimony to the times when i laughed and loved or are these fossils that prevent me from moving on?

Is it time i bring out the greenish blue spray and wipe them all off?

sokhi,bhalobasha kare koy?

ami jokhon onek onek choto chilam, tokhon badi te television namok bostu ti chilo na. tokhon telephone raat din baje boka chilo na. tokhon radio mirchi te eke oporer gosha bhanganor jonyo 'dhoom again' bajanor o reyoaj chilo na... tai amar chotobelata ei prokar er raag/biraag/onuraag er theke onek durei keteche. tokhon chilo kebol uponyash er patay patay ek dike pranomono nibedita mohishoyi mohilara ebong tader patta na deoa, mod khaoa devdas ebong ulto dike dinkaal er poroya na kora, got got kore chole berano mlechho meyera aar tader panigrohoner asha bitarito dhormoprana kono sadhu gocher byatachele. ei holo giye amar 'bhalobasha-bashir' hathekhodi. er theke ami teen te jinish bujhechilam. ek, poth oti durgom. buke pata na thakle poton er sombhobona nirdharito. dui, tumi jodi "good" hoy, tomar oporti "bad" holei baajimaat. aar dekhe ke? teen, e jinish hepatitis er injection er moto. ek baar holei kella fote. aar hoy na, hote pare na.

ekhon ami ektu ektu bodo hoyechi. (!!!). ekhon tv ache, telephone ke dhakka mere topke jaoa cellphone ache, tate free messaging ache, proti shukrobaar amader mathaye poka nadiye deoar khomota rakha cinema ache. oto eb, shei ram o nei, sei ayodhya o nei. ekhon devdas paro ke durbin diye dekhte dekhte tar pasher badi-r romoni ti keo dekhe thaken, jodi paro bhau na dey? ekhon tumi amay pran,maan, somman debe ki debe na chuloy gelo, tumi amaye valentines day te ki debe tai aage bolo, ekhon tomar hath bhanglo ki pa bhanglo tate amar ki, miscall dekhe phone koroni tomar eto ashpordha? ekhon tumi to amar bisheshtomo bandhob, baaki gulo to ramchagol er dol, ekhon cinema banate gele sudhu je ekadhik heroine lage tai na, hero-r towale na khoshale heroine der keno, public e bosha 2 poisha-r mudi badam khaoa meyetir o mon othe na,ekhon jodi prem kore bichhed kore, kritrim jontronaye mukh kalo kore sondher por sondha jagjit singh er proshongshay na katano holo, tahole byarthoi tomar jibon!

ei shob ohetuk jhamela r moddhye manush pare kauke bhalobashte? je nijeke bodlabar procheshta protidin kore jacche, je nijei nijer prio na, tar ki thakte pare kono priyotom/priyotoma? joto bar she nije bodlyaye, totobar tar dil pe likha hua naam bodlaye. kotok baar thokkor khaoar por, ja hathe ashe, tai proshad bolia grohon koren. boshyo totodin e torol podartho-r porimaan mostishko ebong liver, dutor i barota bajiye chedeche, konta bish konta choronamrito, ta aar bojha hoye othe na...

amar teen te shikkhai maati hoyeche. ogom poth ekhon installment e paar kora jay. kichu dur gelei refreshment er ayojon ache, subidha moto istemal korun,buke pata na thakleo apni everest bijoy korte paren, ekhon good aar keu nei, "bad atracts bad" ponthai ogotya asha bhorsha, ebong sobcheye ashaprodok, ei porikhhaye pass/fail byapar ta uthe geche. try korite thakun, sike kokhono na kokhono chidbei...oh ho bhulei gechilam...hepattitis e teo 3te dose nitei hoy!!

the wish

the day was horrible, the wind was threatening, the sky was pouring, my advisor was shrieking, the room mate was complaining, the food was inedible, the water was too cold, the job was tiring, the walk back was uneventful, the love was unresponsive, the day was horrible.

