the Thinker

Aesthetic rulers, ascetic saints and eccentric co-travelers – Part 1

2008-11-16T23:59:00.000-08:00

The three of them sound like an unusual combination, no? I know, I know…you guys probably do not recognize me any more. The Thinker must be sounding like some yester year’s forgotten celebrity (no, I am not pampering myself, just was trying to find a suitable comparison). This whole year so far has been one of retribution for me, one which I was not prepared for. But any how, that is not something I would pen down in this personal space of mine that seems to be covered with cobwebs now. Time to clean up people! I am a nomad (No need stating it out, Huh?), so recently I returned from an unusual expedition to mainly two very different cities – very different indeed, in tastes, temper, appearance and climate (this particular one deserves special mention, believe me global warming is really catching up). And of course, the trip will remain a memorable one due to a very different set of people who accompanied me on the trip.

The Durga Puja season in Kolkata is chased by a series of other pujas – this is a very common factoid and I know I am not stating a new discovery or something. But being a constant witness to the hoolah, lights and repetitive Puja festivities since the past 13 years, this year I decided to divert a bit. So I accompanied by my mother and some other relatives, went on a tour covering the following cities – Agra, Hardwar and Dehradun/Mussorie (this one’s not worth mentioning though).

We traveled to all these destinations via Indian railways, sleeper class. One word of caution – if affordable I would suggest an AC two or three tier reservation from Kolkata. Of course, if you consider yourself to be an apt replacement for an ingredient in the witch’s boiling cauldron, then you might find the hot, stifling and suffocating sleeper class compartment nothing less than a mere carrier to your destination (You might think likewise if you find money dearer than personal comfort, no offence meant though).

I will not waste time discussing the flaws and triumphs of Indian railways under the reign of Lalu Yadav in recent times. Let me straightaway start from the point our excursion began in Agra. The moment you land in the city you experience two things or one thing for certain. The thing that will inevitably make its impact on you is the torrid heat and humidity in Agra, that too in the month of October (I mentioned global warming above somewhere). To notice the second thing all you need is a bit of observation as you travel through the roads of this heritage city.

The Mughal rule ended in Agra thousands of years back, but it still bears its semblance in the way the city is laid out. Some of the old shops in the city are constructed with mandatory arches, elaborate pillars and floors inlaid in marble stone, a feature that dominated Mughal architecture and engineering as is evident in most of the monuments we visited. The language and speech that people here communicate through, though does not boast of the graceful eloquence of Moslem vocabulary, and still has an imprint of the ancient indulgent and partially hedonistic dynasty that ruled it. Most people use words like ‘Hum,’ ‘Aap,’ ‘Badiya’ and other such words in their daily speech. It might almost give you a feeling that you just finished watching Jodha Akbar.

But the best part comes when you travel through some of the ancient and still popular tourist spots of the city and hear their story over and over again. I am sure many of you must have visited Taj Mahal, Agra Fort and Fatehpur Sikri once (or more than once) in your lifetime. My narration of these familiar Mughal constructions might sound like a repetition. But I do hope my words describing these places might evoke some past memories that you people built if and when you visited them.

Fatehpur Sikri was the first spot that we planned to visit in Agra and therein we landed on our second day of stay in the city. As we entered through the colossal entrance of the magnificent monument Emperor Akbar constructed back in the Mughal era, the first thing that stung our senses was the pricking heat that made its impact through the blazing floor of red sand stones. We literally limped past the red stoned floor. Our guide informed us that these stones were specially ordered by the Emperor from Rajasthan (benefits of having a Rajput princess for a wife).

I am sure many have already visited the place therefore I will not bore you guys by spelling out facts that many of you must have read in history books or known during your travails. But I will surely indulge in describing a few details about the place that intrigued me and definitely raised my admiration for Mughal architecture and engineering. There is this place in Sikri where you shall find innumerable graves encarved upon the floor. These are meant to be sacred and I remember our guide actually scolded someone who accidentally stepped on one of them. These tombs are those of the disciples, followers and possibly descendants of the famous Muslim priest, Salim Chishti. The story goes that Akbar had three wives (yes, its true. There were only three of them, and not 15 or a 1000), but no children from any of the three (does that ring any bell about an ancient and most revered Indian Mythological lore about a Hindu King with three wives and 4 mighty and godly sons?).

Anyways, Akbar went to Salim Chishti and implored him to bless him to obtain an heir. The Saints’ blessings culminated into the birth of Jodha Bai’s son Jahangir, also know as Mohammad Salim. It was in the memory of this famous saint that Akbar ordered the construction of this site in Sikri where a homage is paid to the great saint and his people. Here in we also witnessed a most innovative technique of Muslim architecture. In those days when technology was not as advanced as it is today, the Mughals definitely had perceived the concept of air-conditioning an area through unique measures. See the picture above which shows a long rectangular tunnel leading to an open space? These tunnels were made in order to let cool air inside the hall and these acted as air conditioners during those days. Well, I don’t know whether I am able to make it explanatory or not but if you guys take a careful look at this picture, such tunnels were constructed throughout the hall where Akbar addressed his ‘Navratna’ sabha.

The picture of the locked door that seems to lead to a cellar of some kind is actually a secret tunnel leading to Delhi borders. Rumours are that the tunnel that was opened discreetly to let the infamous courtesan Anarkali escape the borders of the city, was one similar to this.

The tomb of Prophet Salim Chishti is inlaid in pure white marble stones. As soon as you step on the shining white surface of the tomb from the hot stinging red stone surface, a feeling of deep soothing calmness caresses your feet. This is the virtue of pure marble. Inside the tomb, especially the resting place where people offer chadars (embroidered synthetic sheets offered as a sign of respect to a Muslim burial) and flowers, a short dome adorned with shell stone decorations that change colours in accordance to the light entering the place, roof the dargah (burial place of the Muslim saint).

Here in it becomes necessary to mention that our insufferable trip manager started grumbling as we decided to offer a chadar and our prayers to the Saint. Actually the trip was planned like this – we visit Fatehpur Sikri first and then Mathura and Vrindavan. The plan obviously was a bad one for it was too crowded and we had requested him to arrange for a visit to Taj and Fatehpur on one day and keep the other two places on another day. The man as I mentioned was stupidly stubborn. So he started to shout saying that we will be late for the other two places. Anyways, in spite of all oppositions we managed to enter the tomb of Salim Chishti.

From there we took a look at outstanding Buland Darwaza, a supreme piece of aesthetic and artistic workmanship.

From there we started for Mathura and Vrindavan. The trip which had started with a promising spirit in the beginning started to deteriorate from this point. First, it took us a lot of time to leave Sikri’s premises due to a road jam. After an hours’ delay as we started on our journey to Vrindavan, we got stuck in another jam in the highway. We did not have any lunch, so all of us were obviously hungry. It was almost 8 in the evening when we reached Vrindavan. Our initial plan was that we will visit Vrindavan and then have tea and refreshments at a stall. And then on we shall visit Mathura.

However, thanks to our trip organiser as well as some of our co-travelers, everything got messed up. By the time, we reached Vrindavan, the temple was on the verge to close for the day. The main temple where the idols of Lord Krishna and Radha were kept was already closed for the day. When we came out of the temple premises and entered a stall to eat, half of our traveling party started to scream and shout that we shall be late for Mathura. Their confusion was so pathetic that they decided to leave the stall after ordering tea and refreshments. On the other hand, our trip manager starting screaming over us like some school teacher who tries to discipline his students to line up in a queue.

There a small suggestion here, please do not travel with people who don’t know much and speak more. It ruins everything! After a lot of irritating words being exchanged and with empty stomachs (some with empty heads as well), we started for Mathura. The Mathura temple visit was a good one though. The temple truly appeared majestic and we were also assisted by our primates during this visit. It almost appeared that they were holding some sort of an urgent conference. They had a whole group that trotted over the temple roof straight in a compact group.

The Radha Krishna temple visit of Mathura was an unforgettable experience. It was the first time I got an idea regarding an Indian medieval fortress. We entered through the dungeon where Lord Krishna’s parents, Vasudev and Devaki were incarcerated by his wicked uncle, Kamsa. There is a staircase which leads to a ‘chabutara’ (a place where pigeons are fed).

There are pockets of stalls inside the temple premises that sell idols of Lord Krishna, and other objects used for puja. One of my cousins whose mission since the journey commenced was to acquire a flute from Mathura, rejoiced at the sight as most of the shops had them in abundance.

Sadly, no pictures could be taken of this sight as the entrance of the temple, security personnel asked us to keep our belongings elsewhere – especially cameras, mobiles and stuff.

The main Radha Krishna temple of Mathura was simply a heavenly experience. There is flight of stairs that when you climb up almost gives a feeling that you are ascending up to some divine abode. Of course, I am being slightly emotional here being a devotee of Lord Krishna. I guess Anand might be able to guess what I am talking about.

The idols here are one of the most majestic ones I have ever seen. Again, I regret not having the opportunity to click even one picture. Not only Lord Krishna and Radha, it had several idols – those of Lord Rama, Lakshmana and Sita, Lord Hanumana, Lord Shiva and Devi Durga on her lion. The temple ceiling was something to watch out. There had paintings of the Raslila (The dance of Lord Krishna with his female devotees, the gopis) and all the events that trace back to the eventful childhood of Supreme Godhead, Lord Krishna. It was a full flurry of the resplendent colours and aestheticism.

The day after that we went mainly to three places namely Dayal Bagh, Agra Fort and Taj Mahal. Dayal Bagh was founded by Radhasoami Satsang Sabha. The place is more like a homage point for disciples of Shri Radhaswamiji. But the main attraction here lies in the walls that built the place. Yes, I know many know already what I am referring to. It almost appears that an artist decided to pick up a hammer and an engraver to chisel out his poetry on the stones. Sadly, here again our cameras and mobiles were kept under surveillance at the security counter. So, no pictures again.

While leaving the Dayal Bagh premises something sad occurred. We were hounded by travel guides, and accidentally as one of them nudged their way in, my mother tripped and fell on her face on the road. Her knees were badly bruised. After putting some cold water on her wounds and some pain relieving medicines, we started for Agra Fort.

To be continued….

No.

2008-04-11T11:25:00.001-07:00

No – The most basic monosyllabic word with simply two letters in it that states the negative in any expression, emotion or anything for that matter with such definite clarity and assertiveness that no other word can perhaps.

This is the word we use daily perhaps over a million times to deny, refuse or maybe lie.

This is the word an employer says to his employee who earlier in the day had sent across a mail requesting for a leave.

This is the word a mother might use on her son who makes a hue and cry on the street as he points out to her the ice cream trolley across the road.

This is the word a daily worker gets to hear from his master when he asks for a hike in his wages.

This is the word a youngster gets to hear from the girl he has been dreaming of throughout his college days, when finally he asks her out.

This is the word a wife gets to hear from her husband whom she loves more than life, when she asks him whether he loves her or not.

This is the word an 8 year old gets to hear from a teacher when he spells outs a word wrong.

This is the word a retired person gets to hear many times a day at the pension office when he asks at different tables whether his work will be done soon.

This is the word a concerned person, who has waited for long over a critical operation of his beloved one, might receive from a doctor when he asks him whether it was a successful operation.

This is the word a guy who is in a hurry might hear from a cab driver when he tells him his destination.

This is the word we all use so many times in a day, in so many cases and so easily. Just a thought- Wish there was place more a few more ‘Yes’-es than ‘Nos’ in this world. Amen.

Crippled

2008-02-20T02:19:00.000-08:00

Love is so crippling at times
It drives a spear through my heart
Until all my blood drains and
My entire being pines.

Then It sits back and laughs
As if it were a joke of some kind
I am left with gashes all over
And gather my shattered halves.

Hope is so blinding at times;
It leads me to a mirage
telling me what paradise lies ahead;
when truth pierces me with spines.

And then It sits back to watch
how I scream and cry.
Later I hear Its frozen whisper saying,
‘You were easy to catch.’

Time can be deceiving at times.
It lured me with a picture
where It wove golden threads of bliss;
And the best of my times.

And then It stood in its entire prime
To see how much can I bear
The sound of hollow dreams
And its mirthless chimes.

So here I stand, a league apart,
Hurt, betrayed and deceived;
Still counting carcasses
of broken dreams,
of dead hopes;
and most of all,
chunks of my bleeding heart.

Note: With this piece, I have completed my triology that started with Cleft. I wanted the pieces to connect through a common thread of thoughts or ideas; I wanted to link them through an emotion or a emotions that are similar in nature and the where differences are mainly situational. Therefore, the despondency is common in all three. Lastly, I wanted them to flow in to the next piece so that somehow the readers could find a connection between the three somewhere. I do not know whether I succeeded in doing so. Only your comments will explain.

Amrita

Cursed

2008-01-31T23:45:00.000-08:00

Why is Beauty so predictable?
So conventional, so usual?
Isn’t Plain beautiful too?
In its sincerity, isn’t it natural?

Why does Beauty have to be so spotless?
And obscenely bloodless and fair?
Doesn’t the moon have spots too?
And still a radiance so rare?

Why is Beauty always deemed young?
Juvenile and tender?
Isn’t Serenity appealing too?
In its deep, calm lines and silver?

Why is Beauty always measured?
In inches, feet or with mere eyes?
Can’t it be stout and not slender?
Can’t an irregular structure surmise?

‘Whining will not change anything, ugly toad.’
They looked down on me as they spoke.
‘I am aware,’ I replied.
‘You need not poke.’

‘What good are you without beauty?’
‘You are an object without charm;
A flesh without taste, if you aren’t pretty.’
They waited as I started, disarmed.

‘Yes, I don’t have the right flesh,’
A cruel smile flashed as I said.
‘But I own thoughts breathing fire;
ideas of which dreams are made.’

‘I weave words that spell wonder
I don’t have beauty, but I am not barren
I have springs of an elixir that blooms all seasons;
while your beauty remains frozen.’

Their milk white turned dark purple;
and anger incensed as I continued.
‘I create all that is beautiful;
I paint with mysterious hues.’

The venom now poured out fuming.
The beauty was nowhere to be seen.
Bitter rage those eyes bred
and rained contempt as they said.

‘Unfortunate scum, you breed disgust
Men lust only for likes of us
Your lame words will only attract scorn;
and that they must.’

‘You are a sorry thing to look at;
A sting to eyes and a bane for senses
Without beauty none will fall
for your poor defenses.’

They stormed away while I thought alone.
Gathered all that Creation had gifted
And gave birth to this piece
which ‘Beauty’ itself has crafted.

Beauty could be eternal, a thing forever;
but does it always usurp?
Does it have to be used and not felt?
Is it not born, always made up?

So I am not beautiful the way They are;
And I may not ever be.
But will that mean…
That there is no beauty in me?

Cleft

2007-12-27T02:08:00.000-08:00

Looked in the mirror this morning,
saw something strange,
I have been cleft into two;
a complete change.

Looked deeper into the image,
cast before me.
My physical being is still intact;
But this is not who I used to be.

What splinter, what fissure then
caused such a change?
Something was completely new
But something forever deranged.

What is that new element?
Does it suit me?
Maybe it does,
But this is not who I used to be.

There are deep lines along the cracks,
Dark, black and red.
My veins used to be bluer before.
Now they look so dead.

What are those heavy lumps on one side?
They almost pound me.
There is one with some colour in it.
But this is not who I used to be.

One half still bears relics of who I was.
My fading colours flickered through the gaps in it.
They could have been brighter;
Immortal, alive and breathing with spirit.

The other half stared back saying,
‘But I have some colours too.
They are not like the ones you had;
But then, they are new.’

Glanced, as it gleamed with them.
They were luminous in parts but mostly misty.
They were in me and ME now;
But this is not who I used to be.

‘Should I be content? Should I be cross?’
Both halves were silent, none talked.
I sat back thinking in a huge stretch of seclusion
Time had chalked.

What was mine is lost largely.
What remains is not fully me.
What I have is still a mystery.
Was this how it was meant to be?

‘They are yours, and so they shall ever be,’
The halves spoke unified and looked at me.
‘Yes, I know,’ I replied.
‘But this is not who I used to be.’

FREE, aren't we?

2007-11-04T01:23:00.000-07:00

India completed sixty years of independence this year. “Big deal!” Someone smirked from the side on seeing me write this. “It completed that two months back and you remembered that now. Awoke from a long slumber or what?”
“Don’t tell us you will bore us with a very belated patriotic post now?” said another voice filled with ridicule and contempt. I replied back with a wry smile, “I remember that. Don’t worry; I am not exactly in a patriotic frame of mind. Was just wondering exactly what does freedom mean to us at this stage and specifically, what does it signify for the ‘WEAKER SEX’ today.

Read a news report today morning and remembered other incidents synonymous to it. So, here is my overview of the kind of freedom we tend to enjoy even now:

Every second in this country a women is raped, molested, accosted and assaulted sexually; either in a remote and inaccessible area concealed from our view or in a BPO center security van, which is meant to carry her safely to her home from office or vice versa. It happens in a bus, train, auto, in a school, college or tuition, a hospital or a clinic; or practically any nook or corner. After being ravaged, most times the women are either killed or some organ of their body is mutilated in a manner so that she remains mute and helpless for the rest of her life. FREE, aren’t we- to rampage, ravage and brutally destroy HER integrity and honour to satisfy our savage LUST?

Every minute in this country, in some place where all eyes do not reach, the air is filled with the deafening cry of an infant as she is denied her right to live by the hands of the person who brought her into this world. Her central flaw remains the fact that she is a SHE. People around watch silently as the newborn is drowned into a bowl of milk or if not killed, dumped in a trash can or at the foot of a temple or clinic. But there are a few ‘LUCKY’ ones who don’t even have to open their eyes into this world because they are murdered in the womb that holds them. FREE, aren’t we-to snatch, end and deny HER life just because HER gender is not suited to our PREFERENCE?

Every day in this country, behind closed doors a girl is consumed by a vociferous inferno that was ignited to get some good riddance and to avenge her father who could not pay the promised amount during her marriage, owing to the fact that he had already sold his land or every last material possession to get his daughter married. SHE is fortunate if the flames kill her rather than leaving her half burnt with angry red scars and deep painful burns for the rest of her life. FREE, aren’t we-to burn, beat and torture HER at the hands of our merciless GREED?

Every month in this country, a mother is thrown out of her house by her children, where she was wedded and brought years back simply because she becomes a ‘BURDEN’ they can no longer afford or she is no longer of any specific ‘USE’ to them. Some are abandoned in a decrepit old age home so that they can die there in peace. FREE, aren’t we-to expel, eradicate, abandon and isolate HER because SHE no longer serves any of our selfish NECESSITIES?

In every office of this country, sometime or the other one can hear snide remarks about a girl from her colleagues about her recently acquired promotion. “She got it before us this time, did she not?” shoots one of them. “She is bound to; she’s got it all-body, face and sweet words for all. Must have slept her way up,” replies another. A third guy laughs at their remarks without knowing or realising how long she stayed back in office and worked laboriously; leaving her three year old fatherless child back at home waiting for her to return till late hours of night. FREE, aren’t we-to disrespect, disregard and humiliate HER just because we do not have any other way to channel our vain JEALOUSIES?

Every year a girl is rejected somewhere because of her height, face or complexion, simply because she does not fit to the idyllic notion of beauty that many of us cater to. She bears the brunt of it throughout her life and keeps hearing comments from people who have no other business but to make cruel, embarrassing jokes about her physical being. FREE, aren’t we-to reject, scorn and ridicule HER just because we cannot tame our inherent MEANESS?

And now for the biggest joke that you get to hear sometime every year-International Womens Day, Mother’s Day, Sister’s Day and all other such lame excuses to sell some cards and increase profits of retail stores. “There she goes, another feminist in the making,” someone snorted. “Oh, don’t bother, these women have nothing to do but complain about everything,” another one added.

So what? FREE, aren’t they-to say and do whatever they have done to others like me? To rip me, whip me; slash my existence, to crush my being, to wipe my respect, to shut my voice? So what are we waiting for? Let’s celebrate 60 years of barbaric, uncontrolled and spineless independence for many more such years to come. After all, this is what we ‘LIVE’ for, DON’T WE?

Shh...they are here!

2007-08-29T08:27:00.000-07:00

They are smart, they are suave and can reach places where people like us can hardly think of. Before you people start guessing, I am not talking about sting operations, video cameras and super computers. But yes, they do come close except for the difference that I am talking about humans; really intelligent at that with an IQ of around 140 or maybe more than that. From time to time, they have appeared in all ages, sizes and packages. You must have understood by now and if not, then I am talking about crime detectives, spies or secret agents, whatever you choose to call them.

In real life, private investigation is not such a glossy occupation and hardly does anyone reach the stature of the men and women I am going to mention somewhere ahead in the post. But as reel life entities or literary characters, they manage to arrest our attention through their superior intelligence, investigation techniques and deduction methods.

So without further delay, I begin my anthology of some such men and women about whom many of us have read some time in our lives and perhaps desired similar wits, guts and also looks in some cases.

Sherlock Holmes

Creator: Arthur Conan Doyle

Appeared in: Books and later on in teleseries and movies

Nationality: British

Sidekick: Dr.Watson

Physical attributes: Tall, lean with keen, sharp eyes and a famous hook nose.

IQ Factor: What makes reading Sherlock Holmes so enjoyable are his methods, techniques and of course his extraordinary power to deduct possible conclusions in each of the cases he handled. Holmes investigative craft always appears to be following the scientific law of 'Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.' For instance, people who have read the chapter where Dr. Watson is for the first time introduced to Holmes, would remember how Homes ended up telling where Dr. Watson had arrived from and how he had suffered from ill health without any exchange of words with the latter. At the very introductory chapter, we get a glimpse of Holmes' extraordinary observation and deduction power. He explains the reasons that could have lead him to guess Dr.Watson's physical condition and past just by observing the colour of his skin. Infact, what makes the character even more endearing is the fact that Holmes follows very bleak and apparently incomprehensible clues to solve the mystery. And at the end of it all, when he explains his theory part by part, it appears to the readers that they could have easily pieced the whole story together by themselves, had they payed a little more attention.

Negative aspects: smoking and occasional use of narcotic drugs. Also, his temperament could be too clinical at times and make him appear a bit devoid of human emotions.

Tools he used: Mostly disguise and spy glasses. During those days, there were no computers or other sophisticated devices to track criminals. But Holmes it appeared, had a brain that could surpass all these gimmicks.

Hercule Poirot

Creator: Agatha Christie

Appeared in: Books and much like Holmes in many television series

Nationality: Belgian

Sidekicks: Miss Lemon, Captain Arthur Hastings

Physical attributes: He was not a eye candy for sure. Viewed from the eyes of other characters, he appears to have an egg shaped head, short in height, a funny moustache and is also known to suffer from a limp in one of his legs. However, it is seldom being mentioned. The only attribute that might evoke some interest are his bright, green eyes; flashing with ideas and questions.

IQ Factor: Hercule Poirot methods are fairly simpler. In most of his stories, the focus in on the train of clues and connecting them together logically to get to the clue. In a way, somewhat similar to Holmes' method of investigation. However, what sets Hercule Poirot apart is his manner of psychological probing into the nature of the crime and that of the criminal. Of course, the psychological factor is relevant to Holmes' manner of investigation too. But the way Poirot chose to investigate was less clinical and the stress was more on behaving like a sympathiser or some kind of a counsellor; to whom the concerned suspect or person found easy to confess. What adds the charm to Poirot's character is this very quality of his, i.e, to make people speak without use of any pressure or contraints.

Negative aspects: I do not remember any vices as such, however, the only aspect in Poirot's techniques that might irk the reader is his habit to conceal facts till the very end of the story.

Tools: His conversational skills proved to be his most priced asset as far as solving mysteries was concerned in many of his novels. Other than that much like Holmes, he too depended on clues and possible logical deduction.

Inspector Jacques Clouseau

Creator: Blake Edwards, Maurice Richlin

Appeared in: All the Pink Panther films, (latest one I watched was played by Steve Martin)

Nationality: French

Sidekicks: Tucker

Physical attributes: Well, in my opinion there are no as such set parameters for Inspector Jacques Clouseau on grounds of physical characteristics. He has been played by actors like Peter Sellers (in most of the Pink Panther Films), Alan Arkin, Roger Moore and recently Steve Martin; and each one of them have added their own style to the character. However, two things that continue to remain constant in the character are his moustache and his insufferable French accent. Other than that, Clouseau as we all know, is marked by his buffoonery and wrong trail of investigations. But that's more to the emotional build up of the character.

IQ Factor: He is perhaps the only one in the league who lacks this factor (not completely though). Clouseau's antics and manner of pursuing crime evokes hillarity rather than suspense; and that continues to remain the main motive behind the creation of Inspector Clouseau as a character. As mentioned earlier, most of the cases he handles are far removed from any kind of logical thinking or for that matter, sanity. Clouseau should be nicknamed 'chaos' for coming up with ludicrous criminal theories and for the series of accidents he brings upon himself every time he is on a case. Moreover, he clearly comes across as the most stupid and idiotic of his league in his acts of clumsiness. Nevertheless, he is lovable and the exaggeration that governs most of his characteristics continue to remain the main source of enjoyment for the audiences. And what more, even though it is mostly due to sheer chance and luck, the case does get solved in the end. Also, he has a whole animated version to himself, which is really popular. Now, how many buffoo...I mean detectives can boast of that.

Negative aspects: This would be a kind of repetition, but everyone knows he does not have the brains to be a detective.

Tools: Excuse me?

Feluda (Pradosh Chandra Mitter)

Creator: Satyajit Ray

Appeared in: Books, teleseries and films

Nationality: Indian (Ah! at last...)

Sidekicks: Topshe (cousin) and Lalmohan Ganguly (also known as Jatayu, a famous fiction writer)

Physical attributes: Feluda represents the quintessential Bengali middle class culture and attitude. His appearance fits that part well. He is introduced by Ray as a young Detective, with sharp eyes, an intelligent face and a tall lean frame.

IQ Factor: He is Ray's answer to Sherlock Holmes as far as brains are concerned. Most of Feluda's investigative methods and techniques are based on logic, clues and inference and all these qualities are governed by a razor sharp observation power. However, unlike Holmes, he is not completely clinical in his observation. There is this element of righteousness that compliments Feluda's sharp intellect. Feluda's knowledge reserve mostly comes from books and that is manner in which Ray likes to potray his sleuth-an educated psyche with a middle class upbringing and a distinct adherence to Bengali culture. At times of course, he does seek assistance from Topshe and under rare circumstances from Jatayu. There is also this interesting quality of Feluda's, to pose questions to his cousin in the form of puzzles and riddles; that percolates down to the readers and audiences too (For reference, watch 'Joy Baba Felunath; incase you do not understand Bengali, these movies come with sub-titles)

Negative aspects: smoking again

Tools: Books, logical thinking and yes, an occasional use of a revolver or a disguise.

James Bond 007

Creator: Ian Fleming

Appeared in: Novels, anthologies and of course there are infamous movies to his credit

Nationality: British

Sidekicks: Felix Leiter (assistant to Bond in most of the early works), and of course, seductive women.

Physical attributes: There is no need to explicate on this part. James Bond has a reputation of being a lady killer and he is quite artfull at that too. Most of the females in the movies or stories are enamoured by his attractive personality and of course his looks. Infact, Bond makes use of this to his best advantage. Well, nicely backbrushed hair, a well-built and toned masculine physique and intense blue eyes are some of his physical attributes that makes the ladies in his movies go omph.

IQ Factor: I believe Bond is definitely one of the most successfully created fictional secret agents of all times; and his creators have kept in mind everything that is necessary to make a popular and commercially viable hero. What makes Bond stand apart is the fact that not only he uses conventional methods to reach at the bottom of a mystery, but he also uses a lot of required gimmicks that appeal to the modern audiences. However, at times Bond episodes appear to be rather predictable and filmy..but then, they are meant to be so and are a success at that. Also, what is unique about Bond's method of investigation is his flamboyance and stylish way of carrying himself. Also, the cases he handles are huge scale blockbuster cases just like his movies, abundant with all types of international smugglers, drug peddlers, diamond thieves and other big shots. There is hardly anything that can be termed as 'common' is Bond films.

Negative aspects: In my opinion, womanising.

Tools: Once again, he is perhaps the only one in this list so far, who has got an enviable array of spy devices to his use. Dagger shoes, Bug detectors, watches with wires to strangle villians, tape recording cameras, shooting cigarettes, Minox B 8*11 Camera, pocket snap trap, fake finger prints, voice changer, Submarine car, Special leather belts, digital binoculars..phew! There are more of them, but I guess you all got the picture..so he is the whizkid among spies.

Nancy Drew

Creator: Edward Stratemeyer (you may see the name of Carolyn Keene on the books but Nancy as a character was first created and outlined in detail in 1930s, by Stratemeyer)

Appeared in: Novels and recently I believe on the big screen too.

