The "don't read" entry...

The bloody memories maul me and cradle me at the same time...I talk aloud about my cooking adventures with Anand, with the beauty parlor girl. In my mind I scream to tell her, about him. I can't. Any girl would know the bonding with her beautician. It's got to be there, along with a certain amount of trust, because she's trying to bring out the best in you. So, she knows about Anand, she knows of my uneasiness about arranged marriage, and my fondness for coffee and sweets, she's seen my sneezing fits and knows how at times I cling on to my inhaler for dear life, and after a while things get back to normal. That's about all that I can divulge about myself, I am not permitted to talk about my best friend.

Whom to tell and what to tell. Kaise batayun aur kisko batayun? I long for the Swades song, Aahista Aahista...somebody please put me to a dreamless sleep. I can't take this load of overpowering memories anymore. I have always been very fond of the Rukmini tale...she wrote to Krishna to come and marry her, and Krishna obliged. He wanted Indian girls to have the right to choose their spouse. I sit and think of the story and remember that he had taught me the word polyandry. Polygamy I knew. To think of it, what is there that he didn't introduce me to. My first Mills and Boon to my first porn. Don't think that it was something intentional. He'd tell me everything. You know, I installed this new version of Media Player and it came with some hardcore stuff. I listened, and simply told, is it? Can I get the version please...mine doesn't come with the stuff. And I'd watch the "stuff" at night...of course we won't discuss it any further...we had plenty of new things to talk about everyday...I don't remember him reacting much to this other self of mine, except once when I was reciting to him all the bad mouthing I had learned till date, and he couldn't help saying "it sounds strange coming from you"...

So, as hell stands or breaks loose, I haven't forgotten a wee damn thing about him, all these years whenever I've felt like having a laugh, someone's sang in my mind "হাসালে তুমি মোরে" in the tune of "কাঁদালে তুমি মোরে"...way he used to sing to me, and the stupid me never realized that I am carrying him in my mind all the time, every moment. I went into relationships after broken relationships, he got married, we stopped talking, but I have never stopped carrying this overload of his memories. I have a very precious zip file which doesn't open. I had set some password to it that I forgot. It has a notepad file where I had scribbled something. It was way back in 2007. It had his photo with his daughter, and the photo of bossie, both taken from Orkut. I wish I could read that notepad file now. I get strange wishes, which are basically attempts to know how far this dates back to, and what took me so long to realize this huge chunk of truth about my own mind? What am I? Had life not brought about this final forever kind of alienated existence, I'd have never realized what's actually there in my mind? And I had all the clues, all the time. Can someone really be so dumb?

This entry has the kind of intimacy that I am not comfortable publishing. But I'd publish it in protest. There was a time when I'd write things, make him read them, and won't need anything else in life. I don't have a fallback option these days. So public it is got to be, my plight. Like I said, he used to share everything with me once upon a time. His friends, who were ex lovers, embraced in the wake of a freak accident. He felt strange that they did that...he debated with me about what makes people deviate from protocol. You know what? It is all probably my mistake, but you too gave up on me. Now, do what you think is correct, else it's high time that I too give up on myself.

I hate it. I ran away from everything and was happy in my solitude. I forgot the memories I wanted to forget. But where do I go now? I can't run away from something that's part of me. You know the tragedy? Even if I say in frustration, "Arrgh, I don't love anybody on earth", I remember that it is something he had told me once when I was bickering with him.

The Christmas miracle...

Yesterday was a page straight out of some comics book...but first things first.

I went into a strange mood after the last entry. Felt as if I have nobody in my world. Here I know people who are enjoying every moment of their lives, as if they are having a marathon of parties, and are mobbed by friends, and here I am, living in an island as if. I kept crying, kept listening to songs, and finally fell asleep. For once I spared myself from reading on those awful psycho story books.

Work was hectic and meaningless as usual. When I finally reached the car, dad was inside and on the phone. It was a cousin brother from my messed up family, in fact my favorite brother after the one that died, but I have willed myself not to remember any of that. I had this well made up frown on my face, as if accusing dad - why do you need to speak to people who appear once in a blue moon? Dad of course couldn't see me in the dark and happily kept on giving directions to our home...and then he gave the phone to me. It was my uncle, after more than a year. And he, the eighty year old gentleman, gave such a hearty laugh on hearing my voice, that I had this realization for a moment that even I can be this precious to someone.

The brother episode turned out to be the perfect eye popping event. Me and the girl in my team often behave like cartoon characters to show our surprise...as if our eyes are popping out. Last Monday, it seems some elderly professor commented - "ok, so it was her birthday yesterday, that must be the reason why she was looking different today, she was looking so pretty..." - she heard this and couldn't wait to tell me, and in no time we were doing our eye pop act and laughing aloud...

So then my cousin brother came up. Dad took the car and fetched him from the bus stop, and I willed myself to act a bit. I bent to touch his feet, and he was like...you need to get married to do that...and then he went on to reminisce...how long would it be? We both agreed on 20 years. He's met my parents several times in between, but not me. The memories got stifled. Memories of his tall profile as he stooped to enter through the door, he running his bike with lightening speed as I clung on to him for dear life, the hero of my childhood. And then the eye popping moments started. Somewhere in the back of my mind, rested the fact that I have a brother who's a big shot in the army. I let it rest well, like I do with most of my relatives. How does it matter that I have illustrious relatives? I have a sister who's a top academician in the state, but nobody knows about that and we are not in touch, even though we work in the same university campus. Yes, I have that kind of a mental block.

The brother settled down on a chair, (we still don't have a sofa...I am planning to delegate the interior decoration to a colleague) and we offered coffee. He refused and as if he's just casually mentioning it, he said he's a cancer patient, so he has a lot of food restrictions. Dad just stretched out his hand to touch him, and there was a tumor on his back. He showed his bullet wounds, the operation marks on his spinal cord, talked about a spoiled liver and having undergone a bypass surgery, and don't be mistaken, he never seemed to be complaining about these things. He was speaking as if these are regular things in life.

It was the house I grew up in. A house which is locked up now and being contested for valid ownership in the court. The same house where this same brother once told me, you can argue very well, you should have been a lawyer. I never told him that protesting against wrongdoing has become a way of my life. And now as I sat there listening to him, I understood how it's the same blood flowing through our veins, the same respect for God and the same hatred and disgust for negative things. And then the comic strip moments started. I have a brother who's a top guy in the army doesn't matter to me. I have a brother who has killed 14 terrorists by slicing open their neck in public view does seem like something. And if this same person is a cancer survivor then it matters all the more...I vaguely remember going to sleep in my childhood thinking about his brave deeds, the Mast Gul attack where he was a part of the team, and he'd seen his batch mate being shot to death beside him...