i closed my eyes, tired and restless,i just wished it was all a dream, that i would wake up to my home, where throwing tantrums was alright, where dressing like a guy would not count against you, where eating in bed and getting dirty was considered alright, where crying on the top of your voice was suitably ignored, where food was ready, available, free, tasty, where birds and butterflies were as normal as the wind, where to be a girl you did not have to pretend to be a flirtatious damsel in distress with perfect postures nevertheless...after wishing for this life with challenges that one thought were faceable and over comeable, a life of pleasures and luxury, a life with the solutions, a life which was the dstination in my journey, now i wish the wish wasnt granted...i wish the journey would continue, because the journey was so long it had become home... it had become a sphere, a separate world, my world. i wish now i was home.

preoccupied with webs of desires, sleep came. and went.

and i woke up...to find myself at home.
once again.
this time forever.

the patriot

As I stepped out into the expanse of concrete in the parking lot, dotted with barely coloured, solid, dull, but tall buildings, blocked from me by lengths of barbed wires, with unknown faces all around me, feeling stupid pushing a trolley of four larger than me bags, in my not at all enough, too big for me, brown jacket with oh my god golden buttons, trying to see through my big black specs which now had water condensing over it from my breath. I anticipated nothing but the cold, and did I get it… walking from the gate to the cab, all I registered in my jetlagged, yet hyperactive brain was that I was cold, alone and depraved. There was no excitement I thought I would feel in finally seeing America from the window of the airline, there was no rush of blood at touching down to a place I had always longed to be in, no sense of exhilarating achievement… there was just a hollow, flashing scenes of the last few moments spend at home, when I last spoke to my best friend over local call rates, when I last saw my mothers face waiting for me at the airport lounge, and determinedly not going back to see her again, the quiet pride and fright intermingled in my fathers face lined with age, trying not to show either of the feelings, the last message received from my brother asking me to be good, and then another one saying he knew I would, the last time I saw the glittering lines of my city, slowly diminishing away, not knowing when I would see them again…

As one step in this strange land is over, I have gotten over those feelings… or so I like to think. Nothing here was supposed to be like home, nothing is. To get to know and love this place was easy when I could get starbucks in the campus and strut to class feeling all cool, when the first snowfall of your life comes down un-notified on your head, when we cut down dead trees on a rainy freezing day, feeling all ecologically important, when the new york city lighted up to welcome my first visit, when I recalled the number of songs sequenced on the Brooklyn bridge, the pink and purple blossoms that drove the snow away, the startingly clean roads, the endearing nature of all service staff wherever, yeah…life was good.

But then there were times when your room became too cold for you to sleep in, the jetlagged nights staring at the falling snow on the street lights, the stranger filled classes and the even stranger way of education, the empty roads with drunk strollers at night, the emptiness of not being able to speak your language, the dependency on facebook to know what your friends are up to, the misunderstandings with close ones who think you have changed, with the continuously wondering what time it was back home, the constant nagging in your heart if you had made the right choice, the haunting groves in the library where grades were hidden if you were clever enough to seek them out, the gloomy cloudy exam days when the weather did nothing to boost your morale,when all you had to calm your raging heart were photographs…

But then there are days like yesterday…a stiflingly hot day, and I woke up finding myself drenched in sweat, and in that untolerable humidity, sounds of a bus and a chirping bird together came floating across my window...closing my eyes, i felt as if i was back home, where i would wake up similarly in the afternoons, next to mom. Then again, just before the final papers, the lack of words that describe the degree of unpreparedness shared by all the students, their fervent exchange of notes, and the wide eyed, head shaking look that says.. ' man, we are doomed'...,reminds me of the uncountable end semesters during engineering days, nights when you look out and see a lone tree lit by the single lamp, you are not able to distinguish if it is indeed here or there...i try to close my eyes and imagine i am back, the face of the random shop boy, the watchman uncle, the numerous dilapidated bus stands, the beaches, the dog walkers, the stiffling sweaty romance of local trains, the wind swept bus rides, the movies and the malls, the man who taught me how to drive, the known feeling of air where i belong...

like all relationships that last, absence has made my heart grow aware, if not fonder. aware of my own country and the lack of identity i face if it is taken away from me, aware of how much pride i feel when i see a tinier Sri Lanka below a tiny India, aware of the fact that we are indeed a very strange nation, and the fact that such extreme diversities of strangeness can belong together for so many years is an achievement in itself, aware that how much ever i wanted to be here, i will ultimately go back there...and and the end of the day, i am but another patriot.

and a very passionate one at that.