Nationality: American

Sidekicks: George Fayne, Bess Marvin and Ned Nickerson (Nancy's boyfriend).

Physical attributes: Nancy has the looks that essentially defines a young American teenage heroine. Blonde hair, blue eyes, slim and a medium height.

IQ Factor: She is the only female detective in this whole list and she is quite good at her job. In most cases, she is successful. Many of you may frown upon including her in this list; but then none of us can deny that almost all of us have read Nancy Drew Mysteries sometime during the teenage years of our lives. Most of her cases revolve around Riverdale and the crimes committed include buglary, theft, haunted mansions, murders etc. But so far, most of the cases revolve around circumstantial evidence and old conventional investigation methods. Nancy might not appeal to the more matured readers and it is not meant to as well. Infact, some of the situations might appear predictable and the most of the chapters in a book are mostly ended with a element of sudden suspense or rather should I say 'forced suspense.' Nancy Drew Mysteries are mostly cherished upon by teenagers or the like. But nevertheless, she is one of the most popular detectives of all times and famous at that too. Being the only female in this batch, she did deserve a mention.

Negative aspects: I don't remember any as of now.

Tools: Mostly interrogation and following people. Following clues like others. No hi-fi tools for her.

The Left Wing

2007-08-20T03:52:00.001-07:00

"Go ahead junior, you cannot take that long. Your time starts now," barked one of them.

Amay looked behind him and saw the frown on Dishant's face, one of the senior students of the lot. He dared not oppose or express hesitation. Two most immediate consequences to such an act which floated before his eyes were that either they would bash him up on refusing, or they will laugh on him and go on telling people what a wimp he was.

He had been warned by his cousin who too was in a boarding school.

"You cannot avoid being ragged in a hostel in most cases. You can simply pray that your seniors do not come up with rather adventurous ideas to rag you," He said.

"But is it not punishable in most places nowadays?" asked Amay, trying to hide his trepidation.

"Who cares about that? Everyone wants their bit of fun, don't they? If you complain then they will mark you as their prime target and I also suggest you keep that temptation at bay because finally, you don't want to be picked at for the rest of your school days, do you?" asked Amay's cousin.

Amay started moving forward slowly as he heard his seniors jeering and shouting at him behind his back. One of them cried out, " Remember, you have to climb up to the left wing and go straight to room number 2A and knock on the door three times. Now move on, fast and do not try to run away because we will find you out!"

Amay started walking slowly towards the left wing. The day he entered the hostel, his roommates warned him about it. Bhavesh told him, "I think they will send you to the left wing tonight. That's their favorite trick."

"What's there in the left wing?" Amay asked.

"It's the forbidden part of the hostel. No one is allowed to go there and if the need arises you need special permission for that," replied Bhavesh.

"Why is it forbidden?"

"Well, years back it was not. All the rooms in that wing were occupied by students. But one day, a boy jumped from the balcony and committed suicide. He was in room 2A. Two weeks after that incident, a guy woke up at night to go to the bathroom and there, he saw something strange. He was almost paralysed with fear. Few days after that, someone fainted at night seeing something in the balcony. Soon their parents complained to the administration and so; the left wing was evacuated and now, no one is allowed to go there alone. It is supposed to be haunted," said Bhavesh.

"But, then they cannot send me there can they? Because if they get caught...," Amay tried to find some way to reassure himself.

"They won't. They are too smart for that. For your information, they already manage to send two freshers to the left wing two months back. One came back unconscious; he was hushed up by them. The other one left the hostel a few weeks later," replied Bhavesh.

Amay had already freaked out on hearing the story and now, he was walking towards the very same, infamous left wing. As the forbidden corridor came closer to his view, his heart skipped a beat. He started moving up the staircase and felt his sweat dripping down gradually from his forehead to his chin. They gave him a torch, but a tiny one. 'Are ghosts scared of torches?' he wondered.

The very air around the place made his hair stand up. It was a December night. Besides, this part of the hostel building appeared to be colder than the rest of it. There was darkness all around. Amay could feel sweat in his palms. Now he was approaching the famous balcony from where the boy had jumped. On this side of the balcony were the rooms. His raised up his torch, his fingers were almost cold and numb. Room 1C, Room 2 and there it was-Room 2A.

Amay suddenly felt that his feet had become so heavy that he could not move. What if the ghost was hiding somewhere near, waiting him to come forward and then attack him. He felt like running away from there as fast as he could. But he knew he will not be spared for that. He closed his eyes for a moment and thought, "I have to do this. I have no option. If I manage this today, they will not trouble for the rest of the term. There is nothing like ghosts, I have to do it."

He opened his eyes and looked in front. Slowly, he moved closer to Room 2A. He raised his fingers to knock on the door and found that they were shaking badly. He gave a soft knock on the door, hoping that if there was a ghost inside, it would not be able to hear it. No one answered. Amay gave two more knocks on the door and stood there for a second. He let out his breath with a little relief, turned his back and was about to move when he heard it.

"You are their new victim or what?" a voice spoke from behind.

Amay froze where he was standing. He felt a cold rush of wind all over his body and yet he was sweating profusely. His throat went dry.

"Look at me dear," spoke the voice again.

Amay wanted to run off without looking what was standing behind him. He did not know what madness caused him to turn around and face the person. Still cold with fear, he looked up to face him. He was a boy, 15 or 16 years old. His face was not too clear due to the darkness and Amay did not dare raise his light up to see the stranger's face. Mustering all the courage that was left in his tiny heart, he asked in a half choked voice, "Wh..Who ar are you?"

"I am Sushil, Sushil Nair. What's your name?" He asked.

"I..I a..am Am..Amay," replied Amay.

"What are you doing here so late at night? You are their new target for ragging, are you?" He asked.

Amay nodded his head and then the question occured to him too. "Wh..what are you doing here?" he asked the stranger.

Maybe, Amay saw it wrong. Anyways, it was too dark to see; but something told him that there was a smile on the other boy's face.

"Come, I will take you out of here and leave you at the entrance to your dorm," He said.

Amay suddenly felt a comforting warmth when he heard those words. Suddenly he felt a little less scared. Both of them started walking back together side by side through the corridor.

"So, you are a localite or you hail from somewhere else?" asked the boy.

"I am from Himachal," replied Amay.

"Oh. So you are from outside. That's why they are so harsh on you. Gits! they always send the outsiders in the hostel to this place first," said the boy.

Amay did not reply back.

"So, who all are there in your family?" The boy asked again.

"My father, mother and an elder brother," replied Amay. He had started to feel quite at ease with this stranger. "Who all are there in yours?" Amay asked back.

The boy was quiet for sometime as they continued walking.

"It was me and my parents earlier. But then, my parents divorced a few years back," he replied in a low voice.

"Oh! I am sorry," said Amay.

"That's okay. There, that's the entrance to the right wing. Go ahead, you can go back to your room safely from here," said the boy.

Amay looked in front and saw the entrance. He then moved his hand up to thank the boy. But he was already far from him, walking back towards the forbidden corridor. He then remembered, the boy never told him what he was doing there? Was he being ragged too? Was he asked to spend the whole night there? But he appeared too old for that.

"So, you did what you were asked to do?" a coarse voice interrupted Amay's thoughts. It was Dishant.

"Yes, I did," replied Amay.

"Good for you, now hurry back to your dorm and do not breath a word about this to anyone, understand?" said Dishant.

Amay nodded as he walked back to his room.

Next morning, Bhavesh caught up with him in the assembly hall.

"You have sort of become a hero in the class. Everyone heard what happened last night. You did not faint or cry, that's really brave of you," said Bhavesh, with a smile on his face.

"No actually, he made it easier for me," replied Amay.

"He who? Someone else was there?" asked Bhavesh.

"Yes, a senior guy. He told me his name...Sus...," before he could finish the bell rang and they rushed off to their class.

That day during the library period, Amay sat down with some old newspapers to get information for a social science assignment. He was getting bugged. 'No relevant material at all,' he thought. Suddenly, an article in one of the papers caught his attention. He picked it up and started to read-"An elite public school hostel of the city witnessed a tragedy on tuesday night. One of its students committed suicide by jumping off the third floor balcony of the hostel building. The name of the student was Sushil Nair, aged...," nothing else that was written in the article registered in Amay's mind after he read that name.

Finding Brunno-Final part

2007-03-03T06:27:00.000-08:00

Mr.Bagchi chose not to ask any more questions to Brunno for the time being and walked on. On their way back, Mr.Bagchi decided to pay a short visit to Mr.Dhar’s bookshop and Brunno obliged.

Mr.Dhar was pleasantly surprised to see the duo.

“There, there, what’s up? You are here after such a long time?” asked Mr.Dhar.

“Yes, after a long time,” replied Mr.Bagchi, with a smile on his face.

Brunno walked in with his master in his usual dignified style and no wonder everyone in Mr.Dhar’s shop looked at Mr.Bagchi’s new pet with some amount of interest.

“So, you have bought yourself a new pet I see. What’s it called?” asked Mr.Dhar as he looked at Brunno warmly.

“He is Brunno Dhar babu,” said Mr.Bagchi.

“So, will the little fellow like something to eat?” asked Mr.Dhar in his usual friendly manner. To this, Brunno gave out a low woof and Mr.Bagchi informed his friend that it will not be necessary.

“So, quite a nice bit of correspondence you are having with your pet, eh?” said Mr.Dhar. Mr.Bagchi smiled back.

Over the next ten minutes, Mr.Dhar and Mr.Bagchi updated each other over their daily affairs since the past few weeks. Brunno as usual, heard their conversation with a certain amount of interest. The look in his eyes sometimes made Mr.Dhar stop and wonder whether his friend’s new pet indeed understood their conversation.

“Say Bagchi, how’s is your nephew, what’s his name…errr, Deb, Deb…,” Mr.Dhar tried recalling the name when Mr.Bagchi said, “Debashish?”

“Yes. Debashish. How is he doing?” asked Mr.Dhar.

“How did you know of his coming?” asked Mr.Bagchi.

“Oh, he showed up the other day at my shop. Was asking for old issues of some magazine,” said Mr.Dhar.

“Really, I did not know he was interested in reading. He never touches any books or reading material at my place when I am around. Occasionally though, he reads the newspaper,” said Mr.Bagchi.

“No, no, he was asking for a year old issue of Time magazine. I told him that we have some old stock but if he could specify the date of the issue it would be easier for us to find it for him. But he insisted that he would like to have a look at the old stock himself. So I showed him into the storage and he spent a couple of hours there looking for his magazine. At the end of it, he left without taking any of them,” said Mr.Dhar.

Brunno was listening diligently and Mr.Bagchi too was drinking every word, his interest was mounting gradually.

“What was he searching for?” asked Mr.Bagchi.

“I don’t know though I think I heard him mention the name ‘Evrika’ or something that sounded like ‘ricka’ once. God knows what it means. Curious little boy, is he not?” asked Mr.Dhar in his usual unassuming manner.

Mr. Bagchi looked at Brunno for a second and asked, “Dhar babu, if you don’t mind, can I have a look at that old stock once?”

“Sure. Come, I will take you to the store,” said Mr.Dhar and the three of them headed towards the store. Mr. Dhar’s store was stashed with all kinds of used and old books. A strange wispy smell hung over the place and dirt was prominent everywhere. Brunno looked up to see cobwebs at some places on the ceiling.

“Your wife will certainly object to the cleanliness of this place,” said Brunno to his master. Under normal circumstances, he too would have not wanted to be present at such a spot, but at the moment the scent of a mystery was overwhelming. So Brunno followed his master quietly.

Mr.Dhar picked up a huge heap of old magazines and wiped off the dust from their covers. He handed them to Mr.Bagchi, when a customer arrived and Mr.Dhar went back to the counter allowing Mr.Bagchi and Brunno to explore the contents of those magazines.

Mr.Bagchi and Brunno surfed each and every page of the magazines keenly wanting to see what provoked Debu so much to pick up reading as a hobby. After an hour or two, the two of them were sweating in the humid store without any clue so far.

Though the initial curiosity about his nephew’s motives had prompted Mr.Bagchi to surf through the magazines; now, without receiving any fruitful outcome from this investigation, Mr.Bagchi decided to give up and start off for home.

“Come Brunno, we shall go home now. I don’t think there’s anything worth wasting so much time in these old magazines. God only knows what brought Debu here. They were leaving when the magazine fell from Mr.Bagchi’s hand. Mr.Bagchi started to move out, when Brunno called out to him.

“There is something here in this magazine that might spark up your interest again master,” said Brunno.

Mr.Bagchi halted and looked at the magazine that had fallen from his hand. Brunno was looking intently at some of its pages. Mr.Bagchi looked at the magazine. Someone had torn out an entire page from the magazine. The pages preceding and following it, contained pictures of vehicles, mostly cars.

“These look like very old models,” said Mr.Bagchi as he glanced through the pictures in the magazine.

“Some of them are as old as 1914,” he added.

Brunno looked at the pages in a very thoughtful and meditative manner. Mr.Bagchi looked at his pet’s face and for a moment a thought crossed his mind. Brunno almost looked like a thinking man with that serious look on his face and with his eyes fixed upon the tethers of the torn page in the magazine.

“You know Brunno, nowadays people rave about Safaris and Lancers. But these cars possessed a charm of their own. Such grandeur and class. Today people want speed and faster vehicles and sneer at a 1950’s model,” said Mr.Bagchi, and let his breath out with a sigh.

Brunno looked at his master who suddenly appeared lost and older than he was.

“Fast, faster, fastest…that is motto of this generation. No time to wait or admire something beautiful,” said Mr. Bagchi still bearing the same wearied expression on his face.

Mr.Bagchi kept looking at the pages recalling his childhood days. His school days were different from the ones suffered by the present generation’s children. Bags were not so heavy and there was no hurry to grow up. As a child, Mr.Bagchi was more inquisitive and curious about everything in comparison to other children around him. His thirst for knowledge was further ignited by the supportive nature of his grandfather, who used to walk with him to school.

“You know Brunno, my grandfather was a great man, a genius in every respect. He knew a lot about everything; about nature, science, man, philosophy, literature..,”

“Was he a teacher?” Brunno asked a question after a long pause.

Mr. Bagchi looked down on him and smiled. “How did you ever guess? Yes, he used to teach Physics in a reputed university,” replied Mr.Bagchi.

“But his knowledge reserve was far greater than what those regular Physics textbooks contained. In fact, my grandmother often used to tell me that grandfather wished to become a scientist at a certain point in his life. He had researched a lot on speed, distance and time and now that I look at the pages in this magazine, it reminds me; grandfather had a passion for cars. During his days, these models were very popular and he had bought one of them and was extremely fond of it,” said Mr.Bagchi.

“You still have it?” asked Brunno.

“Yes, I do. It’s in our garage, but it is no longer in a state to run on the street. Many of the parts are damaged and they are rarely found. Repairing such models too is a tedious task. People know how to handle a Maruti, but a handling a Eureka was…,”

“What was the name again?” asked Brunno, suddenly alert.

“Eureka. It was a Grecian car model that came out during those days. It was a masterpiece. Such a beauty! My grandfather had bought a black one and he was very fond of it. Eureka was feasible and was a delight to drive. It was a lot faster than the rest of the models those days. But after a few months, the car company that came out with the model faced complaints from the customers. Speedy though it was, the engine consumed a lot of oil and that too very frequently,” Mr. Bagchi paused for a minute and continued, “the sales were going lower and the company had to stop the production. Subsequently its parts started disappearing from the market.”

There was a moment of silence after which Brunno spoke, “Your grandfather must have been upset?” asked Brunno.

“Oh yes, he definitely was. But then, he was an extremely spirited man and very intelligent. In fact, now I remember; a week after the news came out; he started to spend more time, shut up in his room. After some time he stopped coming down to the dinner table to dine with all of us. Mother used to carry his food into his room. Usually, grandfather used to spend most of his time with me. But those days, even I saw less of him,” said Mr. Bagchi.

“What happened to him?” asked Brunno.

“One morning I was awakened by a strange sound. I woke up and looked at the alarm clock. It was 5 A.M. It sounded like someone was in our car shed and he was yelling and saying something. Everyone was asleep in the house. Since it was a winter morning, it was still dark outside. Curious that I was, I quietly slipped out of my bed, took a torch and covered myself with my father’s shawl; and headed out to see what was going on.
It was not that I was very brave or something. In fact at first I thought that some thief might have crept into our premises. For a moment, before stepping out of the house I wondered for a moment whether I should carry a stick or something. But then I thought what if he has a gun. So I walked out to check out first. If indeed, it was a thief then, I decided to lock the gate of the car shed from outside and then go and wake up the other people. So I made my way towards the backyards of our house…,”

“Backyards? It was the same house we live in now?” Brunno interrupted again.

“Yes,” answered Mr. Bagchi. “My grandfather left it for my father and then it passed on to me. Now, where was I..Oh yes, so I entered the shed. It was dark inside and the voices became clearer as I moved closer to the place. It sounded familiar. The person inside the shed noticed me and called out my name. It was then that I realised it was my grandfather.” Mr.Bagchi paused for a moment and continued, “He walked up towards me and hugged me. I was not sure what had happened so I asked him what he was doing so early in the morning in the car shed. He looked jubilant and replied that he had discovered something incredible. I asked him what that was and he told me that he had just returned after taking a ride in his Eureka and it was the speediest ride he ever enjoyed. He then took me near the car and we got inside it. He then took me for a ride to the childrens’ park. It was kind of slightly far from our house and generally Eureka took around 35 minutes to take us there. This time we reached there in 15 minutes and it was the most delightful ride I ever had. We sat in the park for some time and there my grandfather explained to me how a car engine works and what problems Eureka was facing. He also told me that he had discovered a formula to make not only Eureka but any car run faster without consuming the amount of oil it generally does. He intended to write a letter to the car company so that he could inform them about his discovery and they could make the necessary repairs in the car. Eureka would once again hit the streets, but this time as the fastest and the most low fuel consumption car.”

Brunno listened. There was a moment of silence and then he asked again, “So he gave the formula to the car company?”

Mr.Bagchi sighed, “Unfortunately, he could not, Brunno. Two days after this he had a paralytic attack. Those few days when he had severed himself from the world for Eureka’s sake, weighed heavily upon him. My grandfather was otherwise very regular about his food, exercise and medicines. But all these things became secondary and redeeming Eureka became his obsession. A few days after the attack, he passed away.”

“Did he hand over the formula to you?” asked Brunno.

“No, he was the only one who knew it. After his stroke, he was not in a state to talk or walk properly. He called me and my sister one day to his room and tried to tell us something. His words were not very clear. But all we understood is two words-‘Eureka’ and ‘mirror.’ I had searched in the car shed and also searched in grandfather’s room for it. But I could not find it. And a month after he passed away, my parents sent me away to a boarding school. That was the end of the search. I was so caught up with studies and other things after that, I hardly got time to explore things on my own. And to be frank, after my grandfather’s death, the spirit to investigate and know more things had diminished within me. There was no one with whom I could share my thoughts or questions,” said Mr.Bagchi.

A strange look came upon Brunno’s face and he stood up. “Lets go home master, isn’t it late enough?” he said.

Mr.Bagchi nodded his head and stood up too, still lost in his memories. Just when they were about to leave, Mr.Dhar walked in.

“So you both found what you were looking for?” asked Mr.Dhar.

“No, Dhar babu, thanks for..,” before Mr.Bagchi could finish his sentence he heard Brunno mutter, “Now everything is clear.” Mr.Bagchi quickly thanked Mr.Dhar and they started walking back towards home.

“What is clear Brunno?” asked Mr.Bagchi.

“Almost everything. I think I will sleep in the garden tonight,” replied Brunno.

Mr. Bagchi could sense a change in Brunno’s behaviour. His pet suddenly seemed agile and it appeared that something was on Brunno’s mind.

“What’s the matter Brunno? There are mosquitoes in the garden, a lot of mud and dirt. Why will you sleep there?” asked Mr.Bagchi.

“Don’t worry master. It’s only for some time. Don’t eat too heavily tonight, or you will fall asleep,” replied Brunno.

Mr.Bagchi could sense that Brunno was up to something. But what? He did not ask any other questions and decided to wait and watch.

That night at the dinner table, Mrs.Bagchi cooked most of Debu’s favourite dishes as usual. But Debu was not too hungry and did not even taste some of the items.

“What happened Debu? Are you not feeling too well?” asked Mrs.Bagchi concerned.

Mr.Bagchi who had got used to Mrs. Bagchi’s unnecessary concern for Debu and evident negligence towards Brunno, did not pay any heed towards this and asked his wife, “What happened to the newspapers? I don’t get to read any of it nowadays. Is it not delivered in the morning nowadays?”

“Of course it is. It must be on the table. You must not have looked properly,” she replied.

“I looked everywhere. But it is not there. What about the cable connection? None of the channels are clear. Should I go to neighbour’s place to watch the news now? Have you informed the cable operator?” asked Mr.Bagchi, slightly disturbed by his wife’s attitude.

“Yes, they came and said some of the cable cords might have got damaged. They will come tomorrow to fix it up. If you are dying to know the news, why don’t you log on the internet? Why so much complaining?” said Mrs.Bagchi.

“You know, it is really funny. The password for the internet that I enter comes up as invalid. It seems all the communication networks in the house are facing some problem or the other, chronologically,” replied Mr.Bagchi.

Brunno who was lying quietly at a corner for so long now raised his head slightly as he heard the conversation. Unlike other days, he seemed least interested in Debu’s reactions and he did not even eat his food that Mrs. Bagchi kept for him.

Before retiring to his bed, Mr.Bagchi checked up on Brunno, who was moving out towards the garden.

“Brunno…” Mr.Bagchi called out to his pet.

“Don’t fall asleep completely master, keep your eyes and ears open for my call tonight,” said Brunno as he moved out.

“But what…,” Mr.Bagchi started to ask.

“Trust me,” said Brunno.

That night Mr.Bagchi could not sleep wondering what was Brunno going to do and why was he sounding so secretive. At around 1 A.M, he was awakened by a strange sound. It appeared as if a dog was barking furiously and someone was screaming.

“BRUNNO!” Mr.Bagchi jumped out of his bed. The chaos had awakened the neighbours as well. Mrs.Bagchi too woke up alarmed, “What happened? What’s this noise all about?”

“I will find out,” said Mr.Bagchi as he took the torch and hurried out.

“I will also come with you,” said Mrs.Bagchi and followed him.

They rushed towards the car shed in the backyards. The screams and the barks were clearer now.

They entered the shed and switched the light on to see Debu petrified and shivering at one corner with a piece of paper in his fist. He was sweating profusely Brunno had cornered him and was barking at him furiously.

“BRUNNO! STOP,” Mr.Bagchi yelled at Brunno.

“Brunno stopped barking but still growled angrily at Debu.

“Oh, poor Debu. Look how badly he is shivering. Back off you mongrel,” Mrs.Bagchi yelled at Brunno.

“Yeah right, poor Debu, he would not have remained so poor had he succeeded tonight,” said Brunno.

“What are you talking about Brunno?” asked Mr.Bagchi.

“Ask him to hand over that parchment he has in his hand first,” said Brunno.

Mrs.Bagchi and Debu watched the two of them amazed. This was the first time they saw Mr.Bagchi talk to Brunno like that.

Mr.Bagchi looked at Debu’s right hand and saw the piece of paper he was holding.

“Give that to me,” Mr.Bagchi ordered.

“Let the boy settle down…,” Mrs.Bagchi started to speak.

“Wait,” said Mr.Bagchi and looked at Debu. Debu was still reluctant to hand over the paper to his uncle but he had to oblige when Brunno gave out an angry growl.

“O..okay, okay, here,” he handed the paper to Mr.Bagchi.

It was dirty and yellowish coloured paper. The edges were tattered slightly and the paper had several creases on it. Mr.Bagchi unfolded the crumpled paper carefully and started reading the contents. The ink that was used was fountain pen ink, something that was not so common these days. But the handwriting appeared somewhat familiar. There were some notes on speed, velocity and fuel pressure. And a formula was jotted down below that, but what arrested Mr.Bagchi’s attention was one single word written in bold letters at the bottom of the parchment. It said loud and clear- EUREKA!

“My goodness!” Exclaimed Mr.Bagchi. “This is my grandfather’s formula, the one he discovered a few days before his death,” said Mr.Bagchi, shocked. He then looked up at Debu. “Where on earth did you get this?” he asked.

“He did not get this, he tried to steal it,” said Brunno quietly.

“Steal it? How did he ever know it was here?” asked Mr.Bagchi still bewildered.

“From your sister, of course. Your sister was with you when your grandfather let out the secret about where he has kept the formula. Your family must have known about your grandfather’s discovery,” said Brunno.

“Yes, they did, but most of them did not believe it and all that my grandfather told us were two words, ‘Eureka’ and ‘mirror’. What sense can you make out of it?” asked Mr.Bagchi.

“Eureka is not only the name of a car, it also means something else. It means ‘I found it.’
The second word is ‘mirror’. When you told me about the two words, I started to think. If we connect the words together, it leads to this kind of a meaning according to me-‘I found the mirror.’ Or maybe, ‘I found it in a mirror.’ Now, the hints that your grandfather had given led me to think that the formula should be in the car shed. But you told me earlier that you had searched here during your childhood and found nothing. Now try to think of it. How could a mirror possibly be connected to the formula and why should anyone expect a mirror in a car shed? People don’t dress up in the car shed. But they do look up in the side view mirrors of their cars while driving on the roads,” replied Brunno.

Mr.Bagchi heard everything and started to speak, “So…you mean, you are saying that the formula was….”

“…kept inside the side view mirror,” replied Brunno.

“Your nephew guessed it before you could. Just like you told me about your grandfather’s discovery and secret about where it was kept; he too must have heard it from his mother or your sister. You had mentioned to me that the formula could make Eureka, the fastest as well as the least fuel consuming car,” he added.

“But, but…the company which manufactured Eureka closed years back. Yes, but he can sell it to…,” Mr.Bagchi was interrupted again.

“You said at the dinner table today that it is a strange thing that your newspapers are missing. Your cable and internet connection too are not functioning properly. And then you yourself added that all the communication networks in your home are facing problems. Isn’t it too much of a coincidence?” asked Brunno.

“You mean…you mean, he tampered with them? But why would he do that?” asked Mr.Bagchi, looking even more confused.

“He did that to keep you away from the news that a reputed company in Bangalore is planning to launch Eureka back into the market. However, their team is still researching to fix the problems the earlier model faced. It has been on newspapers and channels over the past few days. Eureka was already beginning to gain the stature of a status symbol, something like Rolls Royce or Mercedes during your grandfather’s days. Therefore, the company thought it would be nice idea to re-launch the vehicle. There were certain technical specialties in the car that were not present in all cars. The company therefore thought that they would be faithful to the previous model. But they needed to fix the fuel problem. Now, Debu thought it would be a nice idea to get hold of your grandfather’s formula as it will make him rich if he could get in touch with the company. But what if you came to know about this? So he wanted to make sure that there is no source available that could inform you about this,” said Brunno and paused for a minute, “But I must say that’s a very stupid thing to do.”

Mr.Bagchi looked at Debu for a second and then looked at Brunno and asked, “And what was he doing at Dhar babu’s shop?”

“Do you remember, Mr.Dhar told us that he came looking something that sounded like, ‘..Ricca.’ Actually, Debu said, ‘Eureka.’ He went there to scoot for some material on the car. He found it and tore the page and hid it. This afternoon when we returned, he had gone for a bath. I sneaked into his room and sniffed out the torn page. There are part by part descriptions in it about how Eureka functions and what kind of parts it has. There is also some information about the mirrors in the car, which proved very useful for your nephew. The page is still in his pocket. He decided that he has to finish his job tonight. So when the lights went off, he silently crept into the garden. I watched him silently move towards the car shed. He got inside and I followed him. It took him an hour to dismantle the mirrors and get the formula. When he found what he wanted, he started to leave. Unfortunately for him, I was lying on his path. It was too dark for him to see and he brought a very low power torch, one that would help him to break open locks etc. He was afraid of being discovered. So he tripped over me and I started barking. He was terrified at being discovered. I would not let him escape. So he ran back at the car shed and I ran behind him and cornered. You told me that he is scared of dogs, so the ball was in my court,” said Brunno.

“But Brunno, how did you know about the news of Eureka being re-launched?”

“He left clues everywhere. There was a stash of newspapers under the bed mattress in his room. He distributed it all over the bed so that no particular region looks thicker and covered it all with the mattress,” replied Brunno.

“So he was planning to escape..,” started off Mr.Bagchi.

“To Bangalore, this morning,” Brunno completed the sentence for Mr.Bagchi. “There is an air ticket in his other pocket.”