Suddenly happiness welled up inside me. He said he needed a cigarette. "Are you permitted to smoke?", I asked. "No, but I am very happy today", he said...and I walked with him on his way to the bus stop without caring a fig for the acrid smoke of nicotine. The bus had come, but he decided to touch the feet of my dad yet another time...so the bus started moving. He did this army acrobat and jumped onto the stairs of the speeding bus. My superman brother :)

I finally met the lady doctor who comes and feeds the strays in our locality. Have been hearing about her from my neighbor, met her today. She looked angelic as we exchanged notes about our fondness for dogs...

So, in hindsight, I have a dysfunctional family and quite a dysfunctional life, that's true. But I am still connected in a remote way to that family, we have the same values and the same never say die attitude, even when we are almost dead, is also a fact. That I keep meeting good people in life is another fact. That I can probably go on waiting for that person whom I once called my best friend, and if we ever meet one more time in this life, if I happen to walk with him, the nicotine smoke would fail to bother me once again, might turn out to be a fact as well...

We, all of us, live in our own islands...lonely lost islands...but that shouldn't stop us from being hopeful...

স্বর্গের দেবতা...নাকি হাত বাড়ালেই বন্ধু... :)

At times I think I shall stop writing about my dreams. Stop writing about anything for that matter, how I feel, what is going on in my mind...become that edgy zombie who just gives furtive glances in the hope that somebody thinks she is alive after all, and then, being let down, closes her eyes in pain.

I looked so pretty today, that amid 24*7 work that organizing an international conference generally means, when I hurriedly stepped into the rest room just to tie up my hair, I kind of gasped at my reflection. And there's supposed to be no joy in my life. Lot of stress, yes, but no happiness whatsoever. Mom's not well, the maid has burnt her hand, and my picnic trip had to be cancelled because of the reasons mentioned above. At night, after a long and tiring day, I just look on blankly at the UB Reader, mostly with burning eyes, and hardly manage to read a few pages before I fall asleep.

Then what keeps me alive, what makes me look beautiful? Just the curious dreams, like the one which I had this morning. I don't know what work I do, it is a complex with a lot of buildings having dome shaped ceilings. A very rich place, I guess, and a high security one over that, because a lady (who seems to be in the support function) sends a security guard on an errand, and is amply scolded by some senior staff - "you have any idea how much we pay those guards? They should never be sent away"... Well, amid this setting, I seem to be the only idle person, apart from the gentleman who sits with me. We sit all day, huddled together, often we doodle on some random exercise book, and chit chat on meaningless things. I get this sudden urge to tell him,  "tu mera hero (you are my hero)"... I create a lot of suspense and say, "now I am going to hide a top secret in my next doodle, and you are not supposed to look...", and then plan on drawing something elaborate, where these words can be hidden. But I catch him looking on, and stop midway and scratch up what I have written so far. He gets to know I am angry and tries to seriously close his eyes. But my courage is all gone, I just write his name this time. I nudge him to open his eyes, and he throws up his hands in exasperation. That's just my name!...he exclaims. I keep blushing...

I wrote something like this the other day, as a message to my university seniors, whose smoking habit makes me sick to my stomach... " Dear inconsiderate smoker, I was born a non smoker and so were you. It is a matter of choice that you started smoking subsequently. Don't blame it on the regular stress that life subjects you to...or for that matter your addiction that you can't overcome. I accept it as your choice that you can't give up on this habit. But at the same time you should also accept that smoking in public is prohibited in India. I SHOULD NOT be subjected to the stale air you breathe out. I respect your right to smoke. You should also respect my right not to passive-smoke. "

I was sighing to myself, to think, she is head over heels in love with an apparently non existent person who used to be a chain smoker when she knew him.

I told you I must stop writing. Life has become illogical. This can't be written about, this is utter madness. But please, before I die, can I just have one more walk with him? Holding hands, all wrapped up in colorful woollens, just as dusk sets in? Please God, just do this much for me, life would then not be such a terrible, pathetic waste...

Doesn't matter...

The first half an hour was traumatizing. I hoped and prayed and cried. Some things still manages to disturb my balance. Like, if my student doesn't call me on teacher's day. Or if my (lady) best friend doesn't call me just as it turns midnight and indicates 20th December. I apparently hate Facebook but in my desperation I just thought maybe someone will see the notification and wish? Someone, anyone - just so that I feel better? But there was no one. I kept listening to "tum saath ho" from Tamasha and kept shedding silent tears. I told myself that I am a selfish girl and often overlook birthdays, there's nobody except my brother whom I call at midnight and wish happy birthday, that too not every year. I thought back and probably could recollect some other instances, but every time I had to make an effort to remember and wish other people on their birthdays. Apart from my immediate family the only birthdays I don't have to make a conscious effort to remember are...what? 3/4? And I hardly wish any of these people, haven't wished them for ages now. For some of them I don't even care, for some I celebrate in my mind. But I am sure there's no one who celebrates my birthday in their mind.

Forget it, the office people did come and sang the birthday song and gave me a couple of gifts on the 18th itself. Mechanical though it was, it was still a pleasant surprise. I need a warm bath and then I'd simply go to sleep. For a hundredth time I wish that there was no 20th December, there should be simply the 19th and then the 21st.

Bliss...

Kolkata might not be the Kolkata of our childhood, you might not be wearing anymore the kind of sweater I remember you in (red, full sleeves, with a spiral pattern), but the Kolkata winter is still magical and I am sure you still get very boggled down when you catch cold (and blow your nose in a tiny white checkered handkerchief). I am sure I won't find these things charming had it been anyone else. But I love everything that I remember about you. Can't tell you how lucky and fulfilled I feel. Happy birthday countdown begins for the self obsessed me, who, in her small life, has finally cared for someone else. The sapling didn't die because we didn't care for it at the same time. It has become a full fledged tree. You know what? The damn thing has become an overwhelming rain forest :)

There were some wilted flowers from the bouquet I had got for mom. I cut them off and rearranged the flowers that are still fresh. Is that called ikebana or simply being in love...when you simply must create beautiful things, in dreams and in reality...

P.S. - "There's something different about your looks", he said one day.
"What is it? ", I asked.
"Chin line, you've got a distinct chin line"...
"What does that imply?", I asked, all naive and curious and excited. He always had that effect on me.
"Means you've become more determined"...
I remember the exact spot on the road where I stood with him, waiting for the bus, when he told me this. Everything about that road has changed since then. I still visit that road once in a rare while. The bridge which was still getting built...is old now. I do understand the theory of relativity in a twisted way. Also why time is the 4th dimension...why Rose said to Jack in a broken, choking voice, "come back"...and I daydream...in this strange city called Kolkata, amid layers of surreal wintry mist...

Uff...

Today was a really happening day, after a long time. I was once again getting accustomed to the boring monotony of my life, yesterday, as I was on the verge of finishing yet another book, my head and neck started hurting badly, and suddenly I told myself that it wouldn't really matter if I finish the book today or tomorrow. I felt sick. I was tired fighting with myself. There was no way I could reach out...