???

what do you do when you are loved? what do you feel when you realise someone is getting close to you? what do you feel when you feel someone is getting to you too much for your own comfort? what do you do when someone catches hold of your own thoughts that were running away from you and places them in front of your eyes, to see, to feel, to touch? what do you do when someone notices where your every movement, every smile, every frown, every secret and reads you every time? what do you do when someone thinks of you before you think pf yourself? what do you feel when someone holds your hand so tight it pains to leave it? what do you say when someone asks you questions you have been asking yourself all your life? and then gives you those answers? what do you do when someone comes two steps closer for every step you take behind? what do you do when someone looks through your pretences and realises what you truly are? what do you do when someone looks for reasons to be with you and you dont have the power to refuse? what do you do when you are asked to trust and against your willingness you feel you will? what do you do when someone says sorry with a smile and you know the effort behind it? where do you hide when you feel exposed? where do you go when you are covered from all grounds? what do you do when someone creeps into your life and steals you away from it?
what do you do when someone loves you?

what do you do? where do you go? what do you say?

You run. To the love. Silently....

The New Dawn

For the last few days, a hoard of messages wishing all of us Happy New Year in a variety of languages were seen to spring up in my facebook inbox. It was surprising for two reasons. Firstly, sitting in a foreign country, it is extremely exciting and melancholy at the same time to see languages of your motherland strwen casually about all over, not something we see everyday. Secondly, for some reason our generation has the reputation of lacking patriotism, cultural integrity and any respect for our values whatsoever.... well, doesnt look like it !! Anyways, the festivities might not have yet begun, but my memories sure have been juggled.

Poila Boisakh is and will always be celebrated with a familiar enthusiasm at home. Where I grew up, Happy New Year was wished face to face, hand in hand, smile to smile...it still is. All my cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents would gather together in the house, not because it was New Year specially, but we just needed an ocassion to make a big family even bigger. From flowers to sweets, from Ray movie CDs to Tagore Books, from mangoes to jackfruits, it was an all out Bengali Affair. This fortunately not being a religious affair, we were allowed to be 'children' without any restrictions whatsoever.

I remember one particular night before New Year vividly. My cousin sister, whom I call didibhai, and I had planned to stay up all night just for fun. For us mortals, that was what adventure was all about. We did not let in anyone else on the plan, and went to bed feeling all excited about what excitement lay in the hours ahead. We stole whatever food we could, food that was prepared for the day after, in our palms, and hid it in the folds of our frocks as we pretended to sleep. With unlimited patience, we waited for the whole house to fall asleep. But...it wasnt a small house!! As an aunt would doze peacefully off, another would stir, as one uncle would snore, the other would suddenly decide to feel thirsty.

This went on for we dont know how long, and before long, we were asleep on our sticky frocks, unaware of how it would betray us the next morning. But I guess NewYear didnt wa nt us to go that easy. It must have been around 3 in the night, when didibhai and I woke up simultanously.And as we realised we had lost 3-4 precious hours of our plan, we jolted up on the bed, all sleep gone, charged to make the most of what was left with us. We spent the whole night playing all wiered sorts of games, I dont even remember them now...but they must have been interesting, given that we managed to stay up all through the next hours. We must have been around 8 at the time, and you can imagine what our conversation would have flown. I am surprised I managed to have a conversation at all :)..

I am sure we must have spoken all we could, and heared or pretended to hear all that we could not ignore, but a few hours later, we were silent, looking out of the window, into the sky that was turning from black to red to pink to blue. Slowly, ever so silently, I saw the colours change. Thinking back, I had a looot of time on hand.. the brightest star ( as we knew it then) was all the more bright in the red sky, and just lying there, by the open window, with the balmy wind playing with us, with the flowers in the garden shedding their dews, with the lone owl going back to sleep, with Lalu, the stray dog, streching her beautiful back, and licking her three puppies, with the cool light streaming into sleeping faces in the room, with the catterpillar becoming a butterfly, we saw the sun rise, we saw the NewYear. My first and last till date.