Mr. Bagchi gave Debu a stern look and said, “Come here, let me search your pockets.”

“Un..uncle, you cannot insult me…,” Debu started off but just at that point Brunno barked loudly. Debu’s face turned purple. Mr.Bagchi searched both his pockets and found the magazine page and the air ticket.

“So, you came here to steal grandfather’s formula. No wonder, you did not inform your mother,” said Mr.Bagchi.

The noises in Mr.Bagchi’s backyard had already woken up some of his neighbours and at this point in time, few of them had already arrived only to hear Debu confess his crime and beg for forgiveness from Mr. and Mrs. Bagchi. Some of the neighbours were inclined upon calling the police but Mr.Bagchi stopped them.

“My sister will be devastated when she hears about this. She is the only reason that has held me from calling the police,” said Mr.Bagchi.

However, Mrs.Bagchi who appeared stunned by the entire episode said only one thing at the end of it all- “That dog can talk?!” Brunno smiled at that.

Debu left next morning and Mr.Bagchi called up his sister telling her that her son had left for home. Mr.Bagchi was sitting on his sofa reading the news with Brunno beside him. After a long time, everything appeared normal.

“Master, what’s there in the news today?” asked Brunno.

“Oh I really wish there was something about my brave little pet,” replied Mr.Bagchi and looked lovingly at Brunno. “Brunno, do you mind if I pat you on your head for just once?” asked Mr.Bagchi.

Brunno smiled and stood up. Just then, Mrs.Bagchi called out, “Brunno, come here dear, have your breakfast. I have made your favorite item.”

Mr.Bagchi and Brunno heard that, delighted and Brunno replied, “no, I don’t mind at all.”

The day I bit the poisoned apple

2007-02-23T06:05:00.000-08:00

Let me not ruin this moment by writing things like, “hey, I am back folks!” If I do so, many of you might look questioningly at my blog and think, “Who is this lunatic and where the hell is she celebrating her return from? Who was waiting for her anyways?”

Then a sudden realisation dawns upon the lunatic and she realises, she has awoken from her slumber. But how long has she been asleep? A phrase gets typed into the search engine God had once gifted her inside her head. It says-“since when have I been sleeping?” The search begins and continues for around 15 minutes. “What a slow server!” thinks the lunatic, “Earlier, answers would come up so fast,” she keeps mumbling to herself. Finally, the search ends and the answer lands upon her like a bolt of thunder. It says- “…since you bit the poisoned apple.”

She stares at her computer screen. No, no, it was not a google search. “Have I been asleep since then? But what broke the spell? Love’s first kiss works only for Disney princesses like SnowWhite. But with me it would rather be the smell of the first rain shower, the overwhelming fragrance of the incense sticks or maybe that of freshly polished wood.”

“You idiot, these things put to sleep and don’t wake you up.”

“Who said that?” the lunatic looked around and saw no one. Then her eyes traveled towards the mirror in her room and she saw another one, who looked just like her as if some twin. But she had none.

“Who are you?” she asked this look alike.

“It’s me, the Thinker,” replied the look alike.

“Oh! You still exist? But I am no more a writer or blogger. I have changed the channel from which ideas were transferred to my mind. It now only sees drawings, sketches, paintings, human anatomy, bipeds, quadrupeds, storyboards, characters, key frames, in-betweens, clean-ups, line tests, Photoshop, Maya, Aftereffects and loads of other software jargon. And all of these appear in the form of techni-coloured visuals when I close my eyes, something like what Dumbo and the tiny mouse saw when they got drunk after drinking from a barrel (For reference, watch Disney’s Dumbo).”

“Hmm,” the Thinker looked at her, worried. “I can see that the poison has done a lot of damage already. But don’t you remember me at all?” I am as much as you as you think you are now,” said the Thinker.

“What?! What are you talking about? What does that mean anyways?” asked the lunatic, utterly confused.

“Never mind, just put this post in your blog,” she commanded.

“I have a blog?” asked the lunatic.

“ENOUGH!!” yelled the Thinker, enraged with her counterparts’ ignorant conduct.

So here now, the lunatic posted it on a certain blog called the Thinker and for the last time asked, “You think they still remember you?”

“Not only them, I have to remember myself too. We shall see,” replied the Thinker, calm and contented.

Finding Brunno-IV

2006-08-27T02:19:00.000-07:00

Mr.Bagchi woke up early next morning and took out the Rs 8000 cheque he had prepared last night. Mrs.Bagchi did not speak about Brunno and kept mum throughout last night. This disturbed Mr.Bagchi greatly. He wanted to tell her that Brunno was not the regular kind of dirty pets she was thinking about. He was a smart canine with such brains, which will astound her. But then, he decided to keep quiet. God knows what will she associate Brunno with, if she comes to know about his extraordinary intelligence.

He knew very well that her M.A degree in literature had not been able to liberate her from the usual superstitions she had inherited from her family and the people around her. If she hears about a talking dog, she is most likely to associate it with some kind of Devil’s play; which was what Mr.Bagchi least desired at this point. She might also arrive at a conclusion that the Mr.Bagchi had finally lost his mind due to a period of inactivity and the absence of a permanent job.

Moreover, Mr.Bagchi had his doubts about Brunno’s talking powers and his own cerebral capabilities. In the shop, only he could hear what Brunno said. He did not see the shopkeeper responding to Brunno’s muffled protests on being called ‘Moti.’

He wondered whether he was the only one who could hear Brunno. If yes, then could he hear other animals as well? He was not sure. He did not remember any other animal in the shop, which managed to attract his attention the manner in which Brunno did.

As all these thoughts gathered together in his mind, his head felt slightly dizzy.

“I need some fresh air. And I will bring Brunno home, no matter what,” Mr.Bagchi resolved.

He hustled the cheque in his pocket and quietly made his way out of the house.

***

The shopkeeper beamed at the sight of Mr.Bagchi.

“Welcome back, sir. I have kept Moti ready for you. I will get him in a second,” said the shopkeeper and went inside the dog compartment. Mr.Bagchi stood there waiting. After around 5 min, the shopkeeper returned with Brunno. For some reason Brunno appeared to be in an irritable mood. Mr.Bagchi noticed a blue bow around Brunno’s neck and understood.

“Here we are, sir,” said the shopkeeper, “your dog is all set and groomed to go with you.”

“Yes, thank you, here is your cheque,” said Mr.Bagchi.

The shopkeeper accepted the cheque gratefully and started to say something. But Mr.Bagchi interrupted, “Could you please remove that bow from his neck?”

The shopkeeper looked at Brunno for a moment and then looked at Mr.Bagchi again. “Yes sir, of course,” said the shopkeeper and removed the bow from Brunno’s neck. He then asked Mr.Bagchi whether he would prefer a dog collar or not. Mr.Bagchi looked at Brunno again and said that it will not be necessary. Every time Mr.Bagchi looked at Brunno, the shopkeeper’s gaze also turned towards the Labrador pup. At times he wondered whether Mr.Bagchi was consulting his pet about the dog collar. Little did he know, he was so right in thinking so. After all the formalities were over, Mr. Bagchi and Brunno walked out of the shop. Brunno looked up admiringly at his new owner and said in a dignified manner, “thank you.”

“What for?” asked Mr.Bagchi.

“For not putting a silly bow or a dog collar around my neck. Its good to know that you respect my sense of freedom,” replied Brunno.

“Oh, that was nothing, Brunno. For someone like you, anyone would have done so,” said Mr.Bagchi as he looked down and smiled at his new pet.

As they walked towards home, a fear that had dissipated on seeing Brunno for a few minutes, took hold of Mr.Bagchi in full force. He did not need to guess how Mrs.Bagchi would react on seeing Brunno. He feared that her temper, which was veiled by her silence last night; would show its most ugly form when Brunno comes in front of her.

Moreover, he wondered how would Brunno react to Mrs.Bagchi’s dislike for him. He looked at Brunno and said hesitantly, “Err..Brunno, there was a little thing I wanted to tell you.”

Brunno looked up at Mr.Bagchi and said,“Yes, master?”

“There is thing I wanted to inform you about my wife. She, she kind of…she does not prefer having pets at home. You see, she thinks pet creatures are responsible for spreading filth and dirt around the household,” Mr.Bagchi then paused and looked at Brunno. He was listening intently and with a certain calm, which Mr.Bagchi could not interpret. After a minute of pause, Brunno asked, “Did you inform her that you got me?”

“Yes, I did so last night. But you see, she did not take the news of your arrival in good spirits. I obviously tried to tell her about your cleanliness habits and concern about personal hygiene, but…,” Mr.Bagchi wondered what Brunno must be thinking.

However, much to his surprise, the dog calmly said, “Lets get to home first, shall we?”

There was no anger, frustration or even sadness in Brunno voice. Infact, it sounded as confident as ever.

When they reached home, Mr.Bagchi found that the front door was ajar. Debashish was in the lawn, thinking something; God only knew what. When he saw Mr.Bagchi arriving with Brunno by his side, he had a strange look on his face.

Mr.Bagchi and Brunno moved closer to Debu.

“Good morning, Debashish. You are up early I see. Here, meet Brunno-the new member of our family,” said Mr.Bagchi in a pleasant tone. Apparently, he was enjoying the confounded look on Debu’s face.
Debu smiled uncomfortably as he looked at Brunno.

“Err…hi Brunno, how are you boy?” said Debu as he tried to pat Brunno’s head. Brunno barked softly and Debu withdrew his hand almost immediately.

Mr.Bagchi appeared amused at the fearful expression on Debu’s face. He was about to laugh but managed to conceal it somehow. Debu looked at Brunno again and felt that the dog is watching him intently.

Debu managed to put up a silly grin on his face and said, “nice dog…uncle.”

“Thanks Debu,” said Mr.Bagchi and asked, “err…where is your aunt?”

“She’s inside, in the kitchen,” answered Debu, still eyeing Brunno nervously who was looking at the former just as intently.

As they walked into the house, they saw Mrs.Bagchi standing sitting on the sofa, wiping the sweat on her face. She had just finished wiping her face clean when her eyes fell on her husband and the brownish golden creature standing next to him.

“Hello dear,” said Mr.Bagchi uncomfortably. “Err…this is Brunno.”

Mrs.Bagchi looked away without responding and quickly took up a magazine. In the process, she managed to drop the newspaper that was lying right under the magazine on the table.

She was about to pick it up but then, she noticed something and pulled herself back. The dog walked quietly towards her, looked down at the magazine and picked it up in his mouth. He then moved closer to her and forwarded the newspaper to her. Mrs.Bagchi appeared amazed and hesitant at the same time. She took the paper from Brunno and looked at Brunno and then, at her husband.

With a perplexed look on her face, Mrs.Bagchi stood up and walked back to the kitchen.

Mr.Bagchi smiled at his pet and said, “Well done Brunno. That will do.”

The next few days were tough for Mr.Bagchi and Brunno. Though Mrs.Bagchi could not deny that Brunno’s manners were quite impressive and that she had not seen such a well-behaved animal before this; she somehow could not still accept Brunno’s presence around the house.

Mr.Bagchi was failing to understand why his wife was behaving in this fashion. He had seen her forgive and forget graver matters in the past and now, she was making such a fuss over an innocent little pet dog.

Moreover, Brunno was not just some stray and naughty dog or any ordinary animal. It was only Mr.Bagchi who knew about Brunno’s extraordinariness and he chose not to tell Mrs.Bagchi about it for the time being. But he simply failed to see why Mrs.Bagchi could not appreciate the fact that Brunno was exceptionally cleanliness conscious and that he was not a mischief-maker.

Brunno, on the other hand, chose to keep his calm and Mr.Bagchi was proud to see how patient his pet was.

Meanwhile, it was Debu who appeared the most anxious of the lot. Mr.Bagchi and Brunno, both did not fail to notice that Debu maintained a safe distance from Brunno. Though Mr.Bagchi was still not comfortable with the idea of Debu persistent fixture in his house but his inexplicable resistance towards Brunno did not make matters easier between Mr.Bagchi and his wife.

Even though Brunno maintained his best manners all the time (and even Mrs.Bagchi could not deny the fact that her husband’s taste as far as pets were concerned, was truly commendable); Debu’s reaction to Brunno was a reason enough for Mrs.Bagchi to show a cold shoulder to her husband and Brunno.

Meanwhile, in spite of the cautious distance Debu maintained from Brunno, Brunno observed him with a certain amount of interest. Mr.Bagchi had noticed this but he could not make out whether Brunno was amused to see Debu so very jumpy due to his (Brunno’s) presence or he had a different reason for this interest.

One morning, when Mr.Bagchi and Brunno went together for a walk in the nearby children’s park, he made it a point to discuss Debu’s issue with Brunno.

“Brunno, what’s your opinion regarding Debu?”

“Debu? You mean your nephew?” asked Brunno.

“Precisely,” replied Mr.Bagchi.

“I don’t think he likes me much,” said Brunno, in a calm and composed tone.

“That is all?” asked Mr.Bagchi.

“Well, is he allergic to dogs?” inquired Brunno.

“Not allergic actually, as in he does not start to sneeze or cough on seeing dogs. I guess it is more of a phobia. You see, a dog bit him when he was 10 years old. It bit his leg. You can still see the scars on his left ankle,” said Mr.Bagchi.

“Oh! That explains to an extent,” said Brunno.

“Actually, if you ask me, it was not the dog’s fault either. Debu brought it upon himself. He threw pebbles at the poor beast and its pups,” said Mr.Bagchi.

“Oh! I see. Quite impish as a child, was he?” asked Brunno.

“Yes, in fact even now his mother, i.e, my sister worries about him constantly. She called me up a few weeks back and sounded quite concerned about Debu. It appears that the boy is not following any constructive path as far as his future prospects are concerned,” said Mr.Bagchi.

“Hmm…is it bad company or something?” asked Brunno.

“I don’t know for sure. My sister did not reveal any significant details except for the fact that he is planning to do some business of his own,” replied Mr.Bagchi.

“That’s not bad. Doesn’t it show that the chap is realising his responsibilities?” asked Brunno.

“I don’t know for sure Brunno. You see, Debu has not been exactly a generous being since childhood. I still remember how he would create ruckus if the same coloured shirts were bought for both him and his elder brother, for Durga Puja. His choices were typically expensive and flashy and if my sister and her husband refused to fulfill his desire, he would scream and stamp his feet until he had his way. True, he appears to be quieter now, but his nature is essentially the same,” said Mr.Bagchi.

“Quite interesting. He is at your home to spend a vacation I suppose?” asked Brunno.

“That’s what, I still don’t know,…” said Mr.Bagchi.

“I have a feeling at the back of my mind and its kind of getting stronger each passing day,” said Brunno in a serious tone.

“What feeling Brunno?” asked Mr.Bagchi, sounding slightly bothered.

“You will know master, all in good time..,” replied Brunno.

To be contd….

Finding Brunno-Part III

2006-07-16T19:30:00.000-07:00

Mr.Bagchi stepped into the house hesitantly, wondering what would he see inside. What he saw surprised him for a moment.

“When did he come?” he asked Mrs.Bagchi.

“This morning, when you had gone to the market,” Mrs. Bagchi replied with a smile.

“So, Debashish, what happened? We are seeing you after so many days, why didn’t you inform us that you will be coming?” asked Mr.Bagchi.

The boy, who was sitting like a crab on the sofa for so long moved a little now. His face, which appeared nervous and fatigued till now, broke into a faint smile.

“Hello uncle, how are you? I wanted to give you people a surprise, so I did not inform you about my arrival,” replied Debashish.

“Now, now, how does it matter? We are glad that you came, are your B.A results out yet?” asked Mrs.Bagchi.

“Err..not yet, they will be out in another week’s time or maybe a bit longer,” replied Debashish or Debu.

Mr.Bagchi felt for a moment that Debu was not too comfortable answering a query regarding his results. It was natural. Debu was Mr.Bagchi’s sister’s younger son. He had an elder brother, Gautam. Since their childhood, Mr.Bagchi had always been fonder of his elder nephew and he had proper reasons for that.

Gautam was an ideal and obedient child since his formative years, just the way Mr.Bagchi wanted kids to be. Gautam was good in studies, matured, respectful and responsible. Right now, he was completing his MBA in marketing in Bangalore.

On the other hand, Debashish had every quality, which Mr.Bagchi detested. He was three years younger to his brother, very stubborn and laid back since childhood. Some times Mr.Bagchi was unable to understand how could two kids with the same genes have such contrasting attitudes.

Off late, their mother had been expressing a lot of concern for Debu. She had not really divulged details, but it appeared that there was some problem with him.

“Err,” Debu started off again, “I was wondering if I could stay here for a few days?”

“Oh, you need not ask for that Debu, you know you are always welcome,” Mrs.Bagchi cut him short.

“Your mother knows you are here, right?” asked Mr.Bagchi. At this, Mrs.Bagchi threw him a reprimanding glance, hinting that he was sounding impolite.

‘Errr…well, she…,” Debu started to speak.

“Oh, how does it matter? He surely must have informed her. He is here to spend some time with us and we should make the best out of it,” said Mrs.Bagchi firmly.

She then turned at Debu and said, “Debu, don’t mind your uncle, he does not mean to upset you or anything. Stay here as long as you desire; anyways, we do not have many visitors and ever since Meera got married and left; the home seems so lifeless.”

“Err..thanks aunty,” replied Debu and shifted her glance from her face to his uncle’s face, which was still lined with doubt. He quickly avoided his gaze and picked up his bag. Mrs.Bagchi showed him to his room.

***

There was a certain amount of uncomfortable silence on all sides at the dinner table that night. Mr.Bagchi was throwing secretive glances at his nephew, wondering what he was upto. Plus, he was still not able to decide how to disclose the news about Brunno.

Mrs.Bagchi kept herself busy arranging the plates and serving the food. She was trying to maintain peace between her husband and her nephew. She knew about her husband’s dislike for Debu, but she could not trace any reason for his dislike. At times Mr.Bagchi felt that his wife was too naïve. Whenever he tried to drill some reason into her, she will simply retort by saying, “all kids are stubborn and mischievous at a certain age. That does not mean that we blacklist them.”

Debu appeared to be lost in his own world, thinking something very gravely. Plus, he also appeared more fidgety than usual. Mrs.Bagchi attributed it to the welcome he received from Mr.Bagchi in the morning. But Mr.Bagchi knew better. He had always known Debu as a stubborn, lazy and selfish child and this time, he had a strong suspicion that he had come with some motive in his mind. What motive, he did not know still.

“So Debashish, what do you plan to do after graduation?” asked Mr.Bagchi.

“Err..well, I have not thought of it yet,” replied Debu.

“Not yet, then you better start thinking. Your brother is already on his way to complete his MBA and soon he will be employed. Your mother was sounding worried about you when I spoke to her last time,” said Mr.Bagchi.

Debu did not answer and kept eating quietly. Mrs.Bagchi did not like the manner in which Mr.Bagchi had chosen to express his concern.

“What is the hurry? He will decide as and when the time comes,” she said.

Mr.Bagchi decided this was not the best time to discuss Debu’s career options or future intentions. He decided to change the topic.

“You know, I got a pet for us today,” blurted Mr.Bagchi and then bit his lip. The uncomfortable silence loomed over the dinner table once more. Mrs.Bagchi looked shocked and furious at the same time, yet she was quiet and stared at Mr.Bagchi in her most reproving manner, which Mr.Bagchi had witnessed only a few times in so many years.

For the first time ever since he had stepped into the Bagchi household, Debu had a different expression on his face, which visibly represented a shock. After a few more tight moments of silence, Mrs.Bagchi asked, “A pet? Did you say, a pet? What…how, WHY DID YOU…?”

This was one of those moments when Mrs.Bagchi’s rage had managed to zip her lips and her tempo increased by leaps. She was not a very violent women by nature, as in she did not throw vessels at someone who annoyed her largely. But this was one of those instances, when her anger had incensed to a level where words could not make it through her throat.

Mr.Bagchi knew he had made a mistake, he shouldn’t have made. He should not have revealed the news about Brunno in front of Mrs.Bagchi and most importantly, Debu. He now looked down at his plate, not daring to meet his wife’s boring glance.

“Err…what is it?” asked Debu, hesitantly.

“Excuse me?” asked Mr.Bagchi, slightly confused.

“I, I mean, what animal..?” asked Debu again.

“Oh, you mean to ask that…,” Mr.Bagchi paused and cursed Debu under his breath. The fool did not know which questions to avoid at crisis situations like these. “It’s a dog,” said Mr.Bagchi.

Mrs.Bagchi looked livid now.

“You bought a DOG?” she yelled, with special emphasis on the word, ‘dog.’

Mr.Bagchi did not reply.

“Do you know how dirty dogs are? They walk around the house with muddy paws, they mess around with household items, and they sneak around in the kitchen all the time. Moreover, this means filth and fleas all around the house,” Mrs.Bagchi thundered.

She was infuriated to see that Mr.Bagchi did not respond to any of her concerns. She then hit the bull’s eye.

“How much did you pay for it?” she asked.

Meanwhile, Debu looked from his aunt’s purple face to his uncle’s white one. He could not remember the last time when he had seen his aunt so angry and his uncle so worried.

“Generally Labradors pups are priced around Rs12000. But I got this one cheap, the shopkeeper took Rs.8000,” and he kept quiet to hear what will Mrs.Bagchi say next.

Surprisingly, she did not say a word. Mr.Bagchi looked up and saw that she had left the table. After moments of hesitation, he too left the table leaving Debu alone and thinking.

Debu saw both of them leaving and thought, “A dog, that too a Labrador? I got to hurry….”

To be contd…

Finding Brunno-Part II

2006-06-25T09:53:00.000-07:00

Mr. Bagchi looked at Brunno and once again resumed his non-verbal conversation with him.

“The man is asking me whether I would like to own you,” this is what the dog read in Mr.Bagchi’s eyes.

“Own me? As in, you will be my master, provide me a shelter and meals 4 times a day, give me a nice bubble bath at least thrice a week and take me out for a walk regularly?” asked Brunno.

“Hmm, we will see about all that,” said Mr. Bagchi (non-verbally).

“No sir, I am very particular about my preferences. My mother was of British origin, so I have heard this fool of a pet-keeper say (eyeing the shopkeeper maliciously). Please don’t take me to be some street-trodden urchin, just because some idiot chooses to call me ‘Moti’,” replied Brunno with an emphasis on the last word.

“It seems you have retained much of your colonial snobbery. Mine is an Indian household, I warn you. Do not expect too much cuddling and all that non-sense. I do not believe in pampering pets,” said Mr.Bagchi, slightly irritated at Brunno’s arrogant tone.

“Afterall he is a dog and he should realise that. He is supposed to be a good pet and listen to his master,” thought Mr.Bagchi.

Brunno sighed in a wearied fashion and replied, “I never said I want to be pampered. See what I meant when I said that humans take a lot of time to understand. I was simply telling you that as an owner of a pet (which is me in this case), there are certain things that I expect from you. You provide me with a home, a place to call my own. You humans too eat 4 times a day, don’t you? You call the sequence of feeding your mouths- breakfast, lunch, evening snack and dinner. I am asking the same from you, is it too much to ask for? Besides, I am not asking you to feed me fresh meat and bones every time. Whatever you give will suffice,” Brunno then paused and looked at Mr.Bagchi.

“Carry on,” replied Mr.Bagchi, nonchalantly.

“I asked for a bath thrice a week, okay I will reduce it to twice a week. You humans bathe yourselves all 365 days (most of you). I too desire to match up with that level of cleanliness. And the last thing I asked for is a regular walk. Humans spend so much time and money behind their physical fitness, but if a non-human like me desires the same, your brow curves. Besides, my fitness regime will not affect you pocket. You only have to pay rare visits to the veterinarian and I assure you that too can be avoided, as I am still only a pup and pups are generally not so susceptible to ailments. I hope I have justified my requirements, and yes, I do not like to be cuddled and pampered,” Brunno finished and looked down.

Mr.Bagchi had been listening in rapt attention for so long. He did not realise when Brunno’s speech started making him think and ponder over the points, put forward so articulately. He wondered for a moment whether this was a bizarre dream, where a pup displays cerebral qualities, which equals to any normal, average human being.

But the next moment he recalled five words that the shopkeeper used for describing Brunno, a few minutes earlier, “…too clever for his age.” Mr.Bagchi had made his decision.

Meanwhile, the shopkeeper who had abandoned his prospective customer for some time to decide on his pet, arrived and stood near Mr.Bagchi, hoping for some good news.

“So sir, you surely intent to have Moti?”

Mr.Bagchi looked for one more second at Brunno who appeared to be glowering with rage on being called Moti yet again and replied, “How much will you charge for him?”

The shopkeeper was delighted at Mr.Bagchi’s interest in the dog and said, “Well sir, what can I say.. Labradors are one of the best breeds as I had mentioned and it is not easy to find one like this (pointing at Moti). Generally, they don’t come less than Rs 12000-Rs 15000….”

“How much will you take?” Mr.Bagchi repeated his question. After a lot of argument and bargaining, the shopkeeper settled for Rs 8000. Mr.Bagchi paid Rs1000 as an advance and said that he will return the next day with the rest of the money. Before leaving the stall, he looked at Brunno.

“I will come back tomorrow and get you out of here. Hopefully, you will like it at my place,” said Mr.Bagchi, in his own special non-verbal language to Brunno.

It was difficult to read Brunno’s expression, but it seemed to Mr.Bagchi that he appeared gratified and at the same time, a bit pensive. He had never encountered a non-human creature with such levels of intelligence and reason.

As he walked out of the pet shop, he felt a strange sense of satisfaction. Something told him that his desire for a partner and friend who would understand and connect to his wavelength is about to be fulfilled. He started walking in a hurried manner. He was dying to tell Mrs.Bagchi about this…”But wait!” Something struck Mr.Bagchi like a thunderbolt. He was so elated at the thought of having Brunno with him that he had completely forgotten his wife’s reaction when he will convey this news to her.

Mrs.Bagchi was a cleanliness freak and he recalled how she would bark at him if he threw his wet towel on the bed or spilled tea on the table. Nothing irked her more than dirty spots, dirt, mud, grime and such other things.

These things could still be excused because they did not create filth on purpose. But a thinking being like an insect or an animal was not to be pardoned at any cost. Mr.Bagchi recalled how Mrs.Bagchi would yell at the very sight of a cockroach or a spider cobweb. The moment she becomes aware of their presence, she would chase them with her broom until their last breath.

Nowadays of course, there are insect sprays to exterminate these things. Mr.Bagchi and a deadly insect killer was a dangerous combination for all these little filthy beings. But with pets, it was a different case.

You cannot spray and kill them or exterminate them. And Mr.Bagchi knew very well that though very strict at times, Mrs.Bagchi was not that hard hearted to kill a pet animal. But of course, she could prohibit their entry in her house, and so she did. This meant that there would be no muddy footprints, animal fur or any kind of mess around the house.

Throughout his way to home, Mr.Bagchi kept thinking of a suitable manner in which he could present his case to his wife and explain the circumstances, which provoked him to get Brunno.
But he was doubtful whether she would understand. His attraction towards Brunno’s intelligence and the fact that he could actually comprehend his (Brunno’s) speech would appear like a cock and bull story to Mrs.Bagchi. Worse, she might also start thinking that her husband has started losing his sanity in the absence of a permanent job.

Mr.Bagchi was about to ring the doorbell, when the door opened from inside. His wife looked at him, beaming.

“Why didn’t you inform me about his coming?” asked Mrs.Bagchi with a light smile.

Mr.Bagchi froze on the spot. “How did she come to know and why is she looking so happy?” he thought.

After a small pause he asked her hesistantly, “You know he will be coming?”

“Of course I know now; he is here waiting in the living room,” replied Mrs.Bagchi.
to be contd…

Finding Brunno

2006-06-10T00:30:00.000-07:00

Mr. Bagchi took a sip from his teacup and glanced at the morning newspaper. The headline read something like, ‘Government promises….’ He glanced through the other headlines and slammed down the newspaper on the tea table.

“Same news everyday, don’t they have anything else to report?” he thought irritably. It was not that Mr. Bagchi was not patriotic or not concerned about his taxes; it was simply that he desired for something different to happen in life. Anything would do; even an amusing and fabricated report like Superman was spotted in a nearby colony, selling mangoes to middle-aged women.

The thought brought a faint smile on Mr. Bagchi’s wrinkled face. He envisioned the reaction on his wife’s face, if he told her something like this. He got retired from his job three months back. Since then, she has been insisting that he should engage in some kind of activity. According to Mrs. Bagchi, Mr. Bagchi had started behaving strangely in the absence of a permanent job. She was not worried about their finances, owing to the FDs in various banks and savings they had accumulated over the past 35 years.