Today was mom's birthday. So I decided to do some long pending household tasks, mostly for myself, not for her, but in her honor. Minor tasks like refilling the hand wash and stashing a new bin bag in the garbage can. While I did that, in the back of my mind it went on that I need to finish the book. But that would have to wait as yet another of my মামাs decided to arrive at our home. I got busy talking to him, made coffee for all of them, and was amply pleased when he admitted to my grandmother that he really likes me and thinks I am special. Yes, I talked to him about everything on earth, and I know these things because I keep reading, and I read so much because I have nothing else to do. Get the irony? Didn't tell him though. He asked me if I have any void about not getting married. I pretended to be the brave girl, "no, I am just worried a bit about dying alone and being pitied", I said. I saw him off, came up to my room, and finished the book. No reaction, no pondering, I started reading the next book. When it was 4 o'clock, I took my bath, pulled on a jeans and a regular loose top, and accompanied my dad to big bazaar to get grocery. Earlier they had two hours free parking, now it's reduced to an hour. It needs meticulous planning, fighting with the crowd...and I managed it once again. Bang on, payback points collected, free calls recharged. We moved on to the florist, and the take away shop. Ordered in tandem, to save time. Here the food got packed, there the bouquet got prepared. Hurried home. Fed the dog. Quickly tied a saree. Put on some eye makeup and an elaborate bindi without thinking much. Rubbed lipstick on my lips. Asked dad to take a photo. Reached the marriage venue. More photos. Food. Cracked some silly jokes. Everyone laughed. Wow, look, I am socializing. Came back home. Regular chit chat with mom. Helped granny to bed. Came upstairs again. Couple of official mails, couple of Facebook posts. It was then that I noticed. My friend who was supposed to get married today. From usual girlish inquisitive nature, I looked for the groom's photo in her profile. Don't ask me if I had faint hopes of seeing my best friend in one of those pics. Because I didn't. I saw the groom though. Sad kind of fat person, I knew it is wrong but still couldn't help wondering why she married him...before I'd get back to the story book, I decided to write about this.

PS - What I love about my best friend is that he hasn't changed a bit from the college days. Why, I could be his aunt :( But jokes apart, I am losing weight slowly but steadily. One problem that I discovered is that I am really not attracted towards him in the wild sort of way, really, you may laugh, but that's true, in fact our sheer familiarity comes in the way probably. Whatever, like he used to say in college (funny how it still reverberates in my ears), he can, (or, in those days, he could) create attraction between any two people...so I guess that won't be much of a problem so long as he looks like he did...
Cut, cut, cut, but thank God I'm in love with him, and not keen on marrying anyone else, thin or fat. All I wish is that I get some respite from the story book thingy, psychological thrillers, grrrrrr :( :(

PPS - The Jiah Khan story brings back horror to me in unspeakable ways. But she died, and I am living, and I don't know if that in itself is a crime...

The time travel...

Booking Clerk: Yes ma'am, how can I help you?
Me: I...want to book a ticket...
BC: Sure, past or future?
Me: (waving my hands impatiently) Past, past...who'd want to go to the future?
BC: (surprised) That's what most of them want, apparently...(after some thoughtful pause) So...when in the past?
Me: 1998? Wait, can I specify the month?
BC: Yes, you can even specify the exact moment - but that would take us at least 3 months to fine tune the program and err...that'd be expensive too...(suddenly apologetic) I didn't mean...
Me: To say that I look poor? But I do, I am not a rich person...but you know what? More than that I'm restless. I am so restless that if you don't know the spelling of restless you can look at my face and learn it...
BC: (to himself) Probably she's crazy too, must have been freshly released from the asylum...
Me: (louder and more impatient) 1999
BC: Pardon?
Me: One ticket to 1999 please...
BC: For how long?
Me: Pardon?
BC:  (irritated now) Ma'am, just how long do you intend to stay in 1999?
Me: Excuse me, I am not returning back...
BC: Lady, surely you know that that's not allowed? We have to maintain the maximum allowed population at a given point in time, we need to stay invisible and we cannot impact history. These are the three basic rules for time travel in the past...
Me: Then I would be just a spectator... Can I... Can I not even talk with him?
BC: With whom?
Me: My best friend.
BC: (brooding a bit) I am sorry... must have died young... 1999 is just 16 years back... I have to hear such things every single day - devastates your life in a single moment no? Such untimely deaths...
Me: (in a suspicious voice) Who died?
BC: Your best friend?
Me: (angry now) Who on earth told you this? He's very much alive...
BC: (in a stupid voice) Then...why do you want to time travel to talk with him, you can just call up, right?

Feeling happy...HAPPY!

So...haven't been so involved with a movie for a long time now, couldn't even understand well whether I like it or not :) but good or bad, I shall always watch Imtiaz Ali movies... Rajeev Masand's review kind of sums it up perfectly...one reason why I respect him as a reviewer, poor thing felt so emotional you see...

http://m.ibnlive.com/news/movies/review-tamasha-is-an-uneven-film-it-oscillates-between-inventive-and-indulgent-1169530.html-1169530.html

As for me, well, I feel quite crazy and extremely happy. I am continuously listening to "Heer toh badi sad hai ji" on repeat mode...it is such a unique song with such a lot of appeal..."Tum saath ho" had affected me in a different way, but even that goes non stop - my old reverence for the unassuming God of music called A R Rahman :)

So...Heer toh badi mad hai...she ended up doing some research - our Heer wanted to understand some things ;) How many times and in what way is her "he" mentioned in the blog by name, and in what context? ROTFL I am with the results... 5 times only in a span of 9 years - so much consideration na for someone's best friend? But considering it is a not anymore existing friendship, for 10 years now I guess, the things I have written in those entries kind of told me that I am actually not being very mad. I guess for the first time I have listened to my heart. You see love is not quantitative, it's always qualitative...and talking about quantity, what about those where his name's not mentioned, yet he features as the hero?

Can I not find out that blue or brown diary where I'd written him that letter? It'd be such a pleasure to relive that day...and how soon can I leave Kolkata? It doesn't seem to be a safe place for me anymore... I haven't been so happy in ages...it is just not me to be not complaining, not whining, not struck half dead by tragedies...all I am doing is to fly around like a fairy who's sprung new wings...

PS -  There was this guy in college whom I used to call my childhood friend. The guy had been my next door neighbor but we spoke for the first time in college. In our childhood we probably had a fight or two, but never even talked to each other, let alone being friends. So he was exasperated with the idea of being my childhood friend. Thank God it is not that sad a case with my best friend :)

PPS -  Well, in my attempt to understand how exactly I feel about the movie, I practically read up all the review links that came up in Google. Most of them are pompous, half hearted reviews with lame observations (1 song went on for 4 years it seems)...at length, I guess I feel almost like what Masand felt. Honest guy that one, and really understands movies.

Freedom...feels good...