Its a different story altogether that we started such a day, stealing mangoes from a garden nearby, and went on through the year with a lot more such deeds,it was the most innocent day of my life.e ran from garden, with our hand filled with whatever we could carry, our calves scratched with the stray barks, our hands stained with the juice, our frocks with the sweets, our hair flying wild in the wind, barefoot we ran, but our face held a glee, of childhood's inherent happiness, of the faith that we live in a happy world, a satisfaction that we finally achieved what we wanted irrespective of how we achieved it. For what is innocence if not the acceptance of guilt??

That year, we grew up. We went to higher classes, learnt things not included in the syllabus, faced death in the family, came to a different, wiered and loud city without any friends, and left my innocence behind. It seemed as if that New Year dawn, we ran from a lot more than just the gardener...We ran as fast as we could, not looking back, doubtless, fancy free, jumping into the unknown...but we ran from our good times, we ran from our peace of mind, we ran away from innocence.

We ran away from our childhood.

memories from a champi

a friend (oops!!) of mine gave me a champi tonight. A champi is a head massage, wherin the giver treats the scalp of the getter with his/her fingers. Depending on the expertise,care,affection of the giver and the degree of frustration,loneliness,headache of the reciever, the champi varies.

the last champi i got was from my mom, before i came to this land of strangers..and so this evenings happenings reminded me of her. She, her love, her encompassing affection, came rushing back to my mind, with every passing moment. I have been close to mom ever since i can remember. when i was little kid, following her was the only job i had. People tell me the only time i would smile, or laugh would be when mom was around, holding me in her arms. Holding her saree, i would follow her everywhere she went. It had a peculiar smell, of flowers, or rather of the flower scented detergent she used, but i always associated that smell with her. She was my playmate, my secret keeper, my only friend during a time when i was the smallest kid in the colony. Her arms gave me all the comfort, her shoulders all the support i needed to grow up. She carried me all the way to school, and all the way back, hiding my scared face from the bullies for who i was an easy target, being the smallest kid around... She gave me all the love i needed, and then she gave me sone more...snuggling beside her at night is the best description of warmth i have ever experienced.

Then i grew up a little bit. Then a bit more. She was no longer my best friend. I no longer needed her support in everything. I was no longer a kid. i made new firends in a new school where no one bullied me. All i needed my mom to do was give me food, dress me up and send me to school, and feed me some more. I did not realise untill a few days back, that feeding and clothing are not as easy as they may sound. I started means of hiding test books and chocolate wrapers....but at the same time, when the light was off and the night was dark,when my mood was sombre and my spirits low, i searched for her. i still needed her approval for my mind to be at rest, still needed her smile to be happy, still needed her hug to make my day.Any problem, any rough day would be remedied by her look, however tired, her touch, however sweaty... i was no longer a kid, but i still not big enough...

then i continued to grow...and so did the secrets. now i was scared of mom finding out what i ws upto...but whatever i was upto were not all that scary..i just thought being with her all the time was not cool enough. she stopped me from doing a lot of things, and i detested it. She kept on resisting, i kept on detesting. Then a time came when all that we spoke was just what we needed to. there was a loss of flow of mindless conversation, heartfelt laughter, just mandatory salutations and the likes...my mom was going away from me, or rather i was pushing her and getting away myself... she never for once tried to pull me back or argue or protest...she let me go...as if she knew i was all hers and would come back....

and come back i did...when things went wrong, when marks went bad, when friends just went...i came back to her, and she was right there, her saree smelling just the same, her love undiminished, her hugs undiluted...and since then she has been my best friend. i have left her many a times, but this time i knew myself that she is the only one i have. that whatevr i do i will never be accountable to her, but i will never hide it from her nevertheless... it is she who taught me the magic of love, the satisfaction of giving more than recieving, the hope that good deeds never goes undone, the belief that if i am good, no matter what happens, i wil be rewarded...but all that apart, the best knowledge i learnt from her was to be simple and to be tolerant... simplicity was her forte. i all these years, i have never seen her unnecessarily adorning herself with anything more than ordinary, but she had always looked beautiful in my eyes... and to say that she has been tolerant is to say the very very least...