What made her anxious was the fact that her husband was quick with his temper nowadays. Also, he had become increasingly restless. Their one and only daughter, Meera, got married six months back. While she was around Mr. Bagchi still remained cheerful. It is no secret that most fathers share a better rapport with their daughters than with sons or wives. While she was around, she used to take care of her father’s interests. The two of them would huddle around the computer during their free time, surfing the net or play carom for endless hours. All this kept Mr. Bagchi’s mind at peace.

His wife could never participate in this discourse. She hardly had any idea or knowledge about computers and Internet. Even though Mr. Bagchi tried explaining her the usefulness of all these topics several times, she preferred sticking to her kitchen and puja, all of which appeared far less complicated to her.

Moreover, she has always been a reserved and quite person; not the kind who liked to read, discuss and debate.

So now, Mr. Bagchi was left to himself, wondering what could drive him out of this state of inertia. It was not that he did not agree with his wife about having a more active life. It was simply that he could not agree with her ideas of making life more interesting.

The other day, members of a local colony club came to Mr. Bagchi requesting him to takeover as their club’s president. At first Mr.Bagchi exuded a tepid interest in the task. However, it evaporated as soon as he heard his duties and responsibilities as a club president. All he had to do was to persuade people in the colony to pay more for the Durga Puja decorations every year and try to convince more people to become a member of the club.

When he asked them why they considered him an suitable candidate for the post, they simply implied (they did not dare to state the reason directly; Mr. Bagchi already appeared furious) that since Mr. Bagchi is a well-known and respectable person, he would be able to convince people to pay more for the Pujas, efficiently.

Mrs. Bagchi was not totally averse to their idea. There is no point denying the fact that she was well aware of her husband’s repute and the good will he had among his fellow human beings. But Mr. Bagchi flatly refused the club members and informed them that he had better things to do.

So now, Mr.Bagchi was searching for an ideal exit from this post retirement stupor. Moreover, he wanted a sound and enthusiastic companion who would be able to share his ideas and thoughts and provide him the required feedback. Though he shared an excellent relationship with his wife, he had found out over the past 30 years that there were certain kinds of issues and topics that failed to enthuse her; however hard he tried to indulge her.

She was good at her cookery and household work; she was reasonable fair at maintaining household expenses (it was not that Mr. Bagchi thought less of his wife’s financial skills, but he could not overlook the fact that she became quite relaxed on parting with money whenever she went out for ‘casual’ shopping).

Until he found a suitable way to administer his restlessness, he learnt to keep himself satisfied by shopping for groceries for the household. Hence, Mr.Bagchi set out of his home with an umbrella in one hand and a bag for carrying vegetables in another.

*

The market was always bustling with a huge crowd on Sundays. Sundays are family-meal days. People in the market generally appear in a cheerful mood on this day. Mr. Bagchi was an exception though. He and his wife do not exactly sum up to a family, they could be called a couple more appropriately.

Mr. Bagchi checked and rechecked the list of groceries and other food items that his wife had handed over to him.

“Potatoes, gourd, onion, tomatoes, eggs, bread, margerine, spices and chicken; guess I have bought everything,” thought Mr. Bagchi. He kept looking at the list and walked absent-mindedly, away from the groceries market. There were a series of small shops, which fell on his way to home.

“Hello Mr.Bagchi, where to?” asked Sunil Dhar, the bookshop owner.

“Going home. Had been to the market. Mrs. Bagchi wanted a few things from there?” replied Mr. Bagchi with a smile.

Mr. Bagchi was well acquainted with these shops and their owners for a long span of time. They have been around for the past 10-15 years. During his pre-retirement days, Mr. Bagchi was almost a regular visitor to Mr. Dhar’s shop. He used to check the back issues of Readers Digest, which Mr.Dhar stored for him. And if there were no books to look at, the two of them ordered hot tea from the nearby tea-stall and had a long, engaging chat. Those were the days when Mr. Dhar’s shop did not see many buyers and Mr. Dhar appeared least perturbed about the fact.

Nowadays of course, the scene was different. A new school had opened in the locality a year back and Mr. Dhar’s shop was crowded with school children. He was busy ordering new stocks of school textbooks, copies and other stuff. So there was less time for chatting sessions.

As Mr.Bagchi went past Mr. Dhar’s bookstore, he came across the mechanic’s store, the blacksmith’s stall and a pet shop…. “Wait a minute,” Mr.Bagchi stopped abruptly. “When did they start this pet shop?” he thought, bewildered.

He stood there for a moment and looked at the pet shop’s board.

“This shop was not there earlier,” thought Mr. Bagchi and entered the shop hesitantly. It was certainly bigger and noisier than the rest. However, the noises that hovered in this shop belonged to beasts and not humans.

The shopkeeper was not present there. Mr. Bagchi glanced at a staircase that led towards an underground chamber or something. He presumed that the shopkeeper must have gone there.

He looked around and saw loads of cages of various sizes arranged neatly around the place. The pet shop had an admirable array of animals, one could choose as pets. There were snow-white and biscuit-brown rabbits in small cages, chewing straw.

There were various sizes of aquariums containing fishes, which he had never seen or known before. He glanced at one of the smaller sized aquariums to have a better look at the tiny black school of fish, in it. They were not completely black; they had small and bright orange dots all over their body. It seemed as if the fishes were fitted with lots of minute electric bulbs that kept flashing as they swam around in the water.

The noisiest amongst the lot were the birds. There were too many of them and of various kinds. Some of them were very small in size; some medium and some were large like a parrot or a crow. Some were black and brown in colour with tiny red and yellow beaks. Some were yellow with a furry face.

“Canaries,” thought Mr. Bagchi, still marveling at the beauty of these birds. As he moved further ahead he found that there were two separate compartments within the shop containing other animals like cats and dogs. He examined the cats first. They were no less beautiful.

There was a silver gray one with fine black stripes all over it. There was a ginger coloured cat with loads of fur all over it. Some of them mewed and purred on seeing him; others simply stared.

The shopkeeper was still not around. Mr. Bagchi decided to have a look at the dogs’ compartment. Like the others, this collection was also unique. There were Dobermans, Spaniels and even St. Bernards puppies. But the beast that caught Mr.Bagchi’s attention was a Labrador pup within a small metal container. It had thick golden fur and small sparkling pair of eyes.

Mr. Bagchi went closer to it and bent down to take a closer look at the pup. It was definitely one of the cutest things he had ever known. He wondered whether he should try and push his hand through the container bars, just to touch it once-“I would not have done so if I were you.”

Mr. Bagchi halted suddenly. Did he actually hear someone say that or he imagined it? For one moment he thought that it must be the shopkeeper, who did not like to see a stranger fiddling with his animals. He looked around to see if someone was standing behind him.

No, there was no one. Suddenly he heard that strange voice speak again, "Where are you looking old man? I was speaking to you, look in front.”

Mr. Bagchi glanced at the direction where the voice asked him to look at. He could not see any other human; just the metal container with the cute little Labrador pup in it.

For one moment, Mr.Bagchi stood there, utterly confused. Was someone actually speaking to him or was it his imagination? Was someone playing a sick joke on him or old age was taking its toll over him? He stood there amidst all these doubts and questions, when the voice spoke again in a final attempt to relieve him of his fears, “God, you humans take so much of time to understand. Its me, I am in this container you were looking at.”

In the moment of revelation, instead of enlightenment, a strange mix of emotions surfaced on Mr. Bagchi’s face. He looked down at the Labrador pup, at once confused and surprised. His eyebrows narrowed, as if he was about to ask another question. And he indeed did so, though not verbally.

“It was really you?”

“No, it was a ghost. What do you humans think? Just because we choose not to talk or convey our thoughts to you, doesn’t mean that we are mute and dumb beings, who exist to boost your ego and play Frisbee with you.”

Mr.Baghi was positively amazed as he glared at the Labrador pup.

“What is your name?” he asked verbally this time.

“Brunnut,” the pup replied, this time it also seemed to move its lips.

“Brru..Brow..what?” asked Mr. Bagchi again.

“Oh, all right, call me Brunno if you please. To expect humans to pronounce my name correctly, is asking for too much,” said the pup (it appeared that it said so with a sigh).

Mr.Bagchi was about to reply when someone interrupted their conversation, “Yes sir, what can I do for you?”

Mr.Bagchi turned and saw a short and stout man standing behind him. He had a thin toothbrush moustache and a muddy complexion. He was smiling at Mr.Bagchi.

“Err, I was simply looking at the animals in your shop. I must say..truly, truly a remarkable collection,” said Mr. Bagchi, feeling slightly embarrassed at the fact that he was strolling around in a shop when the shopkeeper was not around.

“Thank you sir. So did you like anyone?” Asked the shopkeeper as his eyes moved from Mr.Bagchi to Brunno. “Aha! A fine pet he will make sir,” the shopkeeper exclaimed as he moved closer to Brunno’s container and Mr.Bagchi.

“Labradors are truly one of the finest breed among dogs. You will not find one like this anywhere else. Moti is too clever for his age,” said the shopkeeper, flamboyantly.

Mr. Bagchi instinctively looked at the pup, to see its reaction on being addressed as Moti. It seemed as if Brunno was scowling at the shopkeeper. “Moti! What a name to think of? I would have bitten off his butt, had he let me out for a second,” thought Brunno.

to be contd...

Hmm...

2006-05-29T07:24:00.000-07:00

Hi bloggers around the world,

All thinkers face it some time or the other, and yes, its my turn. Heard of temporal inertia of mind? No? Well, anyways, I am suffering from that. In other words my mind is too exhausted to think for some time now and last night I had this dream that I am on a holiday. So I thought, better go for it now. So, don't scream or shout (those of you do, of course) if you don't see any updates for a week or so on my blog. When I am back, I will make a grand entry, promise (who the heck do I think I am anyways?). Till then, au revoir people and keep blogging!

Now, thats embarrassing!

2006-05-18T23:33:00.000-07:00

A part of my mind always takes pleasure in analysing situational circumstances, which leads to certain emotional responses in human beings. In case any of you are wondering what am I talking about, refer to one of my earlier posts titled, ‘Boring!’ (Am suddenly having this weird feeling that I am a teacher referring to an earlier lesson or a doctor prescribing medicines).

So this time, I was thinking (well, you can also say ‘time passing,’ but since I am the Thinker, so…) about situations that generally seem embarrassing to us. I remember back in college, one day I entered my classroom around 10 minutes late and everyone in the class, including our professor gave me a peculiar look (as if I am a Martian) and their eyes followed me till my seat. As you all can guess, this was embarrassing.

So, here are a few occasions when one’s cheeks might grow red/pink/orange or colourless (varies from person to person) with embarrassment.

1. As I already mentioned, entering late in a classroom, examination hall, seminars or similar other places and events, when people suddenly stop minding their own businesses and cast a stupid look at you, knowing that it will not change the fact that you are late. At the most what it can do is to make you self-conscious (not applicable to shameless people) or in case of hypersensitive individuals, it can lead to ‘I wish I were not born’ kind of feeling.

2. Imagine yourself sitting amidst a very crucial office meeting, where the Managing Director of your company is addressing everyone. All of a sudden, a burp escapes your mouth or worse, an unending string of noisy hiccups. All the people chortle under their breath and the boss gives you an amused or a strict look. Pretty embarrassing!

3. You are partying with your friends and suddenly they pass into a discussion about a topic or a person, about which or whom you do not have any idea. Suddenly you blurt out a question, which you later wish you had not asked. For example, your friends are discussing Tom Cruise and you do not know who he is. You are hesitant but choose to prod out your curiosity through a question like, “Er…excuse me people, but who is Tom Cruise?”

Result-One of you pals (who considers himself/herself the smartest of the lot) screams in a tone that annoyingly loud, “YOU DON’T KNOW TOM CRUISE!!”

Aftermath of the episode- half the people around you know now that you don’t know Tom Cruise. It is a different issue that some of them might not know him themselves. Believe me folks, this is very embarrassing. It happened to me once long back and I did not know where to hide my face.

4. Well, if you are not the self-obsessed type, gloating with an irksome (to others) sense of superiority complex; then too much of appraisal and flattery too can be embarrassing. I remember this friend of mine in college, who was (and still is) very pretty and her face kept going red (yes, it was red in her case) whenever someone reminded it to her. Well, it is not only beauty that is embarrassing, at times being too much of a geek or being too successful at something also earns an amount of admiration and adulation, which can be quite embarrassing. But I repeat, if any of you are one of the kind who takes pride in what you are, i.e, on being appraised heavily, if you are likely to say, “I know that about myself, what’s new..,” then none of it will embarrass you.

5. There are a few habits that could lead to embarrassment. For example, making strange noises while sipping tea/coffee/any other drink. Suddenly, you look up and realise that everyone around is staring at you in a admonitory manner. Some of them also appear amused. There are other habits like nose digging or spitting while talking that lead some to amount of embarrassment. Besides that, hyperactive ones feel embarrassed with a single flake of dandruff in their hair or one small pimple on their face (not to mention, mostly teenage girls and rarely boys, comprise casualties list in this case)

6. Language problem can be an embarrassing problem at times. It hits one harder on one’s face when one is working in a prestigious organisation, has entered into a prominent beauty pageant and other such circumstances. If you not getting the picture then imagine a person giving a speech in front of an important and high nosed audience. I know of a person who pronounced ‘id’ as ‘ij’ and ‘was’ as ‘waj;’ and every time he did so, the audiences would smirk/ snigger.

Well, these are only some situations that could be embarrassing for people who suffer them and funny for people who witness them. Any more you guys can think of?

The man who infused magic in music

2006-05-06T22:41:00.000-07:00

Guys, you are more likely to find a post of this nature in Roy’s blog, but this is my own personal tribute to one of the greatest musicians Indian cinema has ever seen. There is a little tale about Rabindra Nath Tagore, which echoes the greatness and immeasurable talent some special people are endowed with.

There is a small tale that when Tagore was breathing his last he said that, “I offer my humble prayers to the next Rabindranath in the coming years.” But as we all know, till now, there isn’t a second Tagore. In other words, such people have got some special gift from God himself, which cannot be duplicated or seconded. They are unchallenged masters of their art and perhaps, an institution themselves.

Now, now, I do not want to bore you people with such heavy words, generally used by a school principal to enthuse his students (I know these words hardly impact people who listen, in most cases).

But what I want to convey is, Naushad was one such master in his art. Don’t worry; I will not start off by narrating or summarising his biography. I am sure those among you, who desire to know about the life and talent of this extraordinary musician, can find out all about him with one click in Google.

I simply want to catalogue some musical albums that were his creation and my personal favorites. So, here we go…

Mughal-e-Azam: I think if I have to rate this album (though I am no authority to judge his albums, nor do I have any ability to do so; but if I express my personal opinion), then I will give it a 10/10. According to me, the songs in this album have a certain measure of majesty and are an absolute classical delight. There is so much variety in the tunes and rhythm of each song in this album. The song, which has immortalised the spirit of true love and inspires lovers to defy all social constraints, ‘Pyar kiya toh darna kya…,’ has a gusto and energy that makes it evergreen even now. The grandeur of the song is absolutely immaculate.

However, this is not the only song in this album, which enchants me. Who can forget ‘Mohe panghat mein nand lal ched gayo re…’ and ‘Mohabbat ki jhuti kahani pe roye….’ Absolutely remarkable!

Paakeezah: Another masterpiece by the musical maestro. The tunes, lyrics of each and every song in this album have a strange haunting quality. They also capture the splendour of Urdu ghazal and poetry, one of the finest in the world.

I remember back in school, whenever we used to play Antakshari and someone had to sing a song starting with the letter ‘TTh-a’ (as in the Hindi word, ‘Thanda,’ meaning cool), the song that would effortlessly come to one’s mind was ‘Tthaarre rahiyo, o baake yaar re….’ The song falls in the category of ‘mujhras,’ i.e, songs mostly sung by courtesans to entertain Nawabs. Most songs in this album fall in this category, because of the fact that the story of the film revolves around the life of a courtesan, Sahebjaan (played by Meenakumari in the film). The other song, which excels in poetic splendour and has a beautiful classical Hindustani tune is, ‘Chalte, chalte, yuhin koyi mil gaya tha….’ It is a beautiful song and Naushad’s control over the tune, scale and rhythm is simply marvellous.

The other song that is close to my heart in this album is ‘Mausam hai aashikana….’ The song is a romantic masterpiece and absolutely enrapturing. There are many more such songs in this album, which have the brilliance of Naushad’s music, embossed on them.

Mother India: Last in this list, but not the least, is Mother India. This album does not possess the poetic magnificence of the previous two albums. But it surely reflects another side to Naushad’s musical talent. This is the quality of Naushad that fascinates me so much. His songs capture the very essence of the story, which the film narrates. Few music directors acquire such talent in recent times.

Songs in this album are earthy and the tunes echo rustic virtue and folk culture in rural India. The song, ‘Dukh bhare din bite re bhaiya…’ is full of energy and totally resplendent.

The other song in this album penetrates deep into the listener’s heart, conveying the tragic twist in the protagonist’s life. I am sure many of you must have heard the song, ‘Duniya mein hum aaye hain toh jeena hi padega….’ Absolutely touching!

This is not the end. In his long career, Naushad was extremely selective in choosing his films. Any article on his life and career would inform us that he composed music for only 66 films; in the 62 years he spent at the Indian film industry. The maestro himself confessed in one of his earlier interviews, that he composed music for only one movie at a time and never lusted behind too many offers. In the process, he made sure that the film that received his absolute dedication had the best music that year.

There are albums like Mere Mehboob, Ganga Jamuna and many others that keep reminding us that such a musician will never be born again.

Lending a cradle

2006-04-23T08:30:00.000-07:00

I read a story when I was in fifth standard, about a crow-couple who were planning to build a nest and were searching for a favourable spot for setting it up. They wanted the place to be warm and cozy as Mrs. Crow (don’t mistake her for a human being, I am actually talking about birds) was expecting eggs.

After searching for some time, the crows found a place, which matched up their expectations. But on the same day, they saw a cuckoo-couple eyeing the same spot. The cuckoos had also spotted the crows. The crows grew worried as they thought that the cuckoos were also inclined upon building their nest in the same spot. In a hurry, they began building their nest and finished it quickly.

Soon, Mrs. Crow laid her eggs; there were 4 of them. The crows were very happy and started thinking of nice names for the tiny babies, which would soon hatch out of the eggs.

However, all their joys were interrupted with a sudden sense of fear and insecurity; when they saw the cuckoos sneaking near their home again; as the day of hatching of the eggs drew near. The crows wondered what were the cuckoos upto. Assuming that the cuckoos were upto some mischief, they started keeping a closer watch on their eggs.

Finally, the eggs hatched and the newcomers filled the nest with their delightful twitter. The cuckoos were not seen for some time. As time rolled by, the baby birds got feathers. But one thing puzzled the crow-couple; one of the babies had started to look very different from the rest. Unlike the ‘rich and stately black texture of crows’ (as the crow-couple felt); this one was developing strange spots on its body. The couple had started feeling worried, as they wondered whether some dreadful disease had caught hold of their child. Their anxieties grew as time passed. This child also kept mum for most of the time.

The baby birds had gradually learnt to spread their wings for their first flight. Even now the parent crows could not figure out what was wrong with this kid; until one a spring morning, they received the greatest shock of their lives. Their seemingly ‘sick’ child was singing to the tunes of spring, which are known only to cuckoos.

Things became clearer when the baby cuckoo flew to another branch, where its parents waited for it. The crows were dumbfounded to see the same old cuckoo couple, whom they had seen before.

Moral of the story-apples do not grow on bamboo trees. Confused? You guys must be wondering what am I posting on? Well, that thing about grapes and apple trees is something that my mother always tells me; whenever I express a desire to adopt a child later in life.

She means to say that an adopted child is not likely to be attached to the parents to the extent a real biological child is. I am often surprised to hear her say so. But whenever I attempt to argue her idea, I fail to defend my own ideas about the topic completely. Somewhere, it results in a failure of my faith in my own values. I feel that if provided with love, a good upbringing and education, then an adopted child loves us; or is as dear to us as a biological child.

But there are some people who contest this idea. According to them, the genes that a child inherits from its biological parents is the single most important factor, which determines a child’s attitude, nature and behaviour. Such people also believe that the amount of love, education and upbringing that such a child receives influences its tastes and values to an extent. But it cannot eclipse the natural traits and qualities that a child receives from its original parents.

Therefore, their argument concludes this way-if you adopt a child, whose biological parents (either one or both) were ill tempered, wicked, of loose morals, or worse-criminals; then there is quite a possibility that the child would follow their footsteps.

I cannot agree with such a thought completely, but I find it difficult to deny it as well. And unfortunately, the incidents that I have heard or know of with regard to this issue, tends to confirm the view opposed to the one I hold.

But then, there are certain points that I would like to make. The kind of morals and attitude a child exhibits is also determined by the kind of treatment that it receives from its foster parents. There are some cases where a childless couple goes ahead and adopts a child. Soon after that, they have their own child (miraculously). The scene changes after the arrival of the newcomer. The parents start neglecting, ignoring or worse, ill-treating the adopted child.

In my family there is a belief that when one provides a home to an orphan, it is a blessed act. It is considered to be an act of great virtue and could be followed by the arrival of a biological offspring in the house.

It is not that parents always tend to ignore or ill-treat an adopted child, after they have their own child (most of us have to be insane to a certain degree to do so). But, the general idea is that even though one does not ill-treat or ignore adopted children, after the birth of their own child; consciously or unconsciously, the balance of love and affection tilts in favour of one’s biological child.

I guess that could be one reason, which leads to enforcement of stringent adoption laws in certain countries. In some places, a single parent; especially a single man is not allowed to adopt children because of fear of abuse or other such instances.

There are several other debates in relation to this issue, pertaining to property distribution among children, adopted as well as biological. At some orphanages, parents who adopt children of a tender age (6-7 months or a year old baby) are told in advance that they should reveal to the child, his/her actual identity, when they are slightly older (say 7-10 years).

Nonetheless, it is optional. There are some people who think it wiser to disclose the truth to the child because they feel that once the child passes into his/her teens or climbs up more steps of the age-ladder; it becomes more difficult for the parents to divulge the truth.

It is also believed that at that stage, if the adopted offspring comes to know of his/her actual parentage, then it could lead to devastating consequences for the him/her, in terms of emotional and mental well being.

People, who are not quite comfortable with such a view (myself included), think that it is best if the child is never told about his/her past or the fact that he/she is an adopted child. But the trouble comes when the child learns the truth from somewhere else. Such a situation is best avoided.

Then, would it be right if a child is adopted when he/she is fully conscious emotionally? Would it be right to adopt a child, when he/she knows that people who are not his biological parents; are willing to make him/her a part of their lives? Is this likely to impact the child’s behaviour or nature in future? I do not think that anyone has a definite answer to this question as of now.

Is this your cup of tea?

2006-04-15T20:16:00.000-07:00

Here is the prince charming, ladies were looking for. Rich, handsome, educated and with a five-star salary. But he has some demands. Read them and see, if he's your cup of tea.

'An image of my future wife,' by the prospective groom (mentioned above):

She should have everlasting beauty
and a flawless figure;
a complexion, so fair,
as if a milky river.

Brains, she should have some;
but not more than me.
She should love me through all seasons
And praise me without reasons.

She should have a fat, paternal property;
and a heavy dowry to her credit.
If you are this girl, then get in touch;
or else, forget it.

*******************

She is the woman every man dreams about-beautiful, fair skinned; a Cinderella in every respect. But there are some requirements that she seeks in her man. So, hear her words and decide. If you fit the bill, then fill the form.

According to her list...

For him, being handsome is must.
If he fails on that ground;
Then for that, a fat bank balance should adjust.

He should always listen, and never speak over me.
If he succeeds in this department,
then a perfect husband, he would be.

He should consider me his goddess,
and shower me with gifts;
with more dedication everyday, and not less.

If you have all these qualities in you,
then don't delay, come soon;
for I have other suitors, waiting in a queue.

'Off to Neverland'-Final part

2006-04-06T13:15:00.000-07:00

The elderly lady looked at Rain in a strict, grandmotherly manner and said,"Where had been so long, young lady?" I looked at Rain; she swallowed a gulp as aunt Nebula's piercing glance waited for an answer.

"Err..I, I had gone to see my friend, aunt..aunt Nebula," trembled Rain.

"Which friend of yours is this one?" Aunt Nebula's glance narrowed down on Rain.

"Err..my friend, aunt, here she is," Rain pointed at me. "She lives at the galaxy near Jupiter, aunt. She was longing to see the our fairy carnival, so I thought I would bring her along..," Rain continued.
For the first time, she noticed me. All this while, she was busy interrogating Rain. Her gaze transformed from an angry to a curious one, as she observed me. I wonder whether I had imagined it, but I felt that there was a certain amount of softness in her glance, which she cast at me.

"What is your name, child?" she asked me.

"I, err..I..," I had forgotten the name we had decided on.

"Her name's Bloom, aunt," said Rain.

"Bloom, yes, I remember now," I blurted out and then, realised my mistake.

Aunt Nebula looked at me suspiciously and said,"Tis strange that you fail to remember your name, child."

"But, it's a nice name," she added with a smile on her face. She then reverted back to her previous form and asked Rain in a commanding fashion,"But where is the rest of the gang? Where are Ben, Marble, Sunshine and Crimson?"

Rain had a dumbfounded look on her face. Though she might have expected aunt Nebula to ask this question at some point, she had not anticipated this bouncer so soon. She scratched her head nervously.

"Well, er...they said they would see go straight to the carnival and we will meet up there," replied Rain nervously.

"Well, then they better be there. Now get dressed for the carnival, we are late," said aunt. She then turned at me,"I wish you had been here some other time, child. I could have prepared honey and almond cookies for you. But I still have some bit of that blue berry syrup left; the one I had made during Christmas. Would you like a sip?" she asked in the gentlest tone I had ever heard.

"I would love to have it, aunt Nebula," I replied.

It was the best drink I had ever tasted in my life. It was not completely sweet, but slightly sour and tangy. A sudden sense of happiness overcame me as the liquid went down my throat.

After the drink, we all were ready to go to the carnival. I was really looking forward to this moment. I started believing in magic and transformed into a sprite, just to see this fairy carnival of Neverland. We walked through the forest again. I presumed that the carnival was being held somewhere in the center of the forest. Anyways, after nearly a 10-minute stroll, we arrived at the spot.

I had never witnessed a place that was more colourful and beautiful. Perhaps, it will not be sufficient if I try to describe the place in words. But still, even I attempt to do so; there are only three words that came to my mind at that point-fascinating, enchanting and magical!

There was this huge enclosed area where bright, colourful tents had been set up. If any of you are trying to imagine circus tents, then I will say that these tents did look like them to an extent. From outside they appeared so small that I almost felt that only one person might be able to enter in it at a time.

However, my imagination was befuddled, when I entered those tents. They were far larger than what they appeared from outside. These were the stalls where 'fairy-things' were put up for display.
While aunt Nebula stopped to chat with some of her friends, Rain caught my hand and dragged me along, showing me all the things that were up for display.

"Its better to keep away from aunt right now; or she might start asking about Ben and the others again," said Rain as we hurried our way through the crowd.

And here, I cannot help mentioning the crowd that was present at the carnival. It was the most lively, cheerful and unusual crowd that I had ever seen. There were all fairytale creatures. Elves, fairies, sprites, wizards, witches, giants (not of my kind), princes and princesses, satyrs, fauns, dryads and all other kinds. I cannot help admitting that some of the guys (whom Rain called Princes Charming) were really striking to look at. Now that I think of that event, I often wish that there were men on earth who looked half as good as them.

Anyways, men were not the only beings, who drew my attention in the carnival. There were lots of interesting things put up for display. One of the stalls had a bright coloured board on top of it with the following caption-'Classic saviours to damsels in distress.'

I was really interested in knowing what was up for display in there. As I went inside, I saw different sections of certain objects, which were not even remotely connected to each other. At first, I wondered whether this was a departmental store. I moved towards one section where a lot of shoes were showcased.

However, there was something very funny about these shoes. These were ladies' shoes and were transparent (as if made from glass). But, the most unusual thing that I noticed about these shoes was the fact that all of these were for the left foot, i.e, they did not have an accompanying shoe for the right foot. They were not in a pair.

"Yes, ma'm. Would you like one for your left foot?" I turned around saw an elderly dwarf (I suppose), standing behind me with a smile on his face.

"I..I was just wondering...are not all these shoes only for one's left foot?" I asked, curious.

"Yes ma'm, that's what they are meant to be," the dwarf replied. Meanwhile, Rain, who was surfing through the other sections till now, came back and stood on my side.

"What miss, are you buying Cinderella shoes?" Asked Rain.

"Cinderella shoes?" I asked, astonished.

The dwarf, who saw the look on my face, looked at Rain, and then back at me suspiciously.