How I love the Kolkata winter...who won't? I mean which moron on earth won't? If only I'd know the difference between push and pull...and right and left, sigh, sigh...I always seem to get mixed up about that :( In the interval during the movie I had come out to drink some water, and then I couldn't open the door with all my might. And then I inquiringly looked at a gentleman there, and he, trying his best to suppress his chuckle, said, it's PULL ma'am :( :(

I won't talk about the movie, I'd talk about the freedom. Freedom to go watch a movie early in the morning, and then take public transport to reach office. Oh, how good does half a day's release from monotony feel like! Oh, how lovingly I breathed in the diesel smoke...and then, then, when a couple of buses had screeched to a halt in the bus stop where I was waiting, and kept saying...saying...you know... শ্যামবাজার, খান্না...why, I could hardly resist myself from boarding the bus. I hate to feel negative but I have to probably repeat to myself, that he is NOT interested...but right at that moment I felt so happy hearing about that destination, in the softly embracing winter breeze, that for the first time in my life, I took out my tab in public and started writing this entry!

The movie was, good? Not extremely good, actually...self actualization could have been shown in a better way...but, you know what, my...he...was like that, used to be like that...it kind of saddens me to imagine him going to the office everyday...or doing any routine job for that matter...my...he...doing a struggle for existence is really hard to imagine...

At least I felt good after a long time...though I felt that Bangalore theaters were better, there were some hooligans in the theater, no...really, not a joke...those college guys who go for the cheapest show to make a lot of noise...they targeted a couple too...who went and complained, and a guy from the management came up and gave a lot of sermons to them, which didn't improve the conditions much...in my experience, weaklings don't like to be admonished, and make even more protestations, but that was ok...I didn't need to be afraid of anybody. I was telling myself, not unkindly, so this is life, watching romantic movies alone...because real romance won't happen in my life, and I can't ever let go of its hope and settle for cooked up thingies...I am better off being lovelorn than being in an arranged marriage where the guy just might turn out to be like my very worst nightmare...and anyways, even that's not gonna happen as I am too old...this is the birthday month remember?

Walking in chappals :)

In an altogether happy mood that I am experiencing these days, I want to write here "all is well" :)

As I said, it'd have hardly mattered whom my friend was marrying, but still had she married that particular guy who I know is worthless, I would have probably felt guilty had something gone wrong in the future,that I refrained from telling her the truth. But it is not that guy. Thank God for that...

This friend of mine is a really good girl, only I have never liked her for a strange reason, she got into the college through management quota...her dad had nothing to do with the management though...you know it's the usual route of paying money for her admission, because she had a rich dad.  And my dad used to really struggle even to pay the legitimate fees for the regular seat I had got, which was hardly 1/20th of her expense. She was just rich, very rich - and that was my first realization that rich people get things very easily even though they don't always deserve those.

So you see, now that I am rich too, I know that money still can't buy everything. Those dark resentments of childhood have almost died down. I can't act, so had she been marrying that terrible guy, I still couldn't bring myself up to saying God bless and all, but this time I did. I have always been transparent to her, have always told her openly how I feel about getting a seat through money and not merit, and she has feebly tried to argue that she'd gotten chance in one of the best private colleges in India, had a valid rank there, only the communication got goofed up a bit and she couldn't get admitted there in time. Well, seeing that she's done quite well for herself afterwards, I just let go of my ego and reached out for her friendship...

Am I going to the marriage? No... I don't want to compromise with my unsocial mind set. And I don't want to meet my best friend through a situation that I have brought about. If it ever happens in this life, it has to happen naturally, accidentally...

Had the two chappal dream :) chappal you don't know? Cheap sandals worn by the bengali intelligentsia (ROTFL) I am so sure that if we ever meet and rediscover each other, we'd walk for hours in our chappals, his black, mine red...(it's actually mom's...I buy slightly more fashionable shoes these days)...

Oh, how my heart melts off like ice cream at such thoughts of him :)

Oh oh and oh... I am finally going for Tamasha tomorrow, early morning show, then I go to office from there. Can't help, that was the cheapest ticket. Going alone too, probably the first time after ইতি মৃণালিনী...just had to give in to this craze amid this ongoing romance :)

Waste not want not :)

Tell you what, it is an absolutely...crime (not very comfortable using that adjective here...just read between the dots, won't you?) to read a JK Rowling story without paying for it. Well I always make up for it later, read the Harry Potter books also as ebooks first, and later bought each one of them. I even bought a poster book of the chamber of secrets... Casual Vacancy, then the first two Cormoran Strike books...Bombyx Mori :) you know what? Dad had a silkworm cocoon - he'd given it to me - he's this textile engineer no, even used to have his personal jute field in the college campus it seems, one he was required to take care of - learning to cultivate jute was part of the syllabus...only he'd hired a guy to do it for him...

Have spent sleepless nights reading the book...time now to get some long awaited sleep. A complication came up in the morning though...a friend from college wanted my mail id so that she could invite me for her marriage. Now from dependable sources (let's admit facts, from my own ex-boyfriend from the college) I know that she was scheduled to marry that...you know...(why on earth do I feel like swearing so much soon after I have finished adult books by Rowling?)...well you know whom...what the hell, that worthless rot from Mumbai. So, complications, complications. But see if someone’s happy marrying a rotter, does she need my advice? And as to feeling bad, why should I? I can remember my stupidity, curse myself a bit and be done with it. So, I guess I should share my mail id after all. It might or might not be the same guy, hardly matters. People do get compatible with strange people, I don't need to interfere. Wished her well and that should be it.

Well, that's not entirely it, right? :) there goes again - the pink bubble of unforgettable romance...she's late for office and starry eyed, she starts thinking, he'd be there, won't he? They've been colleagues...in fact the dream I had once of meeting him in Europe, that was through some twisted logic of my imagination, because of this girl only. She was in Europe for a long time and they worked in the same company! Because my best friend you see, is not a guy who'd ever leave Calcutta...he'd be fish out of the pond...it was just my romanticism, because I loved the cobbled roads when I was in Prague, and mingled with that were memories of home food we ate in a small Indian food stall in SG, that I had that dream - to eat with him, to walk with him...

God, what mistakes we make in our childhood. I met the guy, was like his shadow for 3.5 years, he even went on to admit to me that in his entire life he's only met one girl who fitted all the bills, and I admitted to him that even for a moment though, I was simply sinking in his love while he kept scolding me for showing off, and after all this I kept bugging him day in and day out to get things right with that stupid ex-boyfriend of mine. Don't get me wrong, he's a good person, this ex guy, one person who's cared to stay in touch, but, my God, is he prejudiced? How could I have ever been crazy enough to want to marry him I don't know. And the Mumbai guy. I accepted his proposal in order not to hurt him, and then he said he didn't like me enough to...to...forget it. I have been stupid all my life and I really deserve this lonely life. No man, I know I'd never meet him again. I shouldn't...I don't deserve to...

Virtual...or real?

It is strange way things come back to you... I was in Tamasha mood last night...haven't yet been to the theater to watch it, just waiting in fond apprehension - you know that typical feeling of slow and careful handling I had with my newly bought copy of Unaccustomed Earth...