i dont know why i have not missed her still now, its been so long i have not seen her, so long i have not heared her say the nightly ritual that she and i have...maybe it is because i take her for granted,maybe because nothing has yet gone wrong here, maybe because when you know someone loves you, you tend to oversee their feelings,so much so that you an be rude without thinking, you can ignore wothout feeling guilty, you can retaliate without tension, you can be yourself without the fear of being misjudged...

but today, with a choking rush of feelings, i reached out for maa, as i call her, and i realised she was no longer in the next room, she wal miles and miles away, and to let her know that i missed her will only increase her never ceasing tensions for me... all i want her to know is that if ever there was a god for me, it is her, if ever i worship a deity, it is her image, if i ever hold on to anything, it is the cornr of her saree....for maa, when all would have failed me, i know i will see u standing, waiting for me to reach up to you... i am still a kid, still scared of bigger bullies in a badder world, but now for the world i have grown, and running to you seems like an easy option, but i wish i could do it, every turn, every problem, every night...

p.s: champu, thank you..its very rarely that i get what i do not expect.

being impulsive

i came out of my class, withthe evening ahead of me all planned in my head..a minute or two of facebook (and i knew it would be a minute and twenty, but that would require another blog to describe), reading journals, dinner, buying grocery, then straight to bed...with this agenda in mind, i turned the computer on. as i expected him to, kunal with his crooked teeth forming the straightest smile ever jumped infront of me, 'sumanaaa....i was looking for you only re'...and with that ever so sweet greeting we started rambling about the days unfruitful activities, with a consolation in mind that he would now go to class, so the day would not be a total waste after all.. and come on, today was a very special day, he finally would be turning in his assignment, just a mere two weeks late.

anyways, after a few animated minutes, we came to the conclusion, that his conscience wouldnt really affect him that much if he bunked the lecture,and with a very tired face (so as to fool his classmates), and a very untired heart, we set out to go to jersey city...no reason or rhyme, simply, i guess somewhere down the line we are so affected by seeing all the college kids in hindi movies just chilling out and being cool, we wanted to 'belong' to the clan... and for that we also needed a camera, how else would we let all the students in the class know that we were out being cool...so my camera and kunal's batteries to the rescue..and mindless clicking starts..from the shuttle stop to the jounal square station, anything that was remotely out of the ordinary, or had sunlight falling on it from any wiered angle had no mercy from us...so what if the pics turned out to be either extremely normal, or so distorted that you could not make out where the sun was, it was ours, and we are proud of it :) so proud that i put my laziness in the backseat for once, and this was so that the whole wide world could tell us how nice we looked, and how nice the sun looked and how if not for us, they would never know jersey city was so eventful. none of that happened whatsoever, and we ended up admiring them ourselves, but now i am blogging about it, so you know the obsession is not yer over :)

we, no sorry, i had to buy stuff that i didnt buy, and kunal bought stuff that he didnt have to buy, it was just another trip to the 'patel cash and carry'. i think somewhere deep down, i go there just to get a feel of my country, however criticised and underdeveloped, my people, perhaps corupt and loud, my language, bits and pieces of it all around the shop, my brittania marie, tasteless but healthy, it is mine, it is as much a part of me as i am of it. i go there not to buy, but to belong.


now came the most important part...the food. the food that has haunted me for three nights after i had it for the first time, the food i can take home to my mother, the food that can make me forget my ever increasing waistline, the food that can kame kunal...well...bunk his class... the food was finally here. should i mention them here...no...for 2 reasons, one, i pity the people who did not taste it, and two, i will have to go to jersey city very soon if i think too much about it. just to say, it was heavenly. we actually sat there looking romantically at our empty dishes, wishing more food would magically appear in them, ignoring the dramatic warning noises in our stomachs...but we couldnt ignore the looks of others unto whom the food was yet to be bestowed upon, and we left...not befor getting a few more pics though...lame we may appear, but we care we do not!!!

then the journey back. it was a time for remembering good old bombay...i forgot that trains did not leave from the same platform they came on, and kunal forgot that there would actually be no rush on a weekday...amidst alarming stares from more civil passengers, or should we say, passengers who were jealous that they did not have such charming and fun friends themselves ( hi five kale )... we were back to harrison. and as kunal suggested coming all the way back to my dorm, i realised the fun would continue...