"It seems, ma'm is not really accustomed to the fairy carnival, though she looks like one of the fairies?" said the dwarf.

"Err..she is not from Neverland. She has come from another galaxy, the one near Jupiter, to see this carnival," said Rain as she pulled me to a vacant corner.

"Miss, you should not be asking such questions openly," said Rain.

"What questions?" I asked, perplexed.

"See, people here think of you as a fairy and they think you would be knowing all about the great fairy carnival of Neverland. So you should not give them the impression that you do not know about these things; or they might get suspicious," Rain explained.

"Oh, alright. But Rain, why have they put up shoes for only one's left foot?" I asked.

"Miss, we are celebrating the greatest of fairy tales today. That's why these things are put up in stalls. Those are Cinderella shoes. Have you read Cinderella's tale?" asked Rain.

"Why, yes, that was years ago," I answered.

"Well then, don't you remember the glass shoes in Cinderella's story? She left the shoe on her left foot behind, in the castle, when the clock struck twelve. Later, when the Prince’s soldiers bring the shoe to her house; it fits no one in the house, but only Cinderella. And then she gets married to the prince," said Rain.

"Yes, I know," I said.

"That's why all those shoes are there and they are only for one's left foot. If any damsel wishes to reach out to her Prince charming, she can get one of them and keep them," said Rain.

I was really amazed. Never heard of such a strange custom before. But things got stranger as we checked the other sections. One section was full of green apple pieces. Rain told me that they were the one's that fell out of SnowWhite's mouth, when the seven dwarves were about to bury her, thinking that she is dead. Rain told me that those pieces are supposed to possess healing qualities.

There were other sections that showcased long braids of smooth and beautiful golden hair, large green kidney beans and spindles. Someone with a slight bit of fairy tale knowledge would know that these are reminiscent of Rapunzel, Jack and the Bean Stalk and The Sleeping Beauty.

There was an Arabian section, which showcased things like Alladin's lamp, miniature ships and oil barrels. The ships and oil barrels were reminders of Sinbad, The Sailor and Ali Baba and the 40 thieves. There were loads of other things in that section, related to stories that I did not know of.

There was one stall, which was in memory of the most notorious villains of fairy stories. In there, there were sections that showcased talking mirrors (that belonged to SnowWhite's evil step mother), mini ice castles (reminders of The Snow Queen); and at one small corner, there were sharp and pointed hooks that were molded in the shape of a question mark.

I picked up a hook, when a gruff and coarse voice startled me. It said,"Yes dear, care to take one?"

I looked at the person who asked me the question. He was wearing a strange hat, had a tiny black cloth over his left eye; his moustache was narrow and pointed and looked like two swords stuck in an opposite direction to one another. One of his arms did not have a palm or fingers. In their place, there was a cold, steely and rigid hook, and it was similar to the ones kept for display. In a strange way, he appeared familiar.

"Excuse me sir, but may I know your name please?" I asked, hesitantly.

The man muttered something with contempt under his breath. He gave me a murderous look and was about to say something, when Rain pulled me to a side.

"Phew! That was close. What were you doing, miss? Don't you know him?" asked Rain, looking slightly agitated.

"No, that's why I asked him his name," I replied.

"That's Captain Hook, one of the greatest villains of yesteryears. Ever since Peter Pan took his case and defeated him, he went into a hiding. It is believed that he was hiding deep into the forests for years," said Rain.

"When they called him for the carnival this year, he was not at all willing. I guess that when they told him that they will be showcasing some of the most feared and famous villains of fairy tales, he agreed to come with his hooks," added Rain.

"But why was he so angry when I asked him his name?" I asked, still puzzled.

"He did not like it that he is not known to someone. You know miss, villains, who are of great repute, need no introduction. But since you asked him his name, it showed that you had not heard of him; or in other words, you did not fear him. That is why he looked so cross, do you understand?" said Rain.

"Hmmm, got it," I replied.

We then strolled to other stalls. I was amazed to see that there were separate and impressive stalls, set up for Harry Potter, Narnia and The Lord of the Rings.

"Whether earth or Neverland, these people are popular every where," I thought.

However, I would be wrong if I say that only the kinds of Harry Potter were drawing all the attention. I am saying this because there were stalls that showcased the fairy legends produced during the medieval and Elizabethan era.

One stall was named-Shakespearian Enchantment. There, beautiful paintings, which exhibited the sprightly acts of Puck and Ariel, in the Midsummer Night's Dream and The Tempest, were put up for display. In the same stall, there was another section, where darker forms of wizardry and magic were showcased. They had put up boiling cauldrons and strange creatures like toads, dead lizards etc, to create a supernatural atmosphere. These were obvious references to Shakespeare’s Macbeth and Hamlet.

Stalls representing a certain country's mythology and 'fairy-worthiness' (as Rain called it) were also set up. We visited the Greek mythology stall, where an entire array of beautiful wax figures, was set up for display. These appeared to be figures of Greek Gods. There were figures of other magical and supernatural creatures from Greek legends and lore. I was really impressed with all of it and wondered whether there was a stall in the carnival, which showcased Indian fairy-tales and legends. Unfortunately, I could not see one.

There was one stall, which was dedicated exclusively to fairy creatures and animals. There was a section full of long gumboots in there. It reminded me of Puss In Boots. Then, there were little white mice (from Cinderella's tale), dragon scales and horses with wings. I looked at the statue of a beautiful white horse with wings, with awe.

"That's Pegasus, miss," Rain whispered in my ears.

Then, there was the beast from Beauty and the Beast. At one corner, the three little pigs were engrossed in their conversation. And behind them, the evil black wolf was casting shrewd glances at them.

There were separate stalls for fairies and fairy godmothers. They were of all types; including the one who had helped Cinderella and the one, who had cursed the sleeping beauty.

I was really enjoying my visit. Suddenly, there was a loud noise out side, as if someone had blown a horn. Rain and I rushed out to see what was happening. A huge crowd had gathered around a circular podium. Over the podium, hung magical lanterns, illuminating it with different colours. I call them magical because they were hanging in the air, without a string or any support, all on their own.
Everyone was curious about the set up, and were chattering among themselves, trying to find out what was about to happen. After a few seconds, the curtains of the podium were drawn and a little young sprite came out, with three other sprites.

"That's Ben and my cousins," cried Rain, delighted. Before Rain could say more, a voice started to speak,"My dear and merry folks of Neverland, it is great to see all of us gathered here, on this stupendous fairy carnival night. Every year, we get to see a lot of new entries in this carnival, from other fairylands. Methinks, it was time for thanking all of them for coming and sharing their fairy-skills with us, the mirthful folks of Neverland." It was Ben, who was speaking. He was effective enough, as the entire crowd applauded his speech with loud cheers and claps.

He continued,"So, here we are, me and my brothers and sisters, ready with some nice little pieces for all of you. Hope you all shall sing and dance with us as well."

This time, the crowed screamed more loudly than before. Everyone was waiting for the show to begin.

Ben and his cousins began singing as the magical orchestra tuned in, on its own. But to my surprise, when I heard the song that Ben was singing, I broke into fits of laughter.

Rain, who was enjoying the show till now, paused for a moment and looked at me, bewildered.

"What's the matter, miss? What's so comic?" She asked.

I tried to control my laughter somehow and answered, "I..I am sorry Rain. I did not mean to laugh, but couldn't help it. That..that song Ben is singing; I have heard it many times before. It is from a Spice Girls' album, is it not?" I asked, still giggling.

Rain appeared slightly embarrassed now. She said, "Well yes, our trips to your world were not all in vain, you see," she admitted bashfully.

"Its alright Rain. I am laughing because I expected something original," I said.

Ben and his troupe went on singing English hits, one after another; and everyone was having a jolly good time.

Suddenly, there was loud noise that shook my senses. It sounded like some bell or something to that effect. I fell on the ground and Rain rushed to hold me.

"What's the matter, miss? Wake up," she said. "Wake up," I heard her say again.

I opened my eyes slowly to see my mother bending over me and shoving me."Its half past eight, wake up," she said. I woke up lazily. The alarm was still ringing. The wretched thing had transferred me back to my same old, boring world.

"Go, brush your teeth and have a bath. I will be serving breakfast in half an hour," my mom said, as she walked out of the room with the dirty laundry. I sat up on my bed and looked at the alarm clock. It was almost 8:35 AM.

I was still dazed at the events I had experienced last night. "Was it a dream or...," I thought.

I looked out of my window, up at the sky. The scorching sun shone with all its brilliance in the cloudless sky. There was no sign of a single cloud or rain. For a minute, I felt despondent, as if I have lost something precious. But suddenly, a silly thought came over me.

Standing in front of the window, I spread my arms, closed my eyes and uttered the magical words in a spirited manner,"Off to Neverland."

'Off to Neverland'-Part II

2006-03-14T18:02:00.000-08:00

I felt as if my whole body has become very light and there was this strange, funny and tickling sensation in my tummy. All of a sudden, I felt as if as if I am falling from some great height. However, I did not feel scared, but a great sense of excitement and elation overcame me.

"Open your eyes now, miss," said Rain in a soft voice.

I opened my eyes and looked at Rain. Now I was able to see her much clearly, as I stood face to face to her. She really had a sweet little face and a pink complexion. Her eyes were light blue and lips were cherry coloured. She indeed looked like one of those fairies in the Disney movies.

"Miss, you look so pretty as a sprite," said Rain.

"Really Rain?" I asked and looked around for the small hand mirror I always kept on that table. It was near the pen stand. I looked at myself and a chuckle of delight escaped my mouth. I looked like a little sprite as well. I was dressed in turquoise and my wings were sparkling blue. One thing is for sure-these fairy-charms and enchantments make one look far more beautiful, than one really is. Though it is all short-lived, yet it is very pleasant.

"Miss, you really look like a little fairy," said Rain.

"Oh, thank you so much, Rain," I replied. I could not help feeling flattered and I must admit; I did sound a bit silly when I said that.

"So, ready for Neverland, miss," she asked.

"Yes," I replied, excited.

I had never imagined in my wildest dreams that someday I will have wings to fly. It felt very different from a 2.5-hour flight in an aircraft. When I was young, I always wondered how was it like to fly all on your own. Finally, my dream was coming true.

Rain showed me how to take a position before the flight. We spread our wings and stooped slightly from the windowsill. Then we pushed the ground with our legs and started to flap our wings. It was so thrilling. As we moved up in the sky, I managed to steal a look at my house, which appeared smaller and smaller every second. The night wind was soothing and refreshed us during the flight. I was behind Rain because she knew the way to Neverland; so, I had to follow her.

I do not know how long we flew, but I enjoyed every moment of it. As we approached closer to Neverland, Rain told me how to land on ground. All this sounds funny because one might think you do not have to land like a plane, when you have wings of your own. However, while flying, I actually understood how difficult it must be for birds when they fly for the first time.

Slowly, we started to move downwards and touched the ground again. I looked around and saw the place. The moon certainly appeared bigger here than in my world. The entire place was lit up with its light. It was so beautiful.

"How did you like flying miss?" asked Rain.

"Lovely Rain, it was wonderful and far more exciting than anything I have felt so far. Thank you so much," I replied.

"My pleasure miss; now, what do we call you?" her tone changed from a bashful to a more pragmatic one.

"Call me?" I asked, puzzled.

"Yes, miss. What is you name?" she asked.

I told her what they call me at my place. She shook her head in a disapproving manner and said, "That's a fine name miss. But if they hear that one here, then they might suspect you for a 'you know what'."

"Then what should I call myself?" I asked.

Rain had that thoughtful look on her face again and started scratching her head.

"How about calling you Earthy? You belong to the Earth?" asked Rain.

I could not digest that. "Just because I come from earth, it does not mean you have to call me that," I replied resentfully. Rain started to think again and then suddenly looked up at me with a smile.

"Umm..why don't we call you Bloom? It also goes with you blue colour, doesn't it?" asked Rain.

At first, her suggestion sounded very weird to me. But then, it sounded better than Earthy.

"Oh, all right. I am Bloom then," I said.

"And remember, if they ask where you are from, say that you come from the galaxy near Jupiter," said Rain.

"You are sure about that," I asked hesitantly.

"Trust me miss," she said. "Now come, time to see the great fairy carnival of Neverland," she added and led the way to me.

We walked into the forest where the moonlight flickered through the branches of the tall trees. Invigorating smells of wild flowers went in with my breath and rejuvenated me. It was so nice and peaceful.

"This is the eastern end of the forest miss, this road will lead us to the village," said Rain. As we moved ahead, a small settlement came into our view. They were small houses with square windows and brick chimneys. It all seemed very lively. We approached one of the houses, which Rain said was her house. However, I turned curious when Rain said that instead of entering the house from the front door, we would make our way through the back door.

"Why are we going in like this Rain?" I asked.

"Miss, don't you remember? I told you that I sneaked out to visit your world though aunt told me not to. We don't want to get caught, do we?" said Rain.

"Oh yes, now I remember. But isn't your aunt away for the err..carnival?" I asked.

"Maybe, But why take chances. You can never bet on what she would do. Now, do not make any noise and get in as quiet as you can," said Rain.

We got inside maintaining as much silence as possible. I was thrilled. Though I knew that it was not exactly polite manners to get into someone's house in this manner, I almost felt as if I am in some adventure movie. It was dark inside the house and nothing could be seen.

"Rain, Rain? Where are you?" I asked.

"Shhh..miss, no noise. I will get a light," whispered Rain.

In a few minutes, there was light in the room. I looked around and saw a little glass lamp that was shining. It had a strange greenish glow and in a way, it was very warm and cheerful. It was a small and tidy room with four tiny beds and a small shelf with some books. There was a small table at one corner, where this lamp was kept. A sweet aroma hung around the room.

"Here we are, this is our home miss, do you like it?" asked Rain.

"Oh its lovely, Rain," I said (Somehow, I could not help sounding silly in a 'fairy-talish' way. Guess the enchantment was working fine).

"And we made it back safely without letting aunt know about it, isn't that great?" asked Rain.

"No dear young lady, you did not quite make it 'safe'," said a strange and elderly voice.

We turned around, wordless. I looked at Rain. She had an expression of a thief, caught red-handed while stealing. I looked in front and saw a elderly female (also a sprite). She had a silver streak of hair in the front and her hair was tied into a tight and neat bun. She was wearing gold-rimmed spectacles and had a slightly fat nose and thin lips, which were tightly pressed now. Her eyes were a lot like Rain's.

"Aunt, aunt Neb..Nebula!" exclaimed Rain.

To be contd..

'Off to Neverland'

2006-03-03T19:40:00.000-08:00

Summer has not yet arrived with its full blaze, but the warm night winds, the sweat on my forehead and my dry throat was already reminding me of its arrival. I tried to sleep, but it refused to come effortlessly. I opened the window thinking that perhaps, there might be some fresh air that will sooth my nerves and lull me. I went back to the bed and lay down.

Just as my eyelids were getting heavy, a faint noise woke me up. I opened my eyes and looked around, there was no one around. I tried to sleep again, but the moment I closed my eyes; the noise started again. I woke up and lighted the torch. The noise was coming from the study table. I went near it and flashed my torch on the objects lying on it. Nothing seemed to move. Confused, I started to move towards the bed again. Suddenly, that noise again! It was a very light sound of some liquid being splashed in very tiny amount.

I flashed the torch on the table again. The noise was coming from the inkbottle. I recalled that I had forgotten to put the lid on the bottle. Perhaps, something had fallen into the bottle. I brought the torch nearer to it and jumped back, frightened. What is this creature? Never seen the like of it in my life. It looked like a human, but its size was only a centimeter more than an adult human thumb. It had wide, big eyes, tiny hands and legs and it had two tiny little wings that were glowing in a golden hue.

"Please miss, do not hurt me. I lost my way. That crafty owl was after me, so I sneaked in from that window. I was hiding behind those big books on this table. Accidentally, I fell into this bottle. Please, do not hit me..," it said.

I was baffled out of my wits. This thing can speak. I summoned all my courage and asked, "What..what on earth are you?"

"I am a sprite, miss. My name's Rain," it answered.

"A sprite? You mean the one's in fairy tales and all that rubbish? You think I am a fool to fall for that? Now tell me, where are you from?" I was feeling more commanding now, as I realised that the creature (a sprite or whatever it called itself) was petrified of me.

The creature swallowed its breath and replied,"Miss, I am from Neverland."

"Netherlands? That is far away. How did you get here from there?"

"Not Netherlands miss. Neverland," the creature trembled as it mentioned that name again.

"Now where on earth is that?" I asked.

"It is there, miss. You have to fly left from that purple star there," it pointed towards the sky. I looked out of the window. To my utter shock, there was a purple star in the sky that night. I had never seen it before. Somehow, a strange sense of amazement and cheerfulness conquered me, as I looked at it.

"I was up there miss, flying with my cousins. We slipped out from home when everyone had left for the carnival. My cousin, Ben, found this way to the your world yesterday. We thought it will be so much fun to see your world. We have heard that men walk on wheels here. We asked aunt Nebula whether we could see them once. But she said, 'no, there are giants out there. Don't let me catch you trying to sneak there.' But, we wanted to visit this place so much. So, I was up there some hours ago flying with the others, but I lost my way. Aunt always told me,'Rain, you are very slow during a flight. You should hurry up.' Golly! She was so right."

The creature was now sitting on top of my dairy, which had its page open. Little tears rolled down its cheek and fell on the letters I had written on the page. A dark inkblot stared at me, where the teardrop had fallen.

"I should have listened to aunt. I was left behind in the flight. Was trying to sort my way out miss, when that horrible bird pounced on me with its ghastly claws. Flew for my life, saw this house of yours and sneaked in," it paused.

I took a chair and bent down to have a closer look at it. I could not help feeling sorry for it.

I said,"I am sorry if I scared you. But I got frightened myself when I saw you all of a sudden inside that inkbottle. You know, they teach us at school that you people do not exist. They say you are present only in fairytales."

"Oh yes miss, that's where we live. Neverland is the land of fairies. Tonight, we are having this huge fairytale carnival. They light up the entire forest with starlights. All the 'fairy-things' are put up for display. Its so beautiful," said Rain (Thank God, I remembered its name this time).

I never realised when I started enjoying this conversation with it. I was craving to know more about Neverland. "What are err...fairy, fairy-things?" I asked.

"Fairy-things miss, all those wonderful magical things, beings and objects you read of in fairy stories. There cannot be a fairytale without them. We have them in loads there from all kinds of fairytales. Wizards are also there. There are stops full of candies, puddings, pies and all those superb delicacies. There are fairies, prince and princesses charming, kings and queens, dwarfs, talking creatures, wizards and witches there. People from other fairytales also visit our carnival. You will love it there," answered Rain.

"But how can it be possible? There cannot be a real place like that," I said.

"Yes miss, there is. Do you want to see it?" asked Rain.

I loved Rain for asking me that question for I really was dying to see this place for once.

"Can you take me there?" I asked.

"Oh yes miss, but you cannot go like this," said Rain.

"Like this, meaning?" I asked, bemused.

"They call the likes of you are called 'giants' at our place. You have to be one of us to be there," said Rain.

"How do I become one of you?" I asked anxiously.

"Oh miss, you will have to believe in magic from the core of your heart and say 'Off to Neverland.' But you got to believe in magic," said Rain.

"Oh all right, I believe in magic now," I said.

"Okay then miss, close your eyes, spread your arms and say,'Off to Neverland'," said Rain. I did as per instructed and waited for some transformation. I wondered whether it will be like the one's they show in Disney movies. After a second, I felt as if nothing happened. I opened my eyes and was dismayed. I was wearing the same nightgown and my hair was as disheveled as it was before.

"What happened Rain? Why do I still look the same," I asked, disappointed.

"I do not know miss, maybe you still do not believe in fairyland and magic within your heart," said Rain with in a thoughtful manner.

"But I do, Rain," I said.

"Then let us try one more time," said Rain.

I stood up hopefully, closed my eyes and spread my arms. I was already in love with Neverland.
"It is my greatest desire to see Neverland. I do wish, I am there this time," I thought.

I took a deep breath and spelled out the magic words in anticipation, "Off to Neverland."

to be contd...

My gym story

2006-02-27T10:03:00.000-08:00

I realised one thing when I returned home in January this year. When the trend is of sleek and trim television picture tubes, mobile phones and many other things; you cannot move around with extra flab on your body.

Therefore, my mother screamed at me when she saw me this time in Mumbai.

"How did you manage to gain so much weight? I want you to join a gym as soon as we reach Kolkata," she thundered.

I had no proper answer to her query and blamed my extra pounds on my long office hours, which required me to spend nearly 8-10 hours a day, sitting in front of the computer screen. So now, since the past two weeks, I have been attending a gym. One can imagine how tedious is it for an inherently lazy person like me to follow 25-26 exercises written in my chart.

The treadmill, cycle, stepper and all those exercising machines appeared to me like monsters of different sizes. Things started to ease up after 3-4 days, when I started listening to the ravings and ranting of the other members in the gym. I do not know whether all of you feel the same; but on a difficult schedule, things become easier with some kind of a diversion. Perhaps, that is why they put on music during most strenuous schedules.

I found my diversion in the mindless jabbering of my fellow gym-mates (not all of them though). There was this group of middle-aged housewives, who would all enter the gym together. Whereas the others would quickly change into their gym-suits in 5 minutes; these females would take over 15 minutes in the changing room. As one can guess, they spent 10 minutes chatting there.

Finally, they began their exercise regime. After every five minutes of leg lifting, one of them would enquire the others about what they cooked for lunch that day. The discussion would be followed by various recipes and lunch preparations, which do not consume much time. They would go on talking until our trainer would interrupt their conversation and put them back to their exercises.

Another day, one of these homemakers (the most talkative one) started her day at the gym by asking her other mates that why they had not ever invited her for dinner at their homes (I do not want to sound arrogant but she was sounding idiotic as well as funny).

"This one (she pointed towards one in her group) never cares to invite me to her house for dinner one day," she complained in a juvenile tone. I was not at all interested in knowing why was she not invited for dinner at any place. But the only thing was that she was on the cycle during this pointless conversation. I wonder whether she noticed or not, but I was waiting for her to finish cycling, it was the last machine I was to do.

Though cooking was their favorite topic of discussion, the focus would sometimes shift to other things like who is the most beautiful girl in their locality and which one is the most eligible for marriage. Being a quieter person by nature, I am quite amused at the enthusiasm with which these homemakers chatted.

Whenever I enter the gym, I am always in a hurry to finish all the exercises in my chart and exit that place as soon as possible. I sometimes wonder how these women choose to stay back so long at this place. Not that they are obsessed about their exercise regime, but it serves as an ideal chatting outlet for them.

The other day a new girl entered the gym. She is a north Indian, a Punjabi called Kali (in Hindi, it means a budding flower and it is pronounced as 'K-li'). She is quite a cheerful person, but the only thing that irked her was the way her name was pronounced by these women. Bengalis are anyways known for their extraordinary Hindi pronunciations. The 'babumoshai' tag is still attached to Bongs and these women further accentuated that.

The trainer saw Kali's exercise chart and said, "Koli, do this one first." The girl was at first amused at the way her name was pronounced but soon got tired and said,"Please, its Kali and not 'Koli'."

Instead of rectifying her error, the trainer replied,"Oh! Kali or Koli, its all the same."

The homemakers added,"Kali is pronounced like that only in Bengali."

The poor girl did not appear too satisfied at their response, but requested again that if possible, her name should be pronounced in the right way. The trainer took some pity on her and tried to follow the right way; but the girl's agony intensified when she started calling her 'Kaali.' Kali gave up all hopes.

Two weeks after I joined, I found some of these homemakers missing and some were complaining that the exercises are not trimming their tummies at all. Therefore, they are planning to quit the gym.

One of them said to our trainer,"What is this didi (sister)? I have been working out like anything over the past few months. But it is not making any difference. My tummy continues to remain of the same size as it was before. It is not that I chat too much. Its of no use, I think I will stop coming here."

"Humphhh...gotta to find another diversion soon," I thought.

Belated Happy Birthday Thinker!!!

2006-02-17T13:30:00.000-08:00

I feel kind of ashamed to say this, but I managed to skip my blog-anniversary, which was yesterday. Time went past so swiftly, all of a sudden a realisation-God! I have been blogging since one year now. I remember how ignorant I was when first taught how to create a blog of one's own. Now, it is a part of my life. Hope I am not sounding too senti, but this is one platform where I can express and share ideas with all my fellowbloggers. Within this one year, my blog underwent a makeover only once. I guess it looks more vibrant now as many of you commented. I was always hesitant about keeping a personal dairy, because I have always been scared that if someone discovers it someday, my deepest secrets would come out in the open. I am still not very optimistic about that; but then, my blog serves as a partial diary. No need to mention, I still do not write my secrets here (I don't think many of us do); but it provides me a channel to vent out some thoughts about certain topics or issues that I tend to loom over. I believe that the only thing that bothers some of my blog friends is too much delay in putting up new posts. But as you know, 'I think, therefore I am.' The only thing is that I tend to think a bit more than others (hope I am not sounding pompous), so the delay. I made a very small modification to my blog this year. There is a pop-up window for comments. Ok, ok, I can hear those titters, hmm..there is nothing new about it. Most of you already have a pop-up window for comments. But I remember someone had suggested that I should have one (1.618, I guess it was you). So there you are-you have it now and it feels nice to gift something to my dear blog (however trivial it is) on its birthday, belated though! So three cheers for the Thinker-my one and only blog.

Unholy passion...?

2006-02-02T22:44:00.000-08:00

I wonder whether any of you guys consider this as an X-rated topic. However, this is something that has become an area of core interest for page3 news, psychologists, socialists and almost all of us. Meaning?

A few months back, I and one of my colleagues were returning home together from office. On the railway station, we noticed two guys. One of them had his hand around his friend's waist. They were walking in a manner, which made my friend giggle.

Obviously, you people must have guessed the implications in this case. It was presumed that perhaps, the two guys were not 'straight.' I have no idea whether they were 'normal' or not. But it is apparent that we look at 'them' as alien species.

Homosexuality is not a new phenomenon. It was seen and heard of during the ancient times; not only in Greek and Italian society, but also in the Indian society. There are references to homosexuality even in the Bible. The only thing is that, with the overpowering presence of media and newspapers today, this topic is one of the most talked about issues.

But what does homosexuality mean in the first place? Many people consider it to be an abnormality and some think of it as a disease. I believe that it is an abnormality to a certain extent, but there is a scientific base to that. However, I am not sure whether it is a disease or not.

One might be amused to know the kind the definitions that some people come up with, while discussing this issue. I remember one of my friends narrating to me, a hilarious episode that happened during an engineering fest. She represented her college in one of the debates in the fest, the topic was-whether homosexuality is unnatural or not.

While listening to her, I realized how ludicrous people could be at times when they try to argue about an issue like this. My friend told me that many participants did not know what homosexuality is. One of them went on to discuss trees, flowers and other aspects of floral species. He was mainly stressing on the fact that plants are capable of asexual reproduction. He also spoke on how hermaphrodites reproduce (probably he was speaking in favour of homosexuality).

He went on speaking about vegetative reproduction, until he was told that he was discussing asexual reproduction and not homosexuality. Another participant, who was also speaking in favour of homosexuality, tried to apply laws of physics to exemplify his point.

He said,"My friends, like poles attract...." After starting with this line, he went on to give long sermons on how people should treat homosexuals. Finally when he ended his speech, the first question shot up to him was-"Do like poles attract? Are you sure that is what you have learnt in Physics?"

The speaker suddenly appeared embarrassed and started surfing nervously through his speech papers and muttered, "Oh..Did I say so?"

People who were speaking against homosexuality were more aggressive in demonstrating their argument. One of them made bombastic and melodramatic statements, cursing homosexuals for their orientation.

He utilized excessive doses of rhetoric to emphasize his point. He spoke,"People, homosexuality is a bane and a sin on the face of this earth. People indulging in these kinds of interactions are the most cursed and immoral beings living on this planet."

"Do you know what is the basic difference between man and animals? Man was created erect and animals were not. Therefore, man uses his brain in most of the matters and animals do not. Since man knows the difference between himself and animals, therefore he understands what is right and what is wrong. We as humans, know that homosexuality is unnatural; therefore, one should condemn homosexual practices at all costs," he added.

His excessive efforts paid off as a certain section of the crowd cheered him. However, there are a few points that many of us might have wanted to ask him. For example, how does an erect body structure lead to brains? Another important point-Was man actually created erect?

Maybe he should have looked at Darwin's,'Origin of Species' before coming up with such arguments. Anyways, when it was pointed out to him that man has his origin in apes, (who were not erect as he said), he replied,"Yes, maybe he was not created erect, but being intellectual, man learnt how to be erect. Therefore, he is different from animals and knows homosexuality is not right."