I feel I have kept a sacred part of mine with that monster, whenever I remember that book...actually I often feel angry about my mistakes - like there was absolutely no need to be kind to that wretched guy from school, who frankly was stinking of snobbery - the particular characteristic that defines most of my fellow students from the so called elite institutions and what I have always hated them for. But no, I had to be blind at the wrong time and served me right to be humiliated in the way I was.

Like I have mentioned here probably a 100 times, the only safe person I can involve myself romantically with is my...my...what can I call him without sounding vulnerable? Best friend he's not, at least not anymore, I call him by his name in my mind most of the time, but I don't want to be that obvious. Oh just forget it, let's just call him by the pronouns, he's the only safe "he" in my life, the he who won't retaliate.

So, as I was relaxing with music and the book, last night and then repeat music and some beauty routine this morning, it suddenly came back to me. The song from Dil Kya Kare was playing, pyar kliye char pal kam nahi thhe...since he was already there in my thoughts, I suddenly found myself wondering, when did this movie release? Wasn't I at college then? Most inconsequentially, I remembered laughing about how a guy in the class had been crying buckets on watching Kajol's suffering - but then, I remembered that it had been another Kajol movie, the one with Anil Kapoor, something titled, Hum Aapke Dil Mein Rehtehai...giggles - what all names movies had then...but I loved the songs from this movie too...

But I was not talking about that, I was talking about how memories hit you - from places where they have been lying dormant in your mind all this time...13, 14 years, with you having no idea that they exist...

It was his voice and it was the ambience, that's all I could recognize...we were in one of our regular addas, with several other friends - you see, we were not lovers, so nobody ever shied away from sitting with us, in fact we talked talked and talked, and given his natural charm, one or the other from his regular gang would drop by... seems painful to remember now, when I hardly get to chat...well so we were chatting and he was commenting on the movie. I can still hear him saying every word, not having any idea that they'd get etched somewhere, to be recovered ages later, on a certain 29/11/2015 :)

He was just describing the scene where Ajay would be telling a lie, that her train is delayed. Someone urges Kajol to call up the station and inquire once again. She calls up and obviously gets to know the truth. She looks at Ajay, considers for a while and then comfortably says, the train is delayed by one more hour. He was ecstatic about this scene. None of them say it explicitly to each other, but they don't want to part as yet.

He used to tell movie stories wonderfully well. I have never watched Ijazat, because I have watched it through his story telling. I just don't want to watch the real movie ever - it'd always be through his eyes...

So in safe reassurance I keep romancing him in my mind. He won't stop me or feel irritated...ever...and in my ecstatic state I almost imagined telling aloud, you know I've got a daughter...she's very pretty, looks exactly like her father...I haven't met her though...will probably never be meeting her...but her dad, he absolutely dotes on her you know...

Moist eyes, may be, but don't you pity me, I am really happy with his memories - with every passing day I love him a little more, as memories come undone...

Book:Hangover - Coffee:Medicine :)

I like the smell of coffee - that strong and rejuvenating whiff... And I like old memories. I was watching a debate today on the television - fortunately my family is one of those rare ones which has no patience for mega serials...we mostly watch music, news and sports. So in that debate someone spoke of গান্ধর্বী... 

I like my coffee strong and bitter, slightly bitter, at times that slight twang of bitterness is all that matters, makes a difference, instantly makes you feel better. But it shouldn't be very hot mind you, I categorically don't like steaming hot beverages. Only a hard core coffee fanatic won't call me a nutcase. But tell me, isn't the concept of aftertaste interesting? The aftertaste of a banana for example...having lived in South India for so long, I often feel like having a banana at the end of my meal...don't you feel it has a very distinct aftertaste?

I know I am being delirious. Have been at Career of Evil all night, slept throughout most of the daytime, got a headache, took an untimely bath in the evening just to cure it, and don't really feel any better. 

I still continue reading though, just thought it is absolutely important to write here that I loved reading গান্ধর্বী as a dreamy eyed teenager, and wanted to gift it to the man I'd be marrying, so that he could understand how I feel about a relationship of love... 

Today is indeed a day of rediscovering old memories - found the bottle of Bernard beer - which was a gift from my Czech colleague. Empty, dusty yet so full of the typical feel good factor associated with happy old days. I am happy here trying to live, to get a life that doesn't harm anyone in order to sustain itself... I live for my self-contained life in my own way... 

The wickedly good Robert G ;)

Career of Evil is punchingly, oppressively, filthily, grotesquely evil, right from the word go. There are things that only J K Rowling can attempt to do and pull off successfully. Exciting weekend ahead and enjoying every bit of it. My 28th book since I bought my tab - and what would I ever do if books were not there?

Can ignore the headache and gradual decadence of my mythical 6/6 vision I guess - I read on with watering eyes :)

On the verge of depression...

After a long time I am showing signs of breaking down... I feel like crying, often nowadays, only the tears won't come out...

I don't get any motivation to live on. I can't go on pretending. Badam went missing last Tuesday. I was half hoping that she might come back, half in my mind I knew that she wouldn't. Despite being very athletic (she spent half her time climbing up and walking on the boundary walls) she can't fend for herself or find food. She's always been a very soft hearted person and the Diwali din was too much for her. I guess she felt sick, knew she was going to die and just ran away to spare us the agony, way most dogs would. It is heartbreaking to see Nikhu alone all the time... It is as if I see my future life - makes me feel even more dreadful.

The sociopolitical situation is so grim in this state, and in the country as a whole that I feel like throwing up almost. Why wouldn't we think twice before voting such monsters to power? It is easy to say that I am apolitical or disinterested in politics...the difficult thing is to bring about a change. Why, people can't even talk freely if something happens to bother them or invoke fear in them. No, you must go on chanting that India is the most ideal place to live in. Clap, clap and clap...

I dream of strange things these days - of old lovers calling me up and talking in a broken voice, or me reading their old mails (in case you are curious, I never ever read old mails...had saved them once upon a time thinking I would...but I never do) and thinking of happier days when we'd laugh together (yes, I do remember old days of friendship, appreciation and love)... I even saw in one strange dream that a memorial has been created, probably for Badam, a white cubic structure, where neighbors have left flowers and teddy bears. The other night I dreamed that Badam has suddenly emerged from behind the utensils in the kitchen, she'd been hiding there in fear of the crackers all this while (imagine, what a place to hide from crackers...where a fire is burning almost all the time) - she's thinned down way she used to be when she was a tiny puppy, probably from lack of food, but she's alive alright... Huh, what's in a dream? I feel more choked seeing such dreams, I go on reading like a zombie, go to office like routine work and never quite feel alive.

Badam and Nikhu were like my children. At night I'd see them asleep and silently pray for them. Why are my prayers never fruitful? I just wanted them to live...

