Saturday, October 19, 2013

The rush to write

Now,what was I saying ?
5 quid 'Khichdi' at London Pujo?
Surprise 'fuchka' at Hounslow ?
Parents' visit to London?
Daily grind at work?
Stories of friends?
Or was it a mixed curry of everything?

Yes, I will pick the mixed curry for its flavor.
Spicy and delicious.
All I need is a bengali font.
Oil is heating in the pan
The dish is on its way.

Lekhar tagid

Ki niye likhbo?
London er pujor 5 pound er khichuri bhog?
Hothat hounslow tey rastaye fuchka khawa?
Baba ma er ekhaney beratey asha ?
Office er rojnamcha?
Bondhuder goppo?
Naki shober ekta paanchmisheli.

Paachmisheli tai bhalo, makha makha
bhaja moshlar shaad.
Shudhu ekta bangla lekhar software khujtey hobey.
Tel gorom hochhey , ranna r jogar o shesh
The dish is soon coming up :)

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Dedicated to a friend

I had once attempted to force open the doors.I had once dreamt.I had once waded through deep mud in those trenches,hoping to find green and sunshine on the other side.
Some of us got waylaid ,some others went all the way -I hope to glory.
The path was strewn with loneliness,fears,dangers and risks.
To be fair, the journey had its moments too.
But today as I look back , and ask what came of it in the end ?The answer lies in a name.
My friend, who held a beacon in one hand ,and marched forward through all the hopelessness,his other hand gripped mine.He warned me, I dare not give up.
Suddenly I lost his hand.I stumbled ,groping for him in the dark.
The treacherous road sometimes got even the best among us.A black tunnel ahead had engulfed him.
I was scared.I had to find a way to get out of there,into the real world of meaningless lives and meaningless deaths.
Only, I know,One day soon, my friend will fight the darkness and emerge into the spotlight amidst cheering crowds.
I do not know if he will remember the hand that he had held and let slip away.
But my love for him is undying,his spirit continues to inspire me to jump back into the trench alone,once again .
I dare not give up .




Sunday, January 15, 2012

Courage!

Last Saturday morning, his parents took him to the first formal interview of his life.
For those who do not know,in India,little girls and boys are interviewed for basic English and math abilities before they can be admitted to nurseries in schools.
For a whole week, he was made to recite nursery rhymes,practice writing numbers and revise the alphabets.
Smart as he is, he finished all this in no time,  then ran off to fight his imaginary adversary with a 'ninja-sword' (he even goes to sleep with a plastic rod tucked behind him,inside his shirt) combined with his ingenious 'Milja (ninja) technique'.
My little four year old friend, had topped the tests and mock interviews at his prep school. Confident he will do well in the real one, his parents dressed him and marched him to the Principal's office on a Saturday.
The Principal - a respectable grey stern gentleman, looked through his glasses, and asked ' Whats your name?'
The deep voice emanating from such a grim face could unnerve any grown-up.
But sure enough, that was  no challenge to my brave young boy-friend, for he stamped his right foot forward, as if to crush a gnat, narrowed his eyes, looked straight at the man, drew out his imaginary sword and declared in his gravest tone, 'I am Milja Hattori,beware of my sword !'




He was admitted anyway. He is about to start classes from spring.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Never Rich ,nor poor (Series name:Already I'm ....cry)

From another grey city,I pulled out an old book,turned to a chapter,whose memory fades each day.The pages are now musty.Are the impressions still alive?

We stood under the dim blue street lamp,you had bought me an ice cream from the remnants of your wallet.Kwality-Walls Cornetto,my favourite at the time.
You loved the left over biscuit cone,with little ice cream sticking to it.The heat radiating from the asphalt road,quickly melted my scoop.

I looked at the girl and the boy sitting inside an air-conditioned cafe, and sighed.Some day,we will afford cafe dates too,we dreamt.
So what else can jobless lovers do?Buy visitor's passes at the city airport's departure lounge.
Spend hours together inside an a.c facility,unintentionally see off thousands and thousands of unknown witnesses to different cities around the globe.

After that evening,we had not met for a month.

When we finally did,you handed me fifteen hundred rupees.A handsome amount in those days.The first money you had ever earned.

I don't remember what that first job was,but it was part time.For which,you had to sneak out every day,hiding from all who disapproved,travel quite a distance,stay on till late.And I remember you were just twenty.

Saturday, December 31, 2011

New insights

Some people are happy with themselves.Happy with their mediocrity,content with their capabilities which are far outweighed by their limitations.Happy with their orientation,both social and professional.There is only so much you can push them.Hoping they will ever compete to win - is a waste of your own time.

Often such people show delusions of grandeur.When congratulated by another of their clan,their minds extend the applaud,as resounding from the whole world.Where is the need to do better,to question one's performance,when one is so sure of oneself?
When they are confronted with quality better than themselves,they attribute extrinsic factors to such greater successes.
For example,when a mediocre sweeper comes across a superior one ,he may attribute the superiority to the colleague's wife,who,he argues,creates a more peaceful household than his own.Or to the children ,who create lesser trouble than his own.Or to a happier childhood.Or to a better car than his own!Could be any reason,but one which falls outside the persona.

But middling,has its own positives.Such people live happier,longer,more satisfied with life's simple pleasures,of perhaps a football match on television,or an invitation at a neighbors.They are susceptible to far lower conspiracies.They have much lesser finances to manage by the time they are old.They usually brush off their own difficulties as they do to others,they usually teach lower mastery goal orientation to their children.Their philosophy is simple 'when you cant do it,just find an excuse outside your self'.
They have far lesser expectations from life.They are jealous of almost nothing,perhaps the only rare exception can be the man their wife is 'too friendly' with.There too, their jealousy will not cause greater damage than frequent grumbling.Plus they have great many number of friends.In a word such people are benign.Such people have fewer conflicts and lower frustrations to deal with.
Is this,then, the secret road to happiness ?

Saturday, November 19, 2011

(series name - Already I'm so lonesome I could cry) - The Rains

We walked in the rain ,without a coat ,without an umbrella. We walked in the rain,on the roads,laughing,talking about everything else but the weather.
We walked as if it were bright sunshine.
The soggy clothes didn't matter.The slippery ground didn't matter.
When the buses ,the cars passed us by,spraying us many times over with dirty gray puddle,it did not matter.
The idea of catching a cold never occurred.We loved rains,at all times.
That was long ago.

Years later,we could afford a car.Once B drove us into an unusually rainy evening,when the windshield ,the windows,the rear view were all cut off by a thick screen of silver white.It was raining outside,but we were dry.
The car was parked on the side of the road.Visibility was poor.We felt stranded,worried.We wished the rain would stop.The car was quiet,except for the sound of raindrops on the metal roof.

Subtle impressions are lost in this city,either when you grow older or when you step outside your house into the daily struggles.