The query remains-"How does an erect physical structure lead to brains?"

If one chooses to call homosexuality unnatural, then there should proper scientific points to explain why it is so. There was only one participant, who spoke sense. She explained that homosexuality is unnatural due to certain chromosomal disorders.

Since I am not a science student, I do not remember the exact reasons that she brought up, but the main crux of her speech was that when a woman conceives, it is the man whose chromosomes lead to determine the sex of the child (as all of us know). However, due to certain chromosomal disorders, it is possible that at times a child will have inclinations that belong to the opposite sex.

For example, under such conditions, a male child might think more like a female and tend to behave like one as well. We call such men 'feminine men.' Since they have an attitude and behavioral traits of a woman, they tend to feel attraction for men. This is unnatural.

Besides, people also think of homosexuality as a disease. I am not very sure whether that is the case. A few months back, I was surfing through the personal problems column in some magazine. There, a young boy wanted advice. He said that he was a young student living in a boys hostel. He was normal in all aspects except for one thing. He was infatuated with his roommate. According to the boy, his roommate had everything that he desired in his life partner. He had not met any girl who was so perfect. However, he did not have the courage to admit his obsession to his roommate, because of obvious reasons. Another strange thing is that the boy did not feel like this for any other guy.

I will not label such a case as a disease or an abnormality. This is far more complex. Now, having completed my analysis on the topic, all your views are welcome.

Virtually filmy!!!

2005-12-27T05:53:00.000-08:00

What is the one thing that irks us when they suddenly barge on our TV sets, interrupting our favorite show, serial, movie, etc? Commercials!! Nowadays, it looks like, some kind of an ad-invasion is on its way.

Advertisements come in all shapes, sizes and mediums. If you are wondering what I am blabbering about, just check out that irritating pop-up box that jumps up like a “jack in the box,” offering you home loan, car loan or some other product on the internet. It will occupy a significant amount of our computer's screen space, thereby obstructing our view, just when we are about to visit our favorite link or are on our way to our mailbox.

Even when one is listening to FM radio, there is no respite from them. Here the medium is different. More of them are jingles and funny conversations to attract listeners’ attention.

As far as advertisements in TV are concerned, you can love them, hate them; but there is no way you can ignore them. They are ‘in-between’ every show. Even when we are glued to our TV sets to watch the last over of a crucial match between India-Sri Lanka; all of a sudden we will see some cola advertisement booming on our TV sets.

But when one sits back and takes a look at these ads that keep buzzing on our TV screens 24/7, one could easily classify them into categories that are reserved for films generally. I do not know how many of you share my view-point, but most of the dramatic elements are present in ads. In miniature, they represent our popular cinema culture. For my own convenience and merriment, I will classify certain ads in specific categories.

Emotional genre:

An ideal example is the recent Times of India advertisement, where an old grandfather celebrates the selection of his grandson in the hockey team. He cherishes the news on the paper that his grandson has been successful, where he failed.

One could even cite the recent Western Union ad, where the father is unable to hear his son, who is calling from overseas, as his (the father’s) hearing aid does not function properly.

Comedy genre:

This genre seems to be very popular in movies as well as ads. I do not remember the company, but it was some paints advertisement. A man appreciates his neighbour for a new house, new car…and a new wife.

Most of the baby ads (diaper and stuff). Well, some of them fall in the emotional genre as well, but it is a healthy mix. Then there is the Alpenlebie ad, where a kid colours himself in different colours on the occasion of Holi, to extract money from not only his father, but also other people.

Musicals: I do not know how many of you remember that ad, which glorified ‘milk’ more than any other ad. The jingle went on like- “Doodh, doodh …doodh hai wonderful, pee sakte hai roz glassful.”

Another dairy company, Amul’s jingle, almost sounded like an anthem. It went on like-“Amul, the taste of India…”

Sensuous genre:

Most of the contraceptive advertisements-a liberal dose of sex and sensuality comes to the foreplay with them.

Some of the deodorant ads use this funda to attract people. And of course, who can forget that famous Denim advertisement, where a woman opens the buttons of a man’s shirt. Then he suddenly stops her.

Romantic genre:

Again, just like films, this is another popular genre in advertisements. However, love is more a commodity in the world of commercials. You have boys falling for girls who use Fair and Lovely or some other bleaching product.

There is another ad of some car company, I do not remember the exact name. In that ad- you have this handsome guy taking his girlfriend for a ride and laying out a candlelight dinner for her. A romantic song being played in the background, just acts as a sweetener.

Fairytale genre:

There are ads in this genre as well, mostly playing on the love for fantasy and escapist attitude of people. There is one recent Maruti Swift ad, where Cinderella runs away with the guy driving a Swift car.

There is one advertisement in the recent times of ‘Orra Diamonds,’ which comprises snippets of fairytales, there is nothing concrete in it.

Celebrity genre: The celebrity invasion in the ad-world in the recent times is unprecedented. One can contribute an entire category of ads to them. They are here, there and everywhere.

Among these ads, the ones, which I tend to remember till this date, are among the controversial ones. There was this Pepsi ad, which became a hot topic of discussion a few years back. In that ad, they showed a look-alike of Hrithik Roshan in a supposed demeaning fashion or something like that. SRK being the hero in the ad, it became a topic of feud between SRK and Hrithik Roshan fans. The most overblown topic I have ever read or heard of.

Then there was this recent ad by Lux, which featured SRK again. He was seen in midst of a bathtub, filled with rose petals. I have no idea, how much Hindustan Lever (the company which owns the Lux brand), benefited from the ad, but the ad became a hot topic of discussion, SRK’s sexual orientation being the focus.

The most silly ads, which celebrities indulge in are chaddi and banyan ads-the ones which mostly feature Govinda and his like.

Action genre: There are some of vehicle ads, motorbike ads which try to emphasise viewers through stunts. There is this recent Tata Safari ad, with a tagline-Reclaim your life. The car is seen somersaulting and jumping in the sand.

Some ads try to “caricature” action ads, that’s how I view them. One must have noticed those Sona-Chandi Chavanbrash ads, where Sunny Deol fights villains and defeats them, because he gets strength from Sona-Chandi.

Animation genre:

This genre is getting more and more prominent in recent times. Mostly ads dealing with kids use a generous dose of animation. For instance, there is this Sunfeast Cream biscutes ad, where SRK (again) takes a child for a joyride to an animated cream world. There are some baby soap ads, like that of Doy soap, where once again animated figures come to play. These are basically targeted at kids and the younger age group.

However, some of these ads appear like those play station samples. There are these advertisements showing animated mosquitoes and cockroaches who barge into a household, only to get exterminated by some mosquito or cockroach spray.

Straight genre:

These advertisements are like ‘label’ headlines in newspapers. Their job is to inform, without frills or thrills. In a newspaper, these headlines sound like this-‘Nepal on strike.’ Nothing more, nothing less. Its duty is to inform, without any drama.

Ads which are very short and mainly say, “Hurry offer ends till on so and so date,” are examples of straight ads.

Phew!! I guess I have exhausted my resources. I do not have to give a disclaimer, but still, being a journo, its in my blood. “All these are my personal views, without any relevance to any particular brand or product.”

BORING!!

2005-11-30T02:29:00.003-08:00

Hi guys,

I was just sitting in office clearing stories. I just realised that people make the same mistakes all the time and I have to clear them over and over again. To me, now this has become the most boring work on this earth.

I have often heard people complaining about certain things that bore them. But paradoxically, they tend to do those things again and again. Examples:

Waiting for someone at the restuarant. Even when the end limit of one's patience has been tested, he thinks-"let me wait for some more time, maybe he/she will come."

Cooking the same dish every day because your husband/wife/kid will not eat anything else.

Watching the same movie over and over again, convincing yourself that it was your all-time favorite at some point.

Dealing in the same stocks again and again, even though they do not yield any returns.

Visiting your blog every ten minutes a day, thinking that some new comment has been posted. But in the process, one tends to get bored seeing the same old post.

Telling the same story to your kid every night, because he/she refuses to hear any other story.

Hearing your boss passing the same critical comments about your work, which have become obsolete now.

Hearing your friend telling you same thing about his/her girlfriend.

One might also feel like including eating, drinking and sleeping in this list. But I guess that they are necessities of our lives. So we cannot get bored of them. Phew, I guess there are many more things to look out for. Why don't you guys make some personal contributions. So what's "BORING" according to you?

City-trotting

2005-11-06T23:51:00.000-08:00

By fast life, I do not exactly mean only Mumbai life. Yes, life is fast in the city. But then this particular post is not only about Mumbai. The other day I was talking to one of my friends, who said that I have kind of become-a metro traveler! She is right in a way. Other than Delhi (where I have been only once in my life), I have stayed at all the other three metros of our country. I have no idea how many of you think and ruminate over the city that you have visited or stayed in, for a considerable period. Nevertheless, here is my list of the places I have visited, and the things that I like and dislike about them.

Gujarat: Now it is called 'The Cursed Land.' However, the place did not see a spate of natural and manmade calamities, while I lived there several years back. I was born in that land, and am still very fond of the place. It aches my heart to see that now whenever the mention of 'Gujarat' comes to anyone's mind, it is accompanied by horrifying memories of riots, earthquakes and floods. However, when I sit down to think, I cannot help but remember certain things:

Locale: Gujarat is an arid land, dry and sultry. Feeling hot? Take a cup of buttermilk; it will make you feel nice. Moreover, if you visit a traditional Gujarati household, you are bound to be offered buttermilk (chaas) or limejuice, along with other beverages.

People: Some of my friends find Gujaratis very money-minded and calculative. I would say, there are all shades of people in the world and among all communities. I think of Gujaratis as a colourful and very hard working clan. Very progressive and tactful.

Festivals: Loads are there. They believe in many gods and godesses. (I do not know the names of half of them). However, the one's that I enjoy are Janmashtami and Navratri.

Food: I cannot leave aside this part, being a food maniac myself. One word for Gujarati khana is 'spicy.' Samosas, kachoris, bhujias, khakras, dhoklas, chewda and mumra are only to name a few.

Things that are not so appealing: Well, the only thing that I dislike about the city is the dirt and dust. Cows all over the place, beware during driving.

My rating of the place: 8/10

Kolkata: I did the second half of my schooling in this city. When I got shifted from Gujarat to Kolkata, it appeared like a nightmare to me. The big-city syndrome and all that.... However, over the past 7-8 years, the city has grown over me.

Locale: Hot and humid. Certain areas are fertile agricultural lands that are used for crops. In summers, one needs to bathe at least 3 times a day. Winters are late, and rains unpredictable.

People: 60%-Marwaris and around 40% Bengalis. Bengalis are conservative, intellectual (mostly the urban middle class), and culturally aware. Marwaris-I would better not comment on them. The only thing I would say is-they are the commerce heads of the city.

Festivals: Pujas- I need not mention them, most of you know about them. But not pujas are held not only to deify Goddess Durga; but Kali, Saraswati and Lakshmi as well. Infact, in all the schools of Kolkata, there is a one-month Puja vacation- a privilege that is only enjoyed by students in this city.

Food: If you are a fish-o-holic, then this is the city to be in. Hilsa, Rohu, Koi and loads of other varities. Vegetarians need not grumble. Kolkata's vegetarian preparations are equally delicious. Shukto, Chochori and lal shaag bhaja-to name a few of them.

Things that are not so appealing: One factor that is definitely not appealing to outsiders are 'bandhs.' Kolkata might be the only metro where traffic and life comes to a standstill during bandhs. People decide to sit back in their homes and rest. Children get additional holidays due to bandhs.

My rating of the place: 7/10

Chennai: The city that separated me from my family. Well, I should not be sounding so negative. Had I chosen some other city to pursue higher studies, then I would have said the same thing about that place also. I do not want to disappoint Chennai-ites or other people who like this place. However, this is one of my least favorite places.

Locale: Torrid, hot, dry, scathing summers…okay, okay, I am over-reacting. But as I saw it, it is definitely not a nice weather and locale. But the place boasts of the world’s second largest beach-Marina. There are a few green-spots as well. The city has much recovered from the Tsunami wave recently, one tragic memory added to recent history.

People: Mostly Tamilians, with patches of Teluguites, Kannads and Malayalis as well. Snippets of the ‘Chinkey’ races (could be Chinese, Japanese, and Tibetans etc) are also seen. If I used the word conservative for Bengalis, then I should used the superlative degree of ‘conservative’ for Tamilians in Chennai (Pl, I am only referring to Chennai people and not Tamilians elsewhere). However, they are very culture conscious, very insular and protective about their customs. I will not say that modernity has not found place at all in the city. But people here, retain their tradition in a large manner. Some of them are really nice and helpful.

Festivals: No idea!! Never celebrated any. But Chennai is a city of beautiful temples and architecture.

Food: Most of it is South Indian khana. Idlis, Dosas, Vadas etc. Not that other stuff is not found. Pizza, parantha, biriyanis etc. are also there on the menus.

Things that are not so appealing: Well, I wonder whether I am sounding biased. But as I an outsider, I found two to three things in the city as a major disadvantage-language, rick-drivers and water. Guess what? Both are inter-connected. A place where people hardly speak Hindi is a major drawback. I will not rally sentiments like- Hindi is our national language. I have respects for all other languages-Aryan or Dravidian. However, The anti-Hindi feeling was pretty evident in the city.

Any person who is not a native of the city, should also look out for another thing. Rick drivers. I call them-the bane of Chennai. Foul-mouthed and quarrelsome. I hate to call names like these; but as I mentioned earlier, these guys are the most irritating things around the city.

Another thing that might or might not impact people in the city is the saline water that flows out of the taps. Few of you must have read about all those de-salination projects that are being talked about in Chennai.

My rating of the place: 4/10

Mumbai: Moving on to the ‘commerce capital of India.’ It is a very hectic city. No one has time to pause and breath for a second. People are always on the run.

Locale: Mumbai has a moderate weather. Summers are humid. Winters, I have not seen them yet. Rain-Do I need to say more after all those floods? The city is a concrete jungle, surrounded by buildings on all sides.

People: Helpful, nice and energetic (most of them). Maharashtrians are also protective about their culture, but they do not snigger at others. That is my report of the kind of people I have met or seen. Other than them, the place also has a significant population of Gujjus, Jains, Sindhis and snippets of Goan races.

Festivals: Ganesh Utsav-The most widely celebrated festival of the city. It is escorted with a lot of hype and hooplah. Other than that Dusherra and Navratri is also celebrated with pomp.

Food: Cosmopolitan-shall I say? I did not see anything specifically Marathi other than 'poha'. Restaurants in the city will mostly give you what you want. South Indian, Jain, Punjabi, Continental, Chinese-food is not that much of a problem.

Things that are not so appealing: I need not say it, you all know it-RAINS!!! Heavy and unpredictable. And of course traffic, but that is there is other cities as well.

My rating of the place: 8/10.

I AM BACK...

2005-10-30T04:55:00.000-08:00

Hi guys,

I AM BACK!!!
Well, I might be sounding like the prodigual husband who comes back at the moment when his wife is about to tie the knot with another guy. But believe me! I am very happy to be able to blog after a long time. Few of u might be dissapointed to know that i will not continue that unfinished story for the moment. i would rather like u guys to think of a plausible end for the story. Decide should they meet or should they not. Anyways, missed u guys so much. All these months (while I was away from my dear blog), I was feeling an emotion which I cannot categorise exactly. it was a mixture of guilt, anger and pain. I sound like a estranged lover. But anyways, i am glad to be back. Happy diwali to all of u.

The distraction

2005-06-27T05:19:00.000-07:00

Tired and exhausted, he walked out of his office, towards the parking lot for two-wheelers. It had been a busy day at the office. His colleague, Nadim informed him yesterday about the latest rumours circulating in the office.

“The new promotion list is being finalized, it seems you are in for one. So when do we get our treat?” Nadim had asked.

“Come on yaar! They haven’t announced the list officially as yet,” he shrugged off.

It was almost 6:30 pm, as he started walking out of his office.

‘Two-wheelers to be parked here,’ said a board as he approached the parking lot, which was situated towards the backside of the main building.

Some of his friends thought that it was a luxury to drive on one’s bike everyday to office, covering a distance of 12 kms, both ways.

“You drive from home to office and office to home everyday on your bike, that might be costing a fortune,” asked Shikha, one of his collegues, the other day.

Whenever these people came up with such comments, he used to laugh it off and they would misunderstand him.

“That guy has got so much of attitude.” He overheard one of his colleagues yesterday. All those conversations and remarks buzzed in his ear as he drove back home.

“How ignorant could people be, refusing to accept a person for what he is,” he thought as he drove silently. Evenings were pretty pleasant. The cool breeze kissed his skin, soothing his senses. It always relaxed him, and in a strange way reminded him of his home.

As he speeded across the flyover towards his home, and turned right, he came across the dingy slum. He crossed this slum every morning and evening. It was a complete contrast to the place where he was coming from.

Compared to the neat, sophisticated air-conditioned space, which constituted his office, this appeared to be some kind of a dungeon. These were small chain of small dwellings, huddled together. The people living here were a sharp contrast to the kind of people he interacted with, throughout the day.

The dark surroundings of this area appeared suffocating sometimes, and at other times, mysterious. He used to slow down his bike purposely, whenever he would cross this area. He knew it was a strange habit. But he could not help it. There was this strange attraction he felt towards this area and it squalor.

The slum covered a long stretch on this street. Sometimes while traveling he felt that it would never end. His senses would experience different vibrations simultaneously. It was a synesthetic effect that aroused him. As he went ahead swiftly, he heard a woman screaming cantankerously at some fellow. He could not relate to her tone somehow.

However, as he moved ahead, he saw a bunch of kids from the slum playing in the middle of the street. Their screams and giggles captivated him, every time he would pass through this lane. He did not know why or how they managed to drag him 12 years down the memory line, back to his school days.

Somehow, in their voices, echoed the voices of his classmates who would rush out of the classroom at the sound of the closing bell. While everyone used to pack their bags and walk out quickly with their friends, one boy would remain seated in the second-last bench of the class, silently. He used to do that everyday.

The reason for his delay was standing near the first bench, far away from his bench. A girl stood near the first bench, picking up her books slowly from the desk, ready to leave for home.

He did not know whether she was beautiful or not. He did not know much about girls. Most of the times the girls whom he found beautiful, were the most ordinary ones to his friends. When he saw her for the first time, he could not guess whether his friends would consider her pretty or not. Sometimes, he could not understand why people were not liked for what they are.

But he knew for sure that he felt differently about her than he has ever felt for any other girl. He could not define what he felt for her, but it was certainly something he had never experienced before.

For the past one year, he used to quietly sneak a view at her, from the last bench. It was not that he was bad in studies, because of which he sat at the end of the class. In fact, he was very likable to everyone. His class teacher had told him several times to sit in the front bench.

“Arun, why do you sit at there, come and sit here in the front row, you were the class topper this semester,” his teacher would tell him lovingly.

“No sir, I am fine here, actually I can see the board better from here,” he replied quietly. The girl’s would giggle at his words, and some of the guys would snigger. He could never understand why.

He was not acting modest or anything. In fact he hated when people raised him to a pedestal, and then kept pestering him to perform better and better. His father would force him to stay awake till twelve in the night, during his exams.

The results were clearly reflected in his report card. He stood first most of the times. Everyone would look up to him with awe, as if he was some kind of an extra-terrestrial creature or something. Some of the guys in his class would view him with an expression similar to envy. He had only a few people, whom he could call friends.

He silence sometimes gave some of his classmates the impression that he must one of those typical arrogant guys. He knew about them, and he really wanted to break their illusion. He wanted friends badly but not the ones, who wanted to be with him only to get hold of his notes.

He was tired of being the class topper; he wanted a respite from it. He hated it, when his father would interrupt him, as he would be leaving for the football ground.

“This time your marks were slightly lower in Chemistry. Certain chapters in Geography too need revision. Come back soon from your match, I think we need to work on these two subjects,” said his father.

Somehow he always felt that his life was bonded with conditions. He had to excel in studies, even though he did not want to. He had to be in the good books of the teachers, though he wanted to stay away from them most of the time. He had to be the role model for all other students, as one who could be pointed at as an example, by their parents.

He desperately needed a breather. Hence he made the first move by shifting to one of the last rows in the class. However, his disgust against his star status was not the only reason that made him sit behind everyone.

It was also because; he could steal a glimpse at her from behind. She got into his school a year back. The day he saw her, all his desperation suddenly melted away. God had answered his prayers by sending a very unusual distraction.

He had seen her for the first time, in the library. She was asking the librarian whether he had some good reference book for Economics or not. God bless the fellow, he could not understand which book was being referred to, and therefore he directed her towards him (Arun).

“He is the topper from your class, go and ask him, he would know,” said the librarian.

She walked up quietly to him. At first he did not even realize that someone was standing before him. He was engrossed in his assignment. Suddenly he heard someone cough, as if to attract attention.

He looked up and saw her.

“Hello, I am Nishi. I am new in your class,” she said and paused looking uncertain, as if she did not know what to say next. He waited patiently. She handed him a small shred of a paper, on which the name of a book was written.

“I was searching for this book, I asked the librarian, but he said he has never heard of this book. Can you tell me, where can I get it? Or if there is some other reference book which is better?” she looked at him hopefully.

“I have this book at home, I shall get it for you,” he said. Suddenly, he was amazed at himself. He had never been so spontaneous, when it came to helping people with their notes, books or assignments, before this. He always refrained himself from doing so, in order to escape from all that flattery and superficial comments that they would confer upon him.

But what had happened to him all of a sudden. Why didn’t he react similarly to her? After all, she was also another one of them, asking for his help.

“Are you sure that you can give it to me? I mean I wanted it for the test we have, day after tomorrow. Won’t you need it,” she asked with genuine concern in her voice.

He found himself listening to her voice very intently. He looked up at her eyes. She had light brown eyes, which were filled with concern at that moment. Her voice reminded him of his mother’s voice. Whenever, he would rush in the morning for school without finishing his breakfast, his mother would ask him in a similar tone, that whether so little breakfast sustain him till the lunch break?

“I have read that book several times, so I do not need to read it again. I will get it for you, tomorrow,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, and slowly walked off away from him. After she left, he looked back at his copy and tried to concentrate. But, his mind kept dwindling here and there. He had looked up at her only once.

But her face and voice were registered in his mind. She had a yellowish-wheatish complexion, one that reminded him of fresh corns. He felt weird, but he could not find any other comparison.

The next thing he thought about, were her eyes. He had never paid any special attention to anyone’ s looks before this. But then, she had this fairly large, light brown pair of quizzical eyes. He kept remembering them all the while, he could not understand why.

The next day, he clutched the book that she has asked for protectively in his hand, scared that someone else might ask for it.

When the recess bell rang, people ran out of the class, half in the school playground. Others took their lunch boxes and walked out in a merry mood. Only he was tensed. Somehow, he always thought that thinking makes a person hungry.

Previously when he used to sit and ponder over a problem or sum, after sometime, he always felt like munching something. They had a double math period before the recess bell, but still he was not hungry that day. He walked up to her slowly, and tried his best to hide the tension, which was transparent on his face.

“Excuse me,” he said.

She turned at him.

I wish for…

2005-06-10T05:31:00.000-07:00

Okay folks, this post is a kind of a preface (If I am allowed to call it one), after two of my ‘love’ stories, which I presume most of you found sensible enough. Ideally, this should come after my third story, on which I am working right now. But then, I thought that it is necessary to push this post ahead. The reasons for doing so-I shall discuss one by one as I move ahead with my post.

I was really flattered, when I saw so many comments on my stories. Meanwhile, it was not only the complimentary ones, which I am talking about. Some people revealed their critical outlook, for which I am thankful.

I guess the first story; ‘The Smile,’ deals not only with the idea of falling in love, but also with the theme of wish fulfillment. I guess falling in love with a person and a desire to receive love from them in return, is strongly related to this idea, which many of us nurture.

Its not only about falling in love, but the desire for wish fulfillment, that plays a major role in the formation of many of our emotions. It is concept, which we hear about right from our childhood, when we listen to fairytales, especially the Cinderella story. I do not know how many men such tales affect, but I am sure that girls certainly are affected. Sometimes it may rouse in us, a desire to do something, which we might have never dared to do before.

I can trace a recent example of one of my friend, whose name I will not reveal. Without embarrassing her too much, I would simply say that a meek, reserved and conservative person like her was not the exact image who would strike any of us, when we want to zero-in on some ideal, whom we would like to follow, when it come to the initiation of a amorous relationship.

But then she went ahead and made the first move, in her own dignified manner. The end result is yet to be seen. But since my first story was written before she decided to listen to her heart, I found a strange similarity between her attitude, and the dispositions of the lead females, in both my stories.

I remember some of the comments, where some of you asked that why haven’t the two characters been given more time to understand each other. One such comment, which I specially remember, was by Art, who actually asked that why were the characters not given enough time to understand each other, in the first story.

Another was by Virumandi in the second story, where he clearly refused to accept Anjali’s final step. Please do not misunderstand. I am not complaining, in fact, I genuinely enjoyed these comments, and liked answering them.

While concluding both these stories, I mainly thought about the kind of circumstances I have seen or heard from people. I would not say that I am a fatalist, as far as believing in success of love is concerned. But then, I simply wondered that how many of the real life love stories might actually reach that level, when we say, “…and they lived happily ever after!”

I got loads of comments, which surfaced around one concern. Whether the events I mentioned in the stories draw inspiration from my own life!

Hold your breath! I would say… yes and no. Certain events in the story are definitely reflective what I have seen or heard of. I also got comments on whether the girl in the first story is myself during the college years. I would simply say, that it doesn’t matter whether it was me or not.

What was important is that many people could relate to the character. I was really enthralled by comments like, “such things happened to me,” and the kind. So now finally I will move on to my next story, which will be published in a few days.

And before ending, if any of you have wondered over these two stories, that what could have inspired me to write such stories all of a sudden, I would only say that, well I am getting to see a lot of them around me. So, all the best to all those sneaking eyes, pulsating hearts and hesitant lovers. Hope your real life endings are in no way similar to my stories.

The lines - concluding part

2005-05-30T05:25:00.000-07:00

“Tonight there is a business party, it would be good if you could come with me,” said Sandeep in his usual dispassionate manner. Anjali was used to that tone by now. For him everything was as simple as business. Either it is correct or incorrect, if its not plus, has to be minus, or maybe multiplication or division.

She could not imagine how could she have spent six years of her life with a person who has an utmost clinical temperament. This was not what she wanted. Still now she could not forget those warm sincere eyes, which looked at her and told her that nothing could be wrong with her and that anyone would like her.

She longed to see him once more, just once more! She did not even know where he was now. Six years back, that night when she kept dialing his number frantically, he never answered it.
She went to his home early next morning only to discover a big metallic lock hanging on his front door. He lived alone, she knew that.

“Are you here for Shekhar?” someone had asked her from behind.
She looked at a lady, who peeked her head from a door opposite to Shekhar’s main door, which was now locked to her.

“Yes, could you please tell me where he is? I mean, if you know,” she remembered how she checked her voice, but it gave out the absolute desperation, she was experiencing.

“He left this place, he cleared up his rent and left,” the lady answered.

“Where…do you know?” she asked, even more anxiously.

“No,” the lady answered squarely. But, while answering, she never realized how it would impact her (Anjali). After the lady closed her door on Anjali, she stood there for nearly half an hour, thinking, where could she find him.

She had called up Neha, who was their common friend.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, Neha?”

“Yes, speaking.”

“Do you… do you know where Shekhar is?”

“Shekhar? Why he left this morning for US.”

“US? Why?”

“He got a job there, didn’t he tell you?…. Hello, Hello, are you there?”

“Y..Yeah! I am here, thanks for telling me. So..he won’t come back, is it?” She dreaded to ask the question, as she had already guessed the answer in advance. But still, some little part within her still held a hope that she might hear, something she wanted to hear.

“I don’t know yaar.” The conversation had ended. But Anjali kept standing there for a long time not knowing where to go.

The car stopped with a jerk.

“Are you okay? I mean are you feeling ill or something?” asked Sandeep. Anjali looked at him, dazed for a moment. She never realized when she had slipped into a reverie.

“Ye, yes, I am fine…have we reached?” she asked hesitantly.

“Of course, we have and we are late for the party. I wonder what boss shall think,” said Sandeep impatiently as he parked the car.

The party was being held in a banquet hall of some big hotel. Anjali lost count of the number of people her husband introduced her to and the number of times she exchanged courtesies with each of them.

“Anjali, come I shall introduce you to someone, he has come India to finalize talks about our new joint venture on behalf of his company,” said Sandeep in a hurried manner.

“Sandeep, I am really tired. Could we please leave?” she asked in a wearied tone.

“Of course we will, just after meeting him,” he said.