It's now over a week - I have kinda accepted that I'd never see her again. Badam sweetheart, I never took a photo when you were resting on the balcony wall, never captured the moment when you'd stand up on your hind legs and hunt a mosquito with your front paws, how do I tell the world of the quaint things you used to do? Forgive your didi that she couldn't give you more time...care for you a little more, and remember to stay very happy wherever you are...

The joy of working...

God only must know why he made me to be such a rebellious being. Office is reopening tomorrow, they all call it the university, but I being the erstwhile corporate girl still prefer calling it the office...but that's neither here nor there. I had promised to dad that I won't be late tomorrow, would be leaving home sharp at 9:30 and here I am, hell bent on staying awake. But I put an alarm as well. I am excited about going back to work. Agatha Christie and everything apart, work has its own charm. Just want to go on working till the time I am alive. Then life wouldn't be that difficult. Ok back to my storybook, thank God the tab is auto set to shutdown at 3 :)
P.S.- Had quite a long conversation with a girl from my previous office and quite enjoyed it (though I checked the phone balance as soon as I disconnected the call...me and my recent tendencies, I have been arguing with the new driver about giving him Puja bonus equivalent to his months of service, to save what? A thousand bucks?)  Nevertheless, you know what? I just had this strange sensation that may be when I'd be very lonely I'd after all have some people to talk to? There are some people who do love me, you know. And they understand me to, despite my whims. This girl had told me, when I was very broken from within during the later half of 2012, "Di, what's happened to you? When you smile it seems a dead girl is smiling...", you see I really didn't expect this kind of wisdom from somebody who knew nothing about what I was going through. So hopefully I'd have people who'd continue to care however passive I become, however much I retreat in my shell. Am I not a hopeful girl?

The despicable aloofness of the social animal

I don't understand the world anymore with my rather constrained view on good and bad, on reality and pretensions. All I can say from where I am, is that this notion that sorrow is something that happens only to them, it'd never happen to me, is the first thing that'd ruin whatever is left of this world. But then my thoughts don't count, I am on the other boat altogether, I don't even have an option to dream about things I want, I am just waiting to lose whatever little borrowed happiness I can find in my otherwise barren life, I'd of course be saying negative things.

So, for a while I tried to do what I despise so much, I showed off to the world that even I can be happy. Boasted of having a blast of a Diwali on Facebook, just as I had mentioned in my last entry, I pretended as best as I could. Don't be mistaken, I indeed had a good Diwali, it'd have been equally good even without my showing off. It gets on your head, how many likes, how many comments one is getting. E.g. I have 271 friends on Facebook, and I get between 20-40 likes to my posts. Luckily for me these are mostly selfless likes, I get these without having to reciprocate the act. Some people are very particular, you like my pictures, then only I shall like your pictures. It's a competition of showing off, Facebook is. Hence it is a novel experiment for me in social science whenever I chose to be active on Facebook.

Today, and I guess for a while to come, the trend would be, Diwali remnants, bhai duj remnants, show off, show off, personal occasions, boast boast, oh my cooking skills, oh the food I ate, oh the movies I watched, wait, wait, of course must throw in some solidarity with France (must do my bit, else people are just waiting to misunderstand me and to call me selfish). Ask these "happiness personified" people to picture getting gunned down in the middle of the road while cruising through their "bed of roses" life, they'd retort, "such things will never happen to us"...I, being the unhappy soul, have time enough to sit and think that perhaps Aylan Kurdi's parents must have thrown a party when their son was born...celebrations would have gone on all night, perhaps Syria was not burning yet? Who'd have thought then that they'd see this day?

I have been heartless myself, bursting all those crackers when Nikhu and Badam were cowering in fear. I didn't make any noise, but the flames alone were terrifying for them. But how could I throw away my crackers for their sake? Need to have my share of fun till it lasts...

My grand parents came to India as refugees. Before it happened, I am sure they never thought it could be a possibility. One aunt of mine, dad's own sister, was lost forever from the camp. Till that time they were rich and powerful landlords who wouldn't have ever thought that any disaster could probably affect them.

Every act of threat and sacrilege scares me. The Ebola epidemic scared me. The lynching of a single person in Dadri, all because of his alleged food habit, repulsed me. My religion forbids me to eat beef, but when I did taste it, I found it ok enough and had no qualms about eating it again. Let alone a bomb attack, I cry for every bit of heinous crime and mindless accident that happens on this earth. You see, I have the time because I don't have a life. They say riots are man made things, terrorism is a man made act. Damn it all, religion itself is a man made concept. Money, power, color of skin all are bloody man made double standards. See where these notions have brought us now. Today someone would kill, tomorrow the same person condemns terrorism. And we are not disgusted, we clap, because these are the leaders we have chosen for ourselves. In fact who has the time to choose a proper leader? One is way too busy with one's own life.

Since I'd probably never be able to give birth to a child, I feel so very protective about the entire world. Live in peace so long as you can live. The world is heating up anyways beyond control. Huh, fight and win over a world with frail and sick children, broken people, which gets destroyed the very next day under nature's wrath. Is that what anybody in their right mind can probably want? I wonder.

And for God's sake when would the world stop being so self-centred and so depressingly pretentious in the name of being social? Nobody needs fake solidarity, if possible think that this might really happen to you as well.

End of romanticism...

I wrote a lot that night, and then for some strange reason, didn't fee like posting it. Didn't feel like deleting it either - just left it as it is and went on to watch a movie. Quite liked the movie (C/o Sir) - I had zero expectations despite having heard good reviews, I just wanted a diversion. More than the movie I loved the RabindraSangeet in it, কতবার ভেবেছিনু আপন ভুলিয়া... Influenced I guess by prayer tunes of carols, it is such a treat to listen to - Tagore I felt, is quite a religion in himself. You can simply follow him and get your desired peace of mind.

After I recovered from the movie, I turned back my attention to the unfinished article. It was lost. Really so. I don't know what sort of a garbage collector like facility (tells you, doesn't it, that once a Java programmer always a Java programmer?) my tab has, and the blogger app is not very efficient anyways, but I didn't mind. I was actually relieved and went to sleep. It was well past 4 in the morning, I was tired.

In my last entry (read last existing/published entry) I had talked about writing our story here. In the last lost one, that was what I was debating with myself. And I felt so tired fighting with myself that I sought a distraction and went for the movie instead. Afterwards, whatever happened, I strongly felt that it's a sign. I was dead against writing it down. However much romantic it might have been, my inner self vehemently protested. If the story is not remembered by the two of us, at the same time, it is as good as nothingness. আমি সেদিনও তাই বলেছিলাম, আজও তাই বলি...

So there's the usual Diwali happiness, though I am rather worried about the puppies - they are already scared of the occasional crackers that are going off, the next 2-3 days are going to be even worse.