not just on the shuttle trip, but for the next eight months. and after that. sometimes all you need to brighten up your day is another mad hatter like you, all you need is an impromptu decision, all you need is the guts to say to hell with class, i want to have fun, all you need is a camera with no reels, all you need is a pair of shoes to run beside someone with longer legs than yours, all you need is mindless laughter,all you need is food that reminds you of home, all you need is the assurance that you will be taken care of however late it may be, all you need is a friend. all you need is a friend.

the lost toys

the happiest days of my life, or for that matter, anyone's life must be the days spent in school...days where life began with my mother waking me up with her beautiful face dishevelled with perspiration and sweat from her early morning chores, reluctantly waking up to again fall asleep in the bathroom, more so if it was a winter day...i grew up in kolkata in those days, and winter could be a sleepy affair indeed, days when the school uniform was the most comfortable, clean and starchy dress ever worn, a time when socks would go upto the knees,and shoes would invariable be black and shining every morning, only to come back with a thick coating of dust every evening, days when all sleep would vanish when i would hear the honk of the school bus, filled with laughter and chatter of my friends, those days we had a lot of friends, we knew no plitics, we knew no evil deed, it was just a sincere simple bond that 36 of us classmates shared.

there was moumita, my first friend ever, with her hair curling like maggi, there was poornima, whose surname none of us got right the first time,there were the talukdar twins, always smiling and talking about volleyball, there was shilpa, whose knowledge of shahrukh khan and bllywood movies had me in awe, there was oendri and her dance classes, there was ankita with whom i remember having so called philosophical talks, there was sunetra whose mom made the best tasting noodles i ever had, i am afraid i sometimes ate up all her tiffin, there was anwesha, daydreaming about someone, there was monami and sonali, always found together, there was ria, dainty and darlingy like, there was ibrahim, polite and gentle, there was jyotirmoy, oh so naughty, there was siddhartha, meek but mischievous, there was arko, reigning someones thoughts, :P, there was chandrajit, with half the girls swooning over him, there was payel, planning more mischief with pooja, there was janet, always very tensed, there was monica, wo sadly is no more, there was angela, always making the most of anything, there was subhojit, never saying a word, there was parnalekha, always toping everything, there were oh so many more, none of whom are forgotten, just a bit faded maybe. i owe my lifes lessons to time spent with these people....people i hardly ever met after the best 5 years spent in that school, people i think about when i am sad and life is turning upside down, people i wish i could see again everyday, not the way they are now, but the memory i have of them when i was one of them...

the time when silly little secrets used to be the base of so many blackmails, when betrayal meant not sharing your textbook with your desk mate, when christmas, teachers day, childrens day, independence day formed the best and most important days of our life, what innocent preparation went into all the dances and the skits, and the teachers...how can anyone replace them..miss shorbori, we loved her and she loved us more, miss clara we were so scared of, miss sonia, we were more scared if possible, miss jaya with her scale in hand, the play ground, so familiar, so inviting, so small yet seemed so big, the pool, the topic of undying interest till we got to see it did not have a beach along with it, the banana trees which were supposed to have spirits, the maashis, whom we never discriminated against, maashis son, suman who was one of us too, the guard uncle who i will recognise anywhere, but who probably doesnt remember me anymore, the dogs, always near the bathrooms, huh, the tress, the smell, the flowers, the sky, the walls, the grass, its as if i was alice and it was my eternal wonderland...i keep on thinking about those days, a parallel world as if it was, where nothing was ever wrong, nothing was corrupt, not one ws a cheat, an utopia if ever was...

this was the place i learnt to differenciate between right, wrong, justice, injustice, special, normal and all oher discrimination i make today. it was the place where i first loved, first competed, first dreamt, first performed. it was the place that made me, and it will be the place that will break me. for no other confirms with what it taught me to be. no other follows its golden rule...i do not know how to walk, o alma mater, cause your roads no longer exist...

now my shoes are forever dirty, my mothers face far away, my friends are people who i do not know, my days start with the night,the choice of clothes have replaced the choice of simplicity, i am spoilt, unclean, insincere... ready to travel the new world...but looking back to hear the bus...to hear the laughter, childhood's innocent laughter...