“What good would it be to your company if I meet him?” she asked, slightly irritated.

“No dear, you don’t understand, its normal courtesy,” he said trying to convince her.

‘Courtesy!’ That word was getting on her nerves now. She looked for a moment at her husband’s face. He seemed so impatient, as if he were ready to beg if she didn’t oblige to his necessity at this moment. But then, she felt strangely triumphant at being able to be of some level of importance from him.

For that fragile moment she experienced some kind of a strange, vicarious pleasure at being able to command his attention for some time.

“Ok, come, but after this we shall leave,” she said firmly.

Her triumph and sense of pride crinkled when she saw the person her husband was so insistent on meeting. A surfeit of emotions emerged transparently on her face – that of pain, fear, confusion, anger and others that she could not explain.
The man looked at her with equal amount of awe.

“This is Mr.Shekhar, he works for …, ” Sandeep went on elaborating on his (Shekhar’s) company, its background, how enterprising it was, and such other details. Anjali had closed her ears to whatever her husband went on saying and kept looking at the person standing in front of her. Everything else around seemed immaterial.

Within her aroused a burning desire to question him, where was he all this while, why did he not inform her that he was leaving. Most of all she wanted to ask him whether he has ever shared even one bit of the agony and desperation she underwent the past six years.

“Anjali, Anjali?”

Her thoughts were interrupted. She looked at her husband, who was in turn staring at her with a pair of confused and curious eyes.

“Anjali, Mr.Shekhar has extended his hand to you,” said Sandeep.

“Hello, Mrs. Verma,” said Shekhar in a subdued tone.

“Hello,” said Anjali. “Can we leave now?” she looked at Sandeep and asked. Somehow her entire tone and face had changed. She never sounded so resolute, so intolerant…so hurt.

Throughout the past six years, Sandeep had never really realized what kind of a woman he has married. He never had any eye for analysis. The only ‘fact’ that was evident to him was, that she was one of the most absent-minded women he had ever been with, who would sometimes get restless without any proper reason.

But, he never could comprehend the cause behind her being so. The only way he explained it to himself was that all individuals are not endowed with similar mental aptitudes.
Though it occurred to him at times that perhaps he should make an attempt to understand her better, that moment of realization was always got lost behind the files, folders and projects that he was assigned in his office.

Throughout their way back home, Anjali as usual did not speak any word to him. But this time, for the first time her attitude got him thinking. Most of the time whenever, he tried to deduce a possible explanation about any problem, he always had depended on the facts available to him.
This time it was difficult as most of the problems he had dealt with so far were strictly based on figures and facts, not some kind of an unknown emotional, well for him a psychological crisis, if the problem has to be viewed from the academic point of view.

He sneaked a glance through the corner of his eye, with his hands on the steering of his vehicle. Anjali was looking out of the window, thinking about something, God knows what.
That night he laid thinking on bed, assembling all the possible ‘facts’ that could possibly lead to a sound justification of Anjali’s strange behaviour at the party, in the evening. Could it be his insistence on her meeting all his business associates? But then she was all well before he …Oh no! could it be….?

“But, why should she take exceptions to Mr.Shekhar?” He kept thinking confused, without being conscious that the whole night Anjali wept, and covered her face with her pillow.
The next morning before leaving for the office he looked at her. Her eyes appeared red.

“Did she not sleep last night, or maybe…?” he wondered.

“Anjali, I am leaving for office,” he started to move, paused for a second as if wanted to ask her something. But somehow he could not bring himself to ask anything. He opened the door to leave.

“Sandeep, we need to talk,” she spoke at last.

He looked at her surprised. Slowly he walked to her, took a chair and sat down. She paused for a moment and started to speak.

“The fellow you introduced me to last night at the party, Shekhar, I have known him before we got married. He lived near my place. I came to now him through a common friend. He was a great friend of mine. He supported me at times when no one was ready to. My family never encouraged me so much as much as he did. When I got a job…, ” she paused and looked at Sandeep. She could not read the expression on his face, but she presumed that it was a mix of confusion and bewilderment.

“I had started liking him more than I liked any man. That was the time when my parents told about you. They were eager to get me married to you. I was not able to tell them about him because they would have never listened to me. I tried to tell him, what I had always felt for him, but he could never learn. He left the country before I could reveal to him what I had felt for him,” she paused again, this time she did not look up to him.

“Yesterday, when you introduced me to him all over again, at first I could not understand what to say to him. But then I didn’t have to say anything, I read it all on his face. His eyes told me what I wanted to hear from him six years back. But now its of no use, had he said it then…,” she refrained from finishing her sentence. Suddenly she felt very exhausted, as if she had accomplished a strenuous task. She stood up and started to walk away. She paused for one last time. Without looking at him she said,

“I said all this to you, because you wouldn’t have ever asked,” She walked away leaving him speechless.

The lines

2005-05-24T03:06:00.000-07:00

Her mother eyed her suspiciously; she tried not to look at her. She continued to look in another direction . Of course, she knew what her mother was trying to indicate through her narrowed eyebrows.

Opposite to her, Sandeep was going on laughing freely with Geeta. Along with Geeta, there were two more women surrounding him, listening to his jokes and laughing boisterously.

“Anjali, what’s going on? Why isn’t Sandeep with you?” her mother whispered to her furtively. Upon receiving no answer, she decided to try her usual stabbing tone.

“It almost looks as if Sandeep is wedded to her, and not to you,” her mother said, thinking that this time her daughter would shed some light on her marital affairs, about which she always chooses to remain perennially silent.

Anjali shot back a piercing glance to her mother, without speaking a word. Her mother slightly intimidated, and half apologetic at having asked her daughter such a question, refrained from asking another question.

Six years back her parents were most insistent for this match.

“You won’t find another match like this, he has done his MBA from IIM, Bangalore. Right now he works in one the most reputed firms there. I heard Mr. Joshi is inviting for dinner tomorrow,” her mother kept repeating the details about his bio-data and job profile to her so many times, that she almost felt like pouring hot oil into her ears and damaging her ear-drums.

“Yes, Joshi has two young girls at his home, both are far better looking than you, what if he ends up marrying one of them?” said her father equally persistent.

“Looks, is it all men care for?” Thought Anjali. She knew the answer. “No, not all of them.” She looked out of the window at looked down at the lane where he was standing with her yesterday.

It was a gloomy day and the sky was pregnant with dark clouds, ready to pour all over again.

“It rained pretty heavily last night, didn’t it?” he asked her.

“Yes, it did. I guess it is going to rain again. If the rain continues for a few more days it would be a problem,” she had replied to him with a worried expression.

As they were walking through the street, the cool breeze soothed their skin. The road was still wet due to last night’s rain. The air was filled with a pleasing and rich smell of the earth, wet with fresh showers.

“What’s the problem?” he asked her, looking concerned.

“Come on Shekhar, tomorrow I have an interview, if I get drenched like this, those people would not even consider hiring me!” she replied, visibly irritated. He chuckled. She felt even more irritated; generally he looked very lovable when he smiled, but right now it appeared as if he was smiling and telling her, that she was a lovable idiot.

“What’s so funny, you seem to like the idea of me not getting a job?” she sounded annoyed.

“No, no, I wasn’t laughing on you, but what makes you think they shall throw you out?” he asked, still smiling in his usual pleasing manner.

“It seems you think all this is a joke, let me assure it is not so, I am not too great looking or something, and when I get drenched, I look like a ghost,” she said in a disturbed tone.

“No, you don’t,” he replied calmly.

“Of course, I do,” she repeated.

“No, you don’t, you can never look like a ghost? Anyone there shall like you the moment they see you and speak to you; no matter whatever state you are in,” he said earnestly. She looked up to his eyes. She had always liked those sincere pair of eyes he had, with that congenial touch in them.

“What makes you think that,” she asked.

He did not reply back, but simply smiled. She had thought about him the entire night that day, while it rained outside. Within her body, she could feel a strange mix of anticipation and joy.

“Did he indeed mean what he said?” she kept thinking. Shekhar and she had lived in the same colony. She had met him through a common friend. Anjali was not the kind who would befriend men so easily.

Her parents had taken every care that she always sticks to their conservative Hindu upbringing, one that was based on regimented strictures for men and women in the family.

However, Anjali had chosen to be a rebel. Where her cousins decided to end their educational careers with a mere B.A , Anjali had a additional degree of chattered accountancy, along with the ones her cousins already had.

“That’s it! You do not need any more degrees, it is already difficult to get a match for you in our caste,” her mother bombarded out of frustration the other day. To her utter dismay, her daughter declared that she was planning to go for a job interview.

Her mother had looked at her as if she had murdered someone. Nobody spoke to her for nearly a week at home. The day her appointment letter arrived, a silent mourning was observed at home.

Earlier they were not speaking to her. Now they stopped looking at her.

“Where should I go, what should I do?” she felt like breaking her head against the wall. Suddenly the phone rang.

“He.. Hello?” She asked, scared that it was one of her relatives ready with their stinging comments. She knew they were purely jealous, but she could not tolerate their words all the time.

“Hi dear, why do you sound so scared? Do I sound like a mafia?” a voice answered on the other end.

Her eyes brimmed up with tears of joy, it was Shekhar.

“Hello? Hey what happened? I am not the mafia, seriously! I just called to congratulate dear. You got the job, right?” he asked.

She felt so elated and grateful. Someone was happy about her job. Someone was congratulating her. Minutes rolled by as they spoke. It seemed that her tears would never stop; only this time they were tears of happiness.

Shekhar had a great sense of humour. She held her tummy tight, it was aching, and she had laughed so much. She had never developed this amount of liking for anybody. But, she practically liked everything about him.

“But, does he think the same about me? Should I ask him?” She was confused and every time she met him, a constant tussle would ensue between her doubts and desires. Her puritanical upbringing, though could not gain complete hold over her, yet it could not eradicate the kind of hesitations and constraints she felt within herself at times.

Sometimes she felt that it would be ideal that he proposes to her. But soon she realized that things have to be initiated, by her. If earlier her parents were merely hinting at the match from Bangalore, now they were hounding her to succumb.

Every night she could feel strange convulsions in her mind, fits of tension and some kind of an unknown fear. Some remote part within herself told her, that she should hurry.

Her fears were confirmed, when she came back home from office one afternoon and her mother introduced her to a bunch of guests who were seated in the drawing room. Among them was a young guy; they called him Sandeep. He was an MBA from IIM, Bangalore.

That night she kept trying Shekhar’s phone again and again. It kept ringing, and with every ring her anxiety increased. Her parents would never understand, her younger sister was a bigger concern for them, as her father was fast approaching retirement. They would not settle this time without getting her married, and she won’t be able to stop them.

“Anjali? Anjali? What happened?”Anjali woke up with a jerk and looked. A pair of spectacled eyes looked down at her.

“Yes, I guess I just…,” she started to speak.

“Oh! Okay, come we will go back home,” said Sandeep, dispassionately. As they were driving back home, Sandeep spoke about all kinds of things, about his superiors’ remarks about him in the office, most of which were complimentary; about plans in his office to sent one of its employees on a foreign tour, which might be him; and last but not the least, about his colleague’s wife, who was looking very pretty and presentable, the other day in the boss’s party.

To be contd…

A sequel

2005-05-20T01:47:00.000-07:00

She could not even realize that her first year in college was nearing its end. Throughout, all these months, she had fallen in love with the place.

She always knew about her fascination regarding old and archaic things...whether it is buildings or paintings.

However, she could never forget her first day in college…her tripping off the broad wooden steps, and then he came and extended his hand to her.

“Are you alright?” His words rang in her ears till now. It followed her whenever she was in distress.

“Vikas? Vikas what? What is his surname? There are 4 Vikas’ in our class,” her senior told her, when she had asked timidly, whether anyone called Vikas studied in her class.

She sneaked during the college fest and managed to take a look at all the Vikas.’ “No, that’s not him. Where is he?” she thought desperately.

“Look dear, it is very difficult to find your prince charming now in such a huge engineering college campus, anyways, why do you want to meet him now?” her friend enquired her.

She did not have any answer for that question. Why should she be looking for him now? She didn’t know. After that day she had tried tracing him innumerable times in the college campus, but could never catch another glimpse of him.

“So strange! How could a man so suddenly disappear… as if he never existed? How could he have disappeared after extending his hand to her so helpfully, at least he could have come back once more just to see whether she has found the classroom or not, which he had pointed to her.

“Fool! Have you gone mad?” Her brains rattled and intervened the string of tender thoughts crossing her heart.

As college life was nearing an end, she felt a heavy burden weigh upon her heart; she would miss this place so much! In his absence, she used to sit under those big shady trees in the campus and do her Practical assignments.

However, never could she once concentrate on the assignments for a long stretch. Whenever she tried to do so, a thought would sneak its way through those complicated formulas prescribed in her textbook. The thought of him smiling and looking at her, with his hands extended towards her.

On the day of the farewell, she was sitting quietly at one corner looking at the people around her. Everyone was laughing, joking…they were all so happy! Why couldn’t she mingle with this crowd? As always, she never knew the answer to this.

She looked around, bored. Her eyes traveled from one corner of the hall to another. Suddenly! A face very familiar to her pierced her wearied attention. She stood up and moved forward, gradually pushing the sea of people who were obstructing her way.

As she moved forward, the voice also sounded familiar. Yes, it was the same voice, which had so gently asked her, “Are you alright?”

A sudden shiver ran down from her neck right to the end of her spine. She felt a funny excitement in her stomach as if someone was tickling her tissues from inside. She could feel the same sensation which she had felt that day, that of her palms sweating out of tension.

She could associate all these vibrations to only one thing. “HIM! It was him!” Her mind jumped with joy.

He had his back towards her, chatting with a friend of his. At first, he could not realize how close she was standing, just behind him. But then suddenly, he felt uncomfortable, as if he’s being watched.

He turned around, she tried to smile. He looked at her, bewildered.

“Er! Hi there,” he said hesitantly. “Do I know you?” he asked.

“I…um, err..I am, I mean..I , I ..,” she made vain attempts. What was happening? Why couldn’t she say something, she had waited for this day so long. “What kind of an idiot am I?” she thought.

“Yes?” He appeared even more perplexed.

“I..I..I found class room 15 that day,” she blurted.

At first he appeared confused and stupefied, then his features started easing up, his facial muscles slowly resumed to their normal state and a thin smile crept on his lips.

“Oh! Yes, now I remember, so you found the class? I was..,” he started to speak but at that moment, he felt a hand on his shoulders.

“God Vikas! You made me wait so long, I was waiting near the car for you to come, and you told me you would come in 5 minutes!” It was the same girl whom she had seen that day, the same features, tall, slim, dressed in a tight body hugging dress. This time her hair was dyed golden.

“Yes, I was about to come, but…,”

“Oh come on now! Lets hurry. You promised me we would go for a dinner at Taj, then you promised to take me to the nightclub,” she said obstinately.

“Yes, doll! I remember, I was just having a smoke with a friend,” he replied irritated.

“But, what took you so long?” the girl cried.

“My friend told me about this nice new pub nearby,” he said.

“What are we waiting for, come let’s go!” she said eagerly.

“Doll, nightclub, smoke, pub!” These were not the words she identified him with. Whenever she had thought about him over the past four years, she only thought about his gentle voice telling her where classroom 15 is…and his beaming face with that reassuring smile on it.

“Something was wrong, this couldn’t be that man!” She thought. This man sounds so different, so strange…so alien!”

She never realized when the other girl had dragged him along with her. She returned back to the corner where she was sitting quietly, before she had spotted him.

She felt something strange within her. She could nowhere relate this feeling to the one; she felt when she saw for the first time. Silently, she moved of the hall. The noises in the hall behind her started to fade away in the air, as she moved farther away from it.

As the distances between her and the building increased, she was haunted with several thoughts. Some of them were old ones, which had preoccupied her mind after she met him. Others, that were formed recently…one’s which left within her a strange hollow, disillusionment.

She stopped and turned around to take a last look at her college building. Hot tears rolled down her cheek. Somehow, she always knew, this was the place for her. Its dark rooms and antiquated surroundings had always sheltered her thoughts…comforted them, nourished them.

But the people? They were never hers. “They never can be mine,” she thought as she walked away from the place.

The smile

2005-05-18T03:38:00.000-07:00

It was the her first day in college. She was slightly nervous, but more excited to experience a new world altogether.

As she stepped into the narrow corridors of the college building, her heart skipped a beat. It was a huge campus..the building has been there for more than 100 years now. Everything about it (the building) had a kind of antic feeling about it. The huge windows with those old shutters, the blackboards smeared with impressions of chalk writings over the years, the desks and chairs devoid of the sweet smell of fresh polish, which they had when they first entered this building....

"The crowd however, is a stark contrast to the senile college building; bright, vibrant, bustling with energy, and possessing every quality youth brings along with it," she thought.

But somehow she felt more attached to the place, than people in it. Perhaps, it could be attributed to the fact that she herself was more conservative and simple, unable to pick up her friends who followed all the latest fashion trends in the market.

As she walked amidst the wild crowd, a numbness came over her. She felt her palms were sweating, she clutched her copies tightly. She could hear a few giggles behind her back, which raised her nervousness several notches up. She pushed her glasses up her nose and kept walking.

"Whom should I asked?" she thought, utterly confused and slightly scared. In her confusion she failed to notice the stairs in front of her."WHAM!" she fell with a thud. It was followed by a huge roar of laughter behind her back.

She tried to stand up, ashamed, with tears in her eyes. She started looking for her copies, which had scattered all around.

"Here, take them," a hand extended the copies to her. She looked up to see a guy smiling gently at her. He pulled her up with his other hand. She felt something strange within her,as if something had suddenly changed.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes,Thanks." she said quietly.

"Mention not," he replied.

"Could you tell me...," she trailed off as she caught a glimpse of his gentle reassuring smile, "Where is class room 15?"

"Oh! you simply have to go straight along this corridor, it is towards the end of this corridor," he said.

"Vikas! I was searching for you all over the place, what are you doing here?" cried someone from behind her.

She looked behind her and saw a tall, slim girl in jeans and a tight sleevless t-shirt walking towards them. She had dyed her in some strange shade of red.

Come, we will go," he said and started walking along with the girl.

She started walking in the opposite direction towards the end of the corridor where he had pointed out class room 15 to her. For a moment she paused and looked behind, for just one more glimpse of that reassuring face with that gentle smile on it.

The tale of a city

2005-05-13T23:36:00.000-07:00

Hi folks, if any of you have been wondering what kept me away from my blog for so long...then let me wipe off all your curiosity. Finally, I have landed in Mumbai, for those who do not know why; I have got a job in this city.
A week ago, when I landed on the airport my first concern was to see how the city was...moreover, I wanted to get that feel of being in this city.
Some people believe, Mumbai is this magical city full of life and colour! A city having some kind of magnetic quality.
Alas! I guess the pull of gravity is more stronger in my case, the magnetism of Mumbai (i.e, if it has any), did not succeed in attracting me. In fact I wondered what is so magnetic about this city?
When I was moving in a cab capturing the wide landscape of the city through my eyes, it appeared as normal to me or sometimes, even more crowded, suffocating and busy than my hometown, Kolkata.
My parents were also with me, mainly because they wanted to ensure that they could relieve me of one of the main problems which thousands of people face in this city...that of accomodation.
Having lived in Chennai for ten months before this, I can say that there is no place like home. So I did not expect much out of this city, where as it is, having a roof over one's head is a substantial problem!
But then more than a problem it is this sense of insecurity and confusion that plagued me when I was hunting for a place to stay in, in this city.
Brokers are one of the most common links to an accomodation, but they come with huge price tags."If you have to live in Mumbai, you cannot keep thinking about all these," I told myself.
Apartments seem to be the costliest of all..when you hear the rentals which are demanded of you, you almost wish that you owned a house of your own in Mumbai.
Come next- working women's hostels!Every hostel would hand over their prospectus to you which would specify the various rules and regulations of the place...fair enough. Now comes the turn of piles of certificates they demand from you.
At one place they wanted character certificates from at least three authoritative sources. I wondered whether the certificates are indeed a parameter to judge a person's nature...even you have those papers tucked away in your drawer..will it guarantee that the girl you are providing a room with shall not start smoking, drinking tomorrow?
If people have a normal timings, say a ten to five job...lucky you! Media guys like us cannot specify what time would we be back, so you need to have an addtional letter with you from your office. All these measures ensure the reputation of the hostel.
I wonder whether these people ever think that the girl who has to stay for late hours in the office and then return back to her hostel/ apartment at late hours in the night alone...herself feels so insecured?
Secondly, none of them would guarantee an accomodation..you will have to wait for atleast a month, and if there is vacancy, they would let you know.
Though people would argue Mumbai is one of the safest cities in india for women (some even say 'on earth'), I personally would say everything seems apparently good until you surf deeper waters.
Finally the broker took us to a pg accomodation. An old Sindhi lady, a widow, with no men in her house, who was ready to lend out a bed to me.
She spoke very warmly when we went to her place. Everything seems so nice, an ideal accomodation! But then when you question relatives and other hostels their immediate response would petrify you.
"See, if the person is not known to you, or is not a close relative..we advise you not to get her into a pg. I am saying this because we have had girls who have come here with tears in their eyes. These girls had been living in pg's before but they faced such horrible circumstances there that they had to run away!" said the warden of a reputed working women's hostel in Mumbai to me and my parents.
I got sleepless nights the first week when I arrived in this city! Fortunately for me, one of my cousin's knew the lady who gave out a room for pg, quite well.
So I moved in safely and am safe till now. But every night I wonder how many new women might have entered this city without a house of their own, plagued by similar fears, which haunted me a few weeks back!

Divine chord!!

2005-04-29T23:10:00.000-07:00

God is in me
Originally uploaded by amr_sk.

People who are atheists might laugh at this particular post considering it to be a sham but since, I am not one therefore this question has intrigued me over many years now. I remember when I was young, or for that matter, why me, when all of us are young, sometime or the other you might have heard from your parents, that God answers our prayers, if its done with full devotion.

I must agree till date God has answered most of my prayers in a fruitful manner. The thing that intrigued me, and does so till now is a question. My question might sound funny...but then it is thought provoking, at least according to me. I certainly knew when for the first time I prayed, that I am not the only one praying at that minute, millions of people all over the world must be offering their prayers.

Some might be thanking Him for his kindness, whereas the majority might be complaining about their shortages or maybe, asking for some wish fulfillment. No offence meant. I too, generally fall in the category that stands in the queue for wish fulfillment. So with such a long queue of wishes, how does He decide which one to grant and which one to deny, how to fulfill it, and most importantly how does he manage to hear all those prayers.

There are people who believe that He is present within all of us, so when we pray he listens to all the individual prayers from within our souls. Well, maybe a plausible theory, but then isn't it too much of pressure. A mass of people praying together, It's silly to think like that but doesn't it cause confusion!

"Come on! HE is God after all, no mortal," that's the answer I am bound to get from my grandparents. So how does the entire system of divine telecommunication work? I know I am thinking on extremely materialistic terms, but then it bewilders me. Well, on normal days its still ok, but imagine the kind of overload that HE must be facing on days when religious festivals are held! India is the finest example any day; you have large number of Hindu festivals each dedicated to a certain deity. People pray more rigorously on those days. So I wonder what must God be doing on such days. However, non-idol worshippers will definitely differ in their views.

I have a funny feeling that most of the communities who adhere to idol worship, believe that each idol is a representative of God in miniature and in their house it is responsible for bringing happiness and peace. So, in shortcut, it is a designation of duties, is it?

Recently I saw this movie (though in parts) called 'Bruce Almighty,' where Jim Carrey takes over as God and receives all the prayers through a laptop! A whiz kid God I must say.

What about those who want their wishes to fulfill quickly than others? Have you heard people in temples saying, "Please get my husband promoted to the post of General Manager in the company, I will offer 10 coconuts at your feet, Oh Lord!" Hmm! 'Bribing All Mighty?'

Through their little eyes

2005-04-25T23:56:00.001-07:00

Go back several years down the memory lane, when you did not know how to blog, or to write mails…when you did not even know how to speak. Can you recall those initial years of your lives? When, you were laid in a pram, and through your little eyes you watched and wondered, what those little colourful balls (maybe, balloons) were, tied at the head of your pram.

Now it might be difficult to recall that phase of our lives, but little did we wonder that we ruminated as deeply about things then, as we do now, having gained full consciousness? Most psychiatrists, biologists and doctors claim that babies, (below one year of age) cannot think…or rather do not have the power to do so, on its own.

In fact, I had read in one of my school textbooks, that babies essentially cry for everything they need. That is the only mode of communication they have. The reason why they recognize their mother before anyone else is that most of the time when they cry, their mothers look to their needs.

However, the other day I saw this programme on Discovery channel, which in a way amazed me to a certain extent. Some Researchers and biologists claimed that babies below one year of age are perfectly capable of recognizing different people. Not only that they have the memory to identify a person whom they have seen before.

In order to prove their claim, they showed this baby about 5-6 months in age. Its mother took it to some super market where they met with some old acquaintance of theirs. All of a sudden, the man saw the baby, and made a face to it by sticking out his tongue playfully.

The kid appeared amused and observed carefully when the man did so. Next time when the mother took her baby to the same place and met up with the same acquaintance, this man stuck out his tongue again at the babe.

Surprise! After a short pause, the kid too showed him its tongue, an indicating that it recognizes the man. Apart from this, if I use my personal experience from my childhood, I have often heard my mother saying that "you ate bitter gourd merrily when you were a baby, I do not understand why do you avoid it now?" I guess even in my early formative years, when I did not know that 2 and 2 add up to four, I could clearly differentiate between what I liked and what I disliked eating.

This was definitely not to illustrate how intelligent I was as a baby, but to establish that babies aren't mere dummies and that they can 'think'! I wonder whether this explains why some of them cry when strangers (who at that point could be your uncle, aunt, or someone whom you might not have seen as frequently as your mom or dad) lift them from them from their parents' lap.

I am sure many of you will have different opinions to offer in this respect. Those who are already parents, or parents 'to be,' any revelations?

2005-04-25T23:56:00.000-07:00

smiling babe

Help please!

2005-04-24T05:26:00.000-07:00

Ok folks at first I was taking this easy...but now I am completely confused. This might sound funny to some of you but I am finding it difficult to post pictures along a certain post. The thing is that I do not want to post a solo pic, but I want it along with a certain post, at specific areas of the post. I downloaded 'Hello Bloggerbot' but it is not posting pics along with a particular post, rather it publishes the pictures as a separate post. I am at my wits end. Fellow bloggers proficient in posting pics along your posts, kindly HELP!!

"Cheese Balls in sugar syrup!"

2005-04-19T08:06:00.000-07:00

I remember, last week when my mother was starting from Kolkata to Chennai, she asked me on phone, “Do you want me to get something for you and your friends?” I did not have any personal choices of my own, since the joy of returning home was itself too comforting, greater than anything else.

I therefore looked at my friends and asked them if they would like to have something from Kolkata. They turned at me delighted and said in one voice, “Can she get Rasgullas?” Mom heard it on phone and started laughing.

When she came to Chennai, as per my friends’ requests she brought a small tin can with the label of ‘K.C. Das’s Rasgullas’ on it. You guys must be wondering whether this is another one of retrospective speeches…all those weepy and ‘senti’ things about how I felt for home etc.

Wait, Wait…it is not about all that. Well, I must give credits for this post to one of my fellow-bloggers – Saranyan. His interest in Rasgullas aroused me as well, to write on K.C Das’s Rasgullas.

For those of you who are unaware, what is a Rasgulla , I am providing a definition which I found basic, as well as, interesting in a site – “Cheese Balls in Sugar Syrup!” “This is a classic and very popular Indian sweet from Bengal made for special occasions and usually served cold. This is a very sweet dessert.”

Those who are wondering how it looks, well, it is a sugary-white, soft and sweet, syrupy ball, that slowly breaks into your mouth and releases all the sweet fluids within it. It is a traditional Bengali delicacy loved not only in Bengal but in other parts of India as well.

K.C Das and Sons were the first makers of this sweet, and it is to their credit that Rasgullas today are popular in Calcutta and in other parts of the country. Recently I heard that they patented their Rasgullas. Considering that they were the first to discover this delicacy, I wonder whether that could be contended.

For people who want to know more about K.C Das and the story of Rasgulla, I hope this link proves useful - http://www.bengalonthenet.com/puja/php/display.php?sec_id=10&sub_sec=8

I cannot give you the exact recipe, according to which K.C Das and Co. follow. But I found this recipe in the net – http://www.cuisinecuisine.com/Rasgulla.htm
Try it out and then let me know how the Rasgullas are. If they taste good, don’t forget to invite me.

Ps. I remember Saranyan asked me to load pics as well, problem is I don’t know how to…anyone to guide me?