Today another dog, who's not exactly my pet, but knows me, (I'm friends with all the four legged beings in the neighborhood) suddenly came to me when I was walking in the road in front of my house, and stood up and put his front paws on my chest. He was scratching me away, as if urging me to do something about the sudden increase of noise. I have never seen him to be so agitated, however much I'd pat on his head and say "good boy, calm down", he won't get down. I wish we wouldn't tamper so much with their world.

Apart from that I wish someone would tell me how to live such a lonely, support less life. Forgive me that I couldn't find any solace anymore in loving you. I still love you, I love you a lot, but how does it matter unless you love me back? Wish I could live in my bubble a little longer...at least Diwali wouldn't have been such a faded affair then :) I shall socialize and be merry and light diyas and burst crackers, all the time knowing in my mind that I couldn't write our story and tell everyone because he doesn't love me back...

Music and memories...

I am listening to songs after a long time. Ever since my car got garaged (that dreaded driver decided to go on leave without informing us, so we finally got a reason to dismiss him, good riddance I must say) - there's no radio (I mean I could always use the radio in the phone or the tab, but I am often too lazy to plug in the earphone - that is supposed to act as the antenna, and then there's this inexplicable preference to the iPod, which is without charge for well over six months now) and thus the only regular music is the program I watch on TV...three days a week.

Then somewhere I got to know about the Tamasha song... Imtiaz Ali, my thought-brother, my favorite onscreen couple, and (probably) the keywords of my life - "if only you'd been there with me", irresistibly deadly combination you see. Hence procuring the song in the dead of the night (the only time when I come alive), finally plugging in the headphones (headphones are far more comfortable than earphones, i.e. if you are listening in and not only using them as antennas). Then followed the usual phenomena of one song leading to another (listening to this emotional marvel by Alka Yagnik, how could I not revisit Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna at least once) and memories smeared on each song gradually dripping in and wrapping me up. Pure blissful joy...

What they so grandly term as intolerance is something I have noticed earlier than many of my fellow citizens, probably because I haven't been that busy with my life. And frankly this intolerance can't be driven out till the time we remain too engrossed with ourselves and too insensitive to others. Insensitivity is such a crime. Even when we pray, what is it that we say? পুত্রাং দেহি ধনং দেহি (give me sons, give me wealth, give me all that I can desire) - just imagine. Sexist and selfish (and may some self-styled army of the prime Hindu God come and kill me for saying this). For God's sake, what's the point of attacking artists only because they belong to a different faith and a hostile neighbor? Don't they know that music is a form of worship practised by all religions unanimously? A mankind so self-consumed cannot probably even understand that.

I have returned to my proletariat existence, sans the car. As I stood yesterday in a very crowded bus stand overlooking the EM Bypass - I felt scared, skeptical, almost felt my vertigo striking back, and fervently prayed for an empty (preferably AC) bus, and inexplicably found someone whispering in my ear... খুচরো পাপ,  খুচরো পাপ...(he used to tell me that my vertigo comes from the several small sins that I must have committed) - ah, can't describe the sudden joy I felt, all thanks to my all encompassing imagination fuelled by the tagged individuals walking up to the stop (it was very near the IT hub you see), what if...he suddenly appears here? Will I never meet him again in life? Not even once, after having finally realized my love for him in its truest sense? And then the practical self chastised me. I became sober. I am not a home breaker... :)... So having realized that, I boarded a non-AC bus, struggled about holding on to a rod for life - as the bus sped on as if there's no tomorrow and the pseudo centrifugal force kept forcing me towards the open door as if...all the time the memories of that very crowded bus flashing in my mind - how does love happen between man and woman, I don't know... I can tell you about a boy and a girl, I shall tell you the story, but not today. Some other time.

As I write here while listening to my favorite songs after ages, and some ugly memories peep in too, of people mistreating me, having completely failed to understand the kind of person I am, I once again feel so safe in confining all my love to my best friend. That is one gentleman who will never misunderstand me about loving him. You see, all that's already over. He's misunderstood me, scolded me and we have realized our actual feelings for each other and chosen to move on from there. There may be anonymity now, but no threat and no hard feelings. In fact there can't be. I wish the world had at least this kind of a harmony. Ego is indeed a very brutal and self destroying stuff, I must say.

Tungsten!

It was a really strange dream…but first things first, I was very restless last night. Hardly did anything fruitful, except lying down on the bed and thinking, oh what’s there left to my life. Having finished The Girl on the Train, I had nothing better to read except The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and frankly, though I was enjoying it quite a lot the previous day, yesterday it seemed just not enough. I went to sleep with a very disturbed mind, in fact so far as I remember, I just dropped into a stupor, it was nowhere as peaceful and happy a deal as sleep after a long day.

The first thing I remember about the dream is, I was enjoying it.  It was raining. I was in a school bus. School bus, yes, but I was not a student, I was all dressed up like a grown up and talking with other adults. All of us were feeling lazy and enjoying the rain from inside the bus, we hardly had a mind to get down from the bus (God help that school!)

And then the students came up to me, in the bus - ma'am will you take today's class? (God helps those who help themselves...) - so I nodded, got down from the bus, dragged myself to the staff room, asked a random lady colleague - "any idea what I am supposed to teach today?" and she replied "tungsten", and I gathered my books and notes and left for the classroom.

It was not much of a surprise that the classroom was that same one as the one where we had our class VII classes in the annexe building. I always liked that classroom. But tungsten? I hardly remember anything about tungsten. And I don't particularly remember that tungsten was any special element that was taught separately to us. Whatever it is, I started teaching tungsten to an apparently sleepy, dreamy class, most of whom were enjoying the magical drizzle, and the rest were still trickling in. Now, that is something I do, I never bar anyone from entering my class, people come in even in the last minute. What's the point in being strict I never understood, if I teach well, people won't really miss my class if they can make it in time, and ahem, if I don't teach well, it is myself I need to correct, not my students...

I forgot to mention one small thing, I heard this song last night in a tv program and loved it...since youtube links are quite quite unreliable (আজ আছে কাল নেই) - it goes like this, "bhai re, rishton ki dagar hai mushkil, aise na milegi manzil, chalna tu sambhal sambhal ke...", there's a rendition by Shubha Mudgal, please look for it...

So students were trickling in, it kept on raining, I kept on lecturing on tungsten (???!!!) - it was slow motion, when he came in...

How on earth he became my student, don't ask me. He used to say (ever so proudly) that he was the topmost ranker in JEE in our entire batch in college. That rank, I am afraid was nothing much exceptional, 1500 something, and then it was his second attempt at cracking the JEE, and he never studied, he never ever attended classes, but well, all those things apart, he couldn't have probably lost that many years, that I could teach him (I am still not sure if I was teaching in a school or college or somewhere else - the students were in uniforms, but even we had an uniform at college, it's a different story that we never wore it). But it was him alright, his specs, his hair falling on his eyes...and...he entered the class, and then for some reason he came up to me, and stood behind me, it was so like him, to be always with me...near me, wherever I went.