the men in my life

The time in life we learn to express ourselves, is the precise time we learn to hide them.... till then we are just bawling babies throwing up food if we don’t like it, bt the moment we learn the appropriate words ‘i don’t like what you have cooked’, is when we are taught...’you should never tell aunty that the food was bad, its not good manners’....and so it starts.... atleast thats when it started for me...i went all through age 3 to 6 smiling at bigger kids who bullied the hell out of me..trying in vain to get them to like me so that i would get a running part to play in the game, from 7 to 12, pretending to be girly when all i wanted was to climb trees, from 13 to 20, trying to act smart so that the ‘guy’ wouldn’t know i had a crush on him (one single guy, 8 yrs, long time pretending huh), and 20 to almost 23 trying to behave like a grown up when i know for a fact i am not.

It was somewhere between these years that i realised that if i really wanted to be happy, i should only be with people who understood me in totality instead of having half baked relationships with a score of people.... and so here i am with 4 people in the world who matter the most to me....there are a million others, but if the world were to end tomorrow, these are the 4 i would like to see with me. My parents, my bro and my best friend. But am i happy? All these years, have i truly conveyed to them what they really mean to me? I did at first...but then things got left halfway.... although they know what they mean to me (hopefully) and what i would do for them, there are so many things that i wanna tell them and i don’t... because i am scared...of being misunderstood, of the feeling not being reciprocated, of not being taken seriously...
Dad has always been a picture of a shorter version of Amrish Puri for me, and to think of dad and feelings in one breath was....well i don’t know, cos i never have. He was always the strict, rigid, disciplined man who i gotta obey. But he’s getting old now. He’s mellowing down. Although he finds it impossible to convey feelings to anybody in this planet, being a close replica of him, i can feel the palpable feelings boiling inside him...but its too late now. I know how uncomfortable it will get for him if i suddenly go over and give him a hug...but he needs it. I know it, he knows it. I know it cos he hates it when mom wakes me up and not him, i know it cos he calls me for absolutely no reason at all,i know it cos the man who never left home a minute after 9 every morning now waits till 9-15 because thats when i will be online....well these are things all dad’s do. But my dad thinks i don’t know it.. and he will continue thinking that...cos i never will have the guts to tel him..that i not only know why he was strict when i was small, but that i love him more for it.

Bhaiya is the most awsumest person in this whole wide world. To find a guy more sensitive, intelligent, dutiful, loving...and all at the same time is bloody impossible. But lately, say for a year and half, he has turned into this smug ball of moods...he has his good days and his bad days... and he generally has bad days more than good days. But its all justified...any other guy in his place would just have had the bad days, would have probably cracked up with the amount of pressure and concern that he has. When i see him upset, sad and lonely, all i want to do is hold him and assure him that its going to be alright. That i will be there with him even if things go worse, that all my endeavours and my feeble attempts at success are done with the memory of his trust and faith in me and that my biggest failure would be if i ever let him down. That you are the most manly man for me in this world, and if if theres anyone who has the power to convince me to do something i don’t wanna do its him, and that every day i try to be a better person cos i have to be worthy of being his sister....

The third ‘man’ in m life is my best friend, my doggy and just writing that word brings a smile on my face. He is my confidante, my conscience, the only person who knows all the bad stuff(i mean ALL) about me and loves me nevertheless. he is the only non-family entity of my life for whom i would do anything. No, hes nt worth it. Hes a jerk. A fathead who doesn’t deserve my affection...but i give it to him. Not because i have to, but because i don’t have a choice. Over the years, some rocky, some not so rocky, i have realised that i love him not because hes my best pal, bt because i don’t know how nt to like someone whos so good and kind and upright and well....awesome. he doesn’t know i think so, he thinks i feel he is an ass, which he so pretends to be, but doggy, if ders anyone i have never failed to read its you...and maybe the next time i say this i will be drunk but u r d best. i just got to accept this...wen u gt thru screening i ws so happy i didn’t even think about the fact that i did not, nd even today, if you can achieve what you want to in ur career, i will be happier than if i achieve it myself. even when i wasnt with you...u were the only friend i had.

So there u go....most probs i wont even tell them abt dis blog...surely not dad, maybe bhaiya...maybe my frnd....bt maybe....one day they will know by some magical interference that not only do i love them, i cant imagine life without them....