Returning to my roots

2005-04-12T11:42:00.001-07:00

The plane was about to land. We were instructed by the pilot to tighten our seat belts. I was waiting desperately for the plane to land. It has been ten months since I left my home and had gone to Chennai to study.

It would be however wrong to say that I did not get a vacation in between. I had come home for a short while in December, but then there was this feeling that I will have to go back again. This time too, I have come for a short while, as very soon I will be leaving for Mumbai. Moreover, this time I do not know the date when I shall return. Because this time I have got a job in Mumbai.

I looked out of the window as the plane gradually slided down to land in the city of joy, Kolkata. It was seven in the evening, and the city from several feets above the earth looked like a star-spangled sky. Some of these stars were twinkling as well.

Suddenly something knocked me inside my head and said, " Wake up! You are not dreaming, this ain't no universe, no star-spangled sky or anything. Those are lights in the buildings, which you consider as stars from the plane. And those twinkling ones are headlights of some car…so stop romanticizing!"

"Okay, Okay." I told myself. My practical side had already started to caution me. As I finally came out of the airport and started back the journey to my home, several thoughts crossed my head. I have repeated this several times, but I am doing so once again. Its comparatively easier, for a person who has stayed all his life away from home, to give in to his practical self.

However, this was the first time when I had moved out of home to Chennai. Therefore, the nostalgia takes over me. It seems as if yesterday I had gone to Chennai to do a ten-month course in journalism. Today I am back home. Soon I would be working as a professional in a firm, being paid for the assignments I would do (something unprecedented).

As I stepped into my sweet little home after ten months, I started praying instantly that this period should never end, that each day extends to 48 hours, that the days should become longer than summer months…so that I get more time to spend in this space, with my loved ones, my family.

Do I sound too senti? can't help…My eyes are actually filled with tears. Just the day before,i.e. was my second last day in Chennai, we had this nasty fight with one of those roguish rick-drivers. The fight had summoned a crowd around us and it was a humiliating experience overall. For a moment I felt sick of Chennai at that point (Sorry, Chennai lovers, but it is not any personal feelings against your city, its just the treatment an outsider gets at times, that stings..).

So today I feel like I have left all that behind, all those horrible experiences seem to be a thing of past. The very air around my house soothed my senses and whispered to them, "its ok, you are home now, you are home now…."
I can already imagine the pain that would take over as soon as I move to Mumbai again. This time there is no fixed date of return to home. Still, I feel like living all my life within this brief span of time..I feel like living an eternity in this few weeks at home.

Life's feast...which i missed!

2005-04-03T21:42:00.000-07:00

Okay so enough of whining, now time for some good things to come. I am sorry for making another reference to my illness, but can you guys name one thing whichyou all missed whenever you have fallen ill? For me it is food, the food that I love.

If you hear my list of favorites you shall frown saying, "thats junk!" (Well, atleast those of you who are health conscious). But, I got reminded of those warm cheesy pizzas at Spencers, and that nice chocolate plugged Cornetto in the stores.

Bengalis have this lust for fishes like 'Hilsa', 'Rohu' and 'Chingri' (prawns). When cooked with mustard paste and spices it tastes like heaven on earth. Besides there are other favorites of mine as well, pomfret covered dipped in egg paste and finely covered bread crumbs- fried, yumm!!

Guess what? I think I am feeling homesick. My mom cooks all this stuff too well. So I am just waiting to reach home. And yes, I miss her palak paneer as well, the thick rich luscious green gravy with white and fresh pieces of paneer which melts into your mouth, as soon as, you eat it.

In case you guys are wondering I am a glutton..well, let me tell you that staying away from home-made food for ten months would make one out of anyone. We have this 'Bong' pattern of eating ... hot steamy rice with a spoon of white mustard paste and a little bit of oil in it...tastes yum!

Then ofcourse when my mom cooks that mutton curry of hers, red and thick in colour with a spell-binding aroma, I simply feel tempted. All this and more...I am already missing Kolkata.

Apathy as it sets in...

2005-04-03T03:12:00.000-07:00

Finally I am back, our site is ready and goes up on Monday. I am feeling much more relaxed today. But before I move on to the nicer things in life there one thing about which I would like to dedicate this post on - The apathy among administrative authorities in Chennai, and maybe elsewhere in the world.

I know, to most of you this topic about government and stuff might sound boring, but then this is one sector which crosses all our lives everyday.I realised the fact when I began to work with Anu on our investigative project (ip), which was based on libraries in Chennai.

Now before you start thinking that I have started whining a lot after my sickness, let me assure you I won't take long. But, yes I was not too well during the course of the IP and we had to go out in the sun everyday. On top of it, when people refuse to give information or show disinterest in the topic, you feel defeated.

I would give one example - we surveyed the Corporation school libraries in Chennai. In one of the schools where we went, the headmistress appeared to be some kind of prehistoric entity, in her most inert and lethargic state.

When we asked her whether her school had a library, she first frowned and looked at us as if she has heard the word for the first time in her life. Later, when she finally realised what we meant, she told us that they have a cupboard of books for a library. Very soon she got tired of our questions and called in the incharge of the 'cupboard of books' to speak to us.

The man does not know what to answer. So he restricted his answers to 'yes' and 'no'. For instance if asked..

Q-"sir, do you plan to expand your library?"
A -"Er..Yes, I guess so."
Q-"So, have you sent a proposal to the corporation for the expansion?"
A-"Yes,...er..wait..(asks the headmistress)yes, I guess we have."

The Corporation fellows are worse. Whenever you go to them for some information, they would look at you so suspiciously, as if your face resembles some criminal who is missing and whose posters are out there on street.

Or, they would simply direct you the person who is seated in the adjacent desk. This is nothing. The biggest turmoil for them is when you ask them about the funds invested behind the school libraries.One corporation guy who consented to speak to us asked us hundreds of questions before he finally answered our questions.

"Where are you from?" he asked.We handed him our letter from the college authorities which assured them that we are college students who just need some information for a college project. The man read the letter again and again,I don't know how many times, as if it were some secret encoded document, with a code which he is trying to reveal.

Finally he spoke, on a lot of requests (you cannot insist them unless you already have a job in a local daily) he divulged a minuscule bit about funds.

I hope I am not speculating, but it seems to a typical attitute with the government authorities in Tamil Nadu. The Jayalalitha effect - is it?

Stress increases..!

2005-03-29T01:33:00.000-08:00

Ok, so I have dared to login and post inspite of the deadline I assigned for myself this week. My IP seems to be hanging still. Am I sounding too personal? Yes, I am. Can't help, past few days have been 'HELL'! The scorching heat outside was not enough, a bout of viral fever accompained it.

Don't think I am trying to gather sympathy, but those of you who have had to work strenously during periods of ill health might understand. Anyways, I am on my way to recovery. I do not know how many of you missed my posts, but I can assure you, I definitely missed writing throughout all these days. Two more days...Final solution on the way..end of IP (if I dare call it one, again).

So bye guys, those of you who manage to drop in, promise I will try and be back soon (irrespective of the fact whether or not you guys are waiting for me, or not).

Heavy stress

2005-03-22T21:38:00.000-08:00

The pigeons were not enough for adding to my woe. We have a college which adds further to it. Well guys, I feel like killing myself while stating this - but this week and the week to follow, my active blog would somewhat become passive. Reason- I have my Investigative Project to work on. I will however try and drop in my comments whenever I get a shred of time. Till then Sayonara, stay well and keep blogging! hmppp!!

My Fellow Inmates -who excrete their rent!

2005-03-20T23:14:00.000-08:00

Cautionary Warning - This for people who are animal lovers, the creature whose antics and activities I am going to describe in this post is not of a friendly nature, so it is perfectly natural that you might find this post offending. My advice to you is think before you start reading.

My warning is also to people who are only lovers, and consider the creature to be some kind of eternal messenger of love, incapable of causing harm to anybody. I would say, high time we reconsider facts. Please read with your own discretion.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Do I sound formidable? If I do, believe me there has to be a very good reason for it.This post is different from the other posts that I have written so far mainly because I am not dedicating it to a serious issue or a topic that interests me, but to a pertinent problem that has been worrying me off late.

I am sure when I start explaining the nature of my problem, half of you might hold your tummies tight and laugh your lungs out or some of you might simply advise me to, "grow up!"

I would prefer to ignore any of the mentioned reactions to this post as this point of time as I am plain, "FRUSTRATED!" Ok, Ok enough of whining (something that I myself detest). Lets get straight to the problem. PIGEONS! I never thought they could be so irritating.

It has been nearly 9 months since I have been living in an apartment with 4 of my college classmates, in Chennai. We are doing a course in journalism, most of the weekdays we stay out of hostel, therefore the weekends are a kind of supposed respite from work (we have separate assignments for weekends). Also it means home-cooked food (which is mostly prepared by me).

In these 9 months we have had little teeny-weeny problems with one of our flatmate, (I mentioned her one of my previous posts). But these inmates (pigeons) have started causing disturbance only recently, and I must say they are definitely more irritable.Wondering how? Let me explain.

There is this circular opening in our kitchen, I guess it is a space where one can fix an exhaust fan or some pipe or something, of that kind. It has now become an opening for these creatures to repeatedly flutter in and flutter out of the kitchen, when I am cooking.

Now our gas stove is placed right under the opening. So when these 'benevolent and peaceful' creatures flutter in, their feathers and other stuff (you know what I mean, don't you, read the title?), drop right on the stove. Now imagine me cooking something on the stove, maybe my favorite dish, and it getting garnished with pigeon feathers and I hate to say this, pigeon excreta!

So everytime, I am cooking I have to keep my ears and eyes open and constantly keep looking up to see that my fellow inmates don't plan to fly over my food stuff.A pain in the neck, literally and otherwise also.

Some of you might contend saying, "Why not shift the position of the gas to another place?" Well, thanks to the short gas pipe we have, the thing cannot be moved an inch from where it now rests.

I was still slightly relaxed, most of these fellow inmates of mine tend to restrain themselves from their flying exercises when they see me staring at them, ready to shoo them off.Yesterday, one of these fellows decided to show his/her guts to me.

I was under the gas, cooking (you might have guessed), when this fellow suddenly stoops down and stared at me from the hole above. I felt a slight unease, a feeling of being watched closely and looked up instinctively.

The fellow stared directly into my eyes. After sometime it dissapeared. However, as my senses were returning to a normal state, the fellow suddenly zoomed down right over the gas and my head, and landed on the kitchen floor right before me.

It nicely strolled in front of my eyes at a distance of 2 foot steps on the floor, pluming its feathers proudly.As I started to run behind it, it walked off gracefully and flew out through the verandah which is right next to the kitchen.

Now, this fellow decided to do something remarkable. It perched back on the opening above me and zoomed down again, and flew out of the verandah again.This continued repeatedly for some time. His antics almost reminded of those sliders we have in chidren's parks where, you climb up, then slide down and then run back to que up again for another slide.

I ran for a lid for my curry every time his majesty decided to try his aerial powers.When my friend returned home and asked me why was I upset, upon knowing the reason, she did what few of you might be doing now, that is to laugh.

After some time she came up with this brilliant idea/joke that since pigeons are commonly known as messengers of love, they might have brought a message from some distant admirer. I would have been flattered had I not been really agitated.

To be very frank if it would had really been the case (that of a distant admirer), I would gone and thrashed the guy up for ruining my curry, with those love birds of his. Anyways, till now the situation is not very much under control, I do not what to do...if anyone has any suggestions to make, feel free to do so.

Byways, the two categories of people whom I left a warning for, right at the beginning, please consider my condition (and plight, if I may be allowed to say so) before commenting.

The 'K' series

2005-03-17T22:29:00.000-08:00

I do not how many of you (as I am not sure whether hindi serials are as popular in South as they are in the other parts of the country), watch the 'K' series. For those who do not know, 'K' series is a popular denotation for the Balaji brand of serials always starting with the letter ' K '.

I remember few years back when they launched a serial called ' Kyunki Saans bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi, '(When translated -'Since the mother-in-law was also a daughter-in-law some time back' ), the entire nation, and mostly women (maximum housewives, dadimas etc) glued themselves to their T.V sets and watched eagerly.

I shall not conceal the fact that when the serial began I too was an avid watcher but over the time the serials lost their charm. Today I am fed up of an excessive 'K' dose and also the 'J' dose( ' Jassi jaisi Koi Nahin ' ). But I know people who still watch such serials religiously.

Somehow, even these serials are altogether a different breed from the serials like 'Bold and the Beautiful' or for that matter 'Santa Barabara,' which were launched by Star,when for the first time they came to India. I definitely do not mean that the english variety showcased by Star plus then, was very different from the hindi variety they are feeding their audiences now.But the cultural dose is definitely different - in the sense, you shall not find those extended rituals, colourful 'zardosis' etc. in the english variety.

However,in a way, all these serials somewhere, share the same platform. A ultra-rich family of businessmen, a scheming mother, a good-hearted father (or vice-versa), a handsome son (most of the times-the hero) with a heart of gold (surprisingly his mother's genes never gets into him!), a middle-class girl, who cakes up her face with make up (and looks good enough for the handsome guy to fall for her), a house full of aunts, uncles, cousins (too much of population expansion!Phew!).

Then came along a slightly different variety, a year back I guess- called 'Jassi Jaisi koi Nahin' (translation again - ' There is no one like Jassi ,').Heard the tale of 'The ugly duckling?' Well, Jassi is somewhat a similar story, which seemed refreshing at first but now it is as stale as possible (according to me, i.e.).

However I still keep wondering what fetches these serials viewers. Certain common and recurrent trends that could be noticed among most of these serials are catalogued below.Feel free to contradict if you guys do not agree:

1. Most of the serials ( ' K ' series and the like ) have the guiy from a rich family and the girl from a middle-class family.

2.Most of the times the Guy's mother is the villian, she rejects the girl as she wants her son to marry the girl whom she likes ( who later turns out to be the villian most of the times).

3.The heroine is most of the time "adarsh" ( cultured, rooted in values) and "sanskari" (rich in her principles), opposed to the vamp (mother's choice, aha!), who hates the guys' huge family, and wants him to break apart from it. Byways, some of our old hindi films are similar in this respect- I don't now whether you folks have heard of this movie- 'Dulhan Wahi Jo Piya Man Bhaye?' (Translation - 'The Perfect bride is the one whom the Guy likes'). Don't get scandalised I have simply heard about the movie and not seen it.

4.Suddenly in between the story goes off track - the guy might killed and the family mourns for a temporal period, immediately after that - plans for the heroine's remarriage begin.

5. Surprise! Surprise! Actually the hero never died, he comes back on public demand and claims his wife back. (Sometimes I wonder whether these are zombies or not!).

6.Incase, he comes back he would always be suffering from Amnesia -"main kaun hoon, kahan hoon," (Who am I, where am I), and stuff. The peculiar part is the frequency with which he loses his memory, one car accident, one blow on his head-that's enough! I remember I fell from the bed several times during my childhood, wish could have lost my memory at least once, then I could told my mother " I don't remember what is homework? What is it actually? "

7. Incase, the hero actually dies, which is a near impossibility, a duplicate is ready to enter the scene. Sometimes I wonder whether the Balaji tribe believes that duplicates are found in wholesale and retail markets, you can get one whenever you need one.This one also applies for the heroine.

8. Other aspects of the plot - one character will be having an inevitable affair, notwithstanding the fact that his wife is an epitome of virtue.

9.Atleast one rape is bound to happen in the household, as it is believed that the TRP's jump when such a thing happens.

10.Final move, when mothing moves forward in the serial - one common step - go 20 years in advance. The hero-heroine's children grow up and they have their own affairs and move forward in a similar pattern till the prducer decides that the serial should fast forward to another 20 years.

11.Ps- one common trend of Balaji serials, you shall always hear one or another song from Tusshar Kapoor's (Balaji head, Ekta Kapoor's brother), movie as a theme song in the background. Whether you like it or not, it shall unfailingly play.

12. And ofcourse, how could I forget the inevitable ' K ' with which every serial begins. Films too seem to be following the trend, especially Karan Johar and Rakesh Roshan's camp.

So that's the entire bandwagon- want respite- you have the remote. Next channel - Sony - "Today's highlights" - 'KKusum.'

Waiting for the auspicious moment...

2005-03-14T00:03:00.000-08:00

I do not know whether you have similar experiences to narrate or not, but I remember one of my friend's, telling me about an incident which occured to her a few years back.This is her speaking-"A few years back, when I was rushing out of the house as I was already late for a crucial examination (back in school), I sneezed while moving out of the main door.

"Stop!" Said a voice from behind me. I almost jolted due to the impact of the voice. I looked back and saw my grandmother standing with a dead serious expression on her face. I counteracted it with my own frustration. "What? I have to go, I am late for the exam." I shouted back.

"You sneezed just now, it's a bad omen, not an auspicious moment for you to move out of the house, wait for 5 minutes and then move on," she said. I felt like banging my head against the wall. Which century is she residing in? So much of superstition. You would be appalled to know that I never contested further and with a sullen face decided to wait till five minutes. The result- I reached the examination hall late, could not finish my paper." Her narrative ended and left me wondering how auspicious did the 5 minute wait turn out to be.

I won't blame her grandmother, because I have seen young people who are qualified enough, observing similar notions. Superstitions are something probably innate in most of our characters. Sometimes we ourselves prefer to believe in certain superstitions mainly because it may be in accordance to our wish.

There is a popular Bengali superstition (weird as well), that when you are making an a statement, say for example- "I am sure that my boyfriend is cheating me and going around with my friend," and a wall-lizard speaks out ( I am sure most of you might have heard that strange sound they make, they have door-bells like those nowdays, goes 'tic-tic-tic'), the assumption that the person has made might be true afterall.

(So beware the next time when you make such a comment on your 'dear one,' check out that none of those lizards are around). Well, that could have been (I am being fair enough guys therefore am saying 'could have been')just a mere coincidence (incase the lizard has not caught you red-handed).

Another very common one, a black cat crossing the road when we are driving. Our driver would press sudden brakes and all of us are pushed to the front. The guy even if told hundreds of times, won't move ahead.Even if you tell him that "my mother is in the hospital, on her deathbed please move ahead," or that "my girlfriend is going to New York today and shall return only after 3 years, please move ahead or I shall not be able to see her till before she leaves," he shall move only after another vehicle crosses the same road.

The consequence - either the mother must have died, God forbids! Or the girlfriend must have left and handed a note to her friend for the guy saying that she does not want to see his face again. Sad cases both,but waiting for the other vehicle to cross turns out to be a bad omen, don't you guys think so.

Don't worry, I shall not catalogue the entire list of superstitions that I have heard of or I know of. Just one last one which I chose to ignore and unfortunately suffered in return. I was advised not to eat an egg before an exam and I did not listen. So my paper went bad. After that never again did I dare touch an egg, before some interview or exam. Not that I am 'superstitious' but, what's the point taking a risk? Don't you guys agree?

Reading between lines

2005-03-11T02:33:00.000-08:00

How many times have you looked at your handwriting and thought that, "Oh my God! my 'd ' and 'b' look the same," or that "my 'h' looks like 'n'," or maybe that "my 's' looks like '5' or vice versa?" Meanwhile, I am speaking strictly about people who think this way or suffer wishing that their handwriting could be rectified in some way.

Did you ever think this way, "Why isn't there much difference between my 'h' and 'n' ?" Or perhaps why are all my letters are more or less of the same length. How many of us sit and think that why do we write our words curved towards the right left or steady and straight? Atleast I don't.

Wondering whether I am talking "Greek?" Don't worry, I am far too lazy to learn that, for me translations would do. But I am sure most of you guys must have heard of the term 'handwriting analysis' some time while you were in high school, college or university.

One of our faculty members actually analysed one our classmates handwriting yesterday, which made me ponder whether it is possible to know how a person is by glancing carefully the way his words are carved. Well I am not a handwritng analyst myself, but whatevver our faculty member said, from that I gathered some idea about what kind would a person be if he/she would have a particular kind of handwriting.

Here are a few things I learnt:

1. If you write words in a way that not much difference is there in the length of the letters, it represents that you are more or less even tempered. For eg, if you write your words in a way that your 'a' and 'b' are nearly equally tall, then you are pretty even tempered.

2. Whereas if the opposite is true for your handwriting, that your 'b' towers above the other small letters, you might be very moody.

3.If you have a very straight writing, you might be very disciplined in whatever you do.

4.Curved writings could be a symbol of one's creativity.

5.If all your ' i ' is always dotted without failure and your 't' is always clearly striked at the top (once again without failure, which if had not been the case then your 't' might have looked like an 'l'), then it represents your cautious nature. That means you tend to keep your things carefully without losing too much. Could also be a subtle hint towards the fact that you are pretty possessive about certain things in life.

6. The opposite to this might mean that you have a carefree attitude(you must have guessed that), more relaxed, someone choosing to go along the flow.

7. Those who have an incomprehensible handwriting, are believed to have a very complex character, maybe very mysterious, and do not like revealing about themselves too much.

Meanwhile, all these observations are not my own. Also I do not guarantee that they might be true for you if some of the characteristics mentioned above go with your handwriting. if you are wondering which category do I fall into after providing so many explanations, I am sorry that cannot be revealed for the moment not because I am using a computer font, or because I have an incomprehensible writing, but because I have not got my handwritng analysed till now.

Saffronising Secularism

2005-03-09T22:30:00.000-08:00

Yesterday a famous political thinker, Prof.Smith came to our college to speak on one of the most sensitive issues in our country-guess which one? Secularism. He spoke on a wide range of topics starting from VHP's Hindutva agenda to group indentities. He tried to explain concepts of secularism and belief systems of various religions across the world by providing humourous examples.

I will state one of them, he spoke about an incident in Northern Ireland where as all of you know, the war between Catholics and Protestants has transformed into ancient his'troy.' So this guy went to Northern Ireland (some part I do not remember which region), and went to a shoe-polisher. The shoe-polishman asked him a fundamental question in context of the his'troy' of the area. Following was the conversation:

Shoe-polishman : " Sir, please do not mind my asking but are you a Protestant or a Catholic?"

The man: "Hey jolly fellow! I am neither because I am an atheist."

The Shoe-polisher was not satisfied and asked: "But sir, are you a Catholic athiest or a Protestant athiest?"

You might find that to be a bad joke but then it contains the very crux of the problem of secularism. Secularism is intricately connected to our religious identities. I do not know your definition of 'religion' but personally I feel that religion refers to faith in a power who is above us all. To propitiate him/her, we worship our chosen God. It is something that is supposed to provide us peace. Whereas when we say that we are a HIndu, or a Muslim or belong to some other community, we refer to our group identity. To me both the concepts are very different from one another, though I do not disagree that both are interconnected.

When L.K Advani harps on the fact that he is secular and to him 'secularism' means to fight for the majority, which is the Hindu community in India, he, as per my opinion makes a grave mistake (quite knowingly) i.e, he talks about the group identities of the individuals.

Whenever the norms of so-called "Hinduism" is violated, a ruckus is created by the BJP and RSS, may it something as trivial as Valentine's Day celebration in Mumbai. I might not be sounding objective, but I feel that magnification of such trivial issues create the kind of disturbance we had in Gujarat two years back.

No, I am definitely not saying that burning a train full of people is trivial, but blaming it on another community and precipitating a bloody massacre is a crime.During our course we had many researchers who came to talk on the Babri Masjid issue. What they found is, till date there is no solid proof of the conjecture that Babri Masjid was constructed on Lord Rama's birthplace.

But even if now the issue is proved that the entire demolition was a farce (which is a very remote possibility), the damage has already been done.The issue I am writing on is an endless issue, there are innumerous angles to it. An excuse which the 'Hindu' politicians of our country often bring up is the fact that the minority population is going on increasing because of their religious customs, one of which allows them 4 marriages.

I wonder how many people can afford 4 marriages in today's educated civil society, owing to the kind of budget we are having every year. Atleast, among the educated masses I have not seen such cases. Even an Azharuddin had to divorce his first wife before a second marriage, even though he could have afforded all 4.The labour classes have a completely different philosophy behind having a huge family. But that they would do irrespective of whichever community they belong to.

My contention is that we should keep our group identity as a Hindu, Muslim, Christian or any other; separate from whatever we have faith in. I am sure people might be having their own idea of what they understand by 'secularism.' I see as an equal right to all the citizens of a nation. If you are a Hindu, and ask me whether you should or should not worship cows, I would simply tell that person that, ofcourse he can because as a citizen he has a fundamental rights. he has the freedom to practice his religion (till it does not become offensive for other religions).

Similarly, if a Muslim asks me that his religion sanctions beef-eating and whether he should do so or not. I would say the same for him.

Matching horoscopes

2005-03-09T03:24:00.000-08:00

I have always had a problem with the concepts of love marriage and arranged marriage. People keep arguing all their lives for the camps they belong to. People supporting love marriages think that chosing a partner all by oneself provides one more confidence. It gives us time to know the person well. I would not completely agree with that, since I have seen couples who have stuck to each other for 3-4 years, and finally called it quits. The reason - even after 3-4 years they feel they are not made for each other.

One popular excuse I have often heard from my friends (all girls), is that the guy won't demand dowry if it is a love marriage. Another misconception. I have also heard about couples who were so deeply in love with each other, that caste, creed, religion, nothing posed as a barrier in their relationship. But when it came to marriage, the guy's family demanded a hefty amount owing to the fact that the chap is from IIT, Madras. The guy sat quietly when an atrocious amount of 20 lakhs of rupees was demanded by his family.The girl too was an MBBS from Ahmedabad, but it does not matter, afterall she is the bride, so naturally her family has to pay.Love does not count in such cases. The match broke.

Other cases where dowry has not been a villian, things turn sour after marriage because of ideological differences mentioned earlier. A couple celebrating every Valentine's day together, felt after marriage that they simply do not "gel." So a divorce followed. The issue is topical enough to demand the status of the cover story in one of the top Indian magazines.

If you guys are feeling that I am exhaling venom, let me assure you all that I am not a cynic, as far as, the concept of true love goes. People are there in this world (whom I know well) who have loved each other in a manner, that a major segment of the present generation might find hard to believe.

Now a bit of word about arranged marriage. The first bone of contention that crops up when we discuss arranged marriage is the problem of knowing the person. You meet a person through some remote phone number in the matrimonial column or maybe through a relative. You do not know how the person is. You wonder what kind of person he/she shall be. If you are a believer that top brands, though costly, work the best in the long run; then you are the one to say 'yes' to a MBA with a seven figure salary. If you are a guy you might not ask for more (by "more" I am definitely not including cash) if the girl is doctor, maybe working in Apollo. Or if she is working with a top advertising agency, a bit of good looks and a slim figure might be all you can ask for.

Girls too look out for similar attributes (generally). Good looking, handsome, rich, qualified. At a point one almost feels that she is carving her own image of Cinderella's dream prince (who might or might not exist). Well, if you had an arranged marriage your guy is your dream prince, lucky you! If you are a guy and got one of the fairy princesses for a wife, congrats again.

Parents generally have more experience of a married life, and therefore stress that they make the right choice for their children.Sometimes things might turn out the way they desire, sometimes they might not. But, believe me, good guys and girls do exist who listen to their parents and marry. I would not contest the fact that many of them do live the rest of their lives peacefully with their chosen mates.

I will not be cynical about all love marriages as well. There have been couples who have met each other in more exciting ways than Raj met Simran in the movie DDLJ.They did live happily ever after (so far). With that note I shall wind up this never ending debate. The fields open for all of you to express your opinion.

Communication gap

2005-03-08T00:01:00.000-08:00

I do not know how many of you think that language can pose as a barrier in comprehension of thoughts between two people, say a Tamilian and a Gujarati. Or for that matter a Bengali and a Marathi? I am myself a Bengali, born in Gujarat, shifted to Kolkata at the age of 12 and right now in Madras, completing my course in Journalism.

I have already come face to face 3-4 languages in the process. Each language has a distinct essence and 'accent' of its own.When I was in Gujarat, in school we had to give this dictation test for Gujarati. Most of the students would hide the textbook under their desks and cheat throughout the exams. I shall not boast that I was a "good girl." When the test became unbearable I had to deviate from Gandhiji's preachings (as you all know, Gujarat is intrinsically connected to him) and follow the practice of my classmates.

My mother often tells me that when she was newly married and came to Gujarat with my father, where he was settled and was working, one major problem that she faced was the language. Interactions with the vegetable vendors were especially painful experience for the tongue.

My mother would ask for 1 kg potatoes and the vendor would keep asking whether she wants "ringan" ('brinjals' in Gujarati). One solution to the problem was to point out to the vegetable one wants to buy. But a shortlived solution as, when there is a crowd of customers, the seller does not have time to look at the person who is fingering towards a vegetable, just because he/she does not know what to call it in Gujarati