My entire life changed while I dreamed on...from anxious edginess to calm, from disappointed dullness to charm...that's all, I can't do more poetry about it all...I just felt terribly protective about him, as if he's my baby, as if, the way he had always protected me when he was with me, I wanted to reciprocate in that dream...

After I got up and was in my senses, as I descended the staircase in a skipping motion, I found myself saying in my mind, so thankful, so so thankful that we live in the same city (I am really not sure about that, but I guess that's true), and I also found myself thanking the great statue of Netaji (please...please don't ask me to explain that...)

God, such a maniac I am, such an "always in my bubble" existence I have, and excuse me, tungsten??? Where on earth that came about, I am still thinking...

Midnight blues

As much as I love reading Hercule Poirot, I probably couldn't have done with one more in a row. Since the time I got my tab  (20th July), I have read 21 books, about 16 of which were Poirot. Boredom and repetition is bound to come even with the best of authors, if you read someone’s work so very regularly. The last one I read was The Hollow (finished it last night) - poignancy and psychology smeared all over it, just the way I like. But still in my mind I knew I have to put a temporary brake on this, it had almost started hurting my head.

Was just looking for new books on Amazon - the latest Robert Galbraith has been published, when I remembered sneaking on one of Avik-da's Facebook conversations on thrillers, and the mention of The Girl On The Train in that. I often read entire conversations of Avik-da on Facebook without participating or liking any bit of it, so that my presence is not known to him. I like anonymity or the feeling of being invisible, shrouded. I am too insignificant to take part in sensible and intelligent discussions, why, I am almost a ghost! But even a ghost has her social needs, and so I intrude without being obvious and of course I mean no harm.

I downloaded the book and started reading it. It is beautiful. Poignancy and psychology smeared all over it, just the way I like. Ha ha ha isn't life repetitive :)

Bhai went away to Bangalore today. Had to get up at 4:00 o'clock to take him to the airport. Have slept in between, so not really feeling sleepy, rather feeling fatigued and empty. Thank God books were there, though the headache that results from this continuous reading is not that good a thing. You do get the life you want, I always wanted a life with a never ending supply of story books, but nowadays I'm often afraid of a time in far away future when I might just feel like banging my head if there's nothing else to do.

সর্বময়... Omnipresent!

আমাদের বাড়িতে এখনও তোর কথা কত চলে ভাব... সব বাড়িতে লক্ষ্মী পুজো হল আজ, আমাদের বাড়িতে হবে কাল - সূর্যোদয় না হলে নাকি তিথি হয়না!

যাক সে কথা - এবারের পুজোটা বড় ভালো কাটলো... সবচেয়ে আনন্দ পেয়েছি পুজোর কাজ করতে পেরে - সপ্তমী, অষ্টমী দুইদিন, নবমী-দশমী একইদিনে পড়েছিল, ‌ ওদিন সকালে শরীরটা খারাপ হল... আসলে সকালে ওঠার অভ্যাসটাই চলে গেছে...

But the most amazing thing was that all these four - five days I never felt lonely or scared or gloomy or apprehensive, way I do almost all the time otherwise. I was free as a lark, devoted and happy. একদম "আনন্দধারা বহিছে ভুবনে"... I was as if all set to lap up every bit of it... I was wondering - for someone like me who lives at the edge of life (to think in a sane way, how little of life I have - a job that might go anytime, and no future generation to speak of - as if there's only today to live in)...but still - what grandeur of existence I felt in these few days... I can't explain...I am practical and I do wonder that if God does exist then why is there so much grief and injustice - and then in the presence of God I forget that question! 

To sum it all up, ফিরে দেখা, looking back, and at the same time looking forward to...some more divine happiness like this - may be I am finally discovering what life is all about? What I was two years back, may be I'd again become two years later, but in between, as on this day, that I had fully recovered and reunited with my childhood self, no fear, no regret, no disappointment - that in itself is God's grace and my triumph. 

18 years back...

 

The  Google doodle on Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan compelled me to write after this long hiatus. I have been living quite a mechanical life all these days, you see, life in Calcutta is not life in Bangalore, I have things to do here, too many things. Grocery shopping for example. Getting biscuits for my puppies. One day, if the stock is low, and because I live in a God-forsaken land where there is no next door shop to rescue - I can't stop blaming myself when I see their sad faces. Then there's banking, there's pension - there's simple ATM withdrawal - no...my parents can't do these things on their own, and despite all my attempts I haven't been able to digitize everything. Oh and by the way, there's a God-forsaken job too - where the researcher won't care to do the research, and the assistant won't assist. I end up doing everything - from clerical work to conceptualizing papers - where is the time in life to write? I barely get an hour to read...at the end of the day...

Today I was forced to boot up the Mac as there was important pre-puja accounting stuff to do - although the regular details are jotted down in my tab - so, what else do I find except a zero charge and the date being reset to 01-01-2013 00:00 - just imagine :(

I open a Firefox window - Google is always my home page. On comes the image of one of my most favorite music person. And then, having finished the major chunk of work, when I finally open my blog, on comes my image - though it shows just the nose-pin, it is so typical me - it almost makes me shout - that's me, that's me...

After work is over, I feel like listening to some Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan song...any one...but I feel I must indulge myself this bit...from my usual consideration (it is well past 1) - I put on the headphone. Which one then? I give a search in you tube - tere bin nahin jeena mar jaana dholna...

And as I watch the song...the beautiful Manisha in glowing yellow, in the backdrop of rugged snow clad peaks of the Himalayas (have I ever written here how I used to be her fan in those days?) - as I watch the song, myriads of thoughts come to my mind...such a different world it was then...for some reason, without doing wiki I fix up the movie to be in or around 1997 - and I keep listing in my mind - in 1997 - Manisha was this gorgeous heroine - not knowing how she would fail in her career going ahead, how she would survive cancer, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan was still composing, unaware of imminent death, Lata Mangeshkar was at the helm of her career still, not the recluse she has become nowadays, Ajay Devgan acted with a lot of EQ (there was this article in ABP about it - which I read up and still remember), in fact if I remember correctly, Kajol and Ajay were not yet married, and he had something of an affair with Manisha too, there was smart photography even in those days, Saif, in those days, did he have any idea who Kareena was or that he'd end up marrying her? In fact he was busy doing those stupid movies with Akshay Kumar (in many of which Kajol used to be his heroine)...

I? I was still this South Pointer with no idea about life, my friends probably planned their future lives and studies, and my dad was a strong and dependable man, though equally biased then as he is now, about what's correct and what's not...my brother looked like the cricketer he was at that time, not the overweight bread earner of the family, and home sweet home was at SaltLake...with a Mother Dairy stall nearby, from where I'd fetch milk in a can and at times dad would buy me mishti doi...milk used to cost some 3 Rs 25 p then...if I remember correctly...

The very premise might be wrong, Kachhe Dhaage might not be a 1997 movie after all (I have never watched the movie, it was not my type of movie) - but life bygone...the song and the Sufi singer - brought back a glimpse of it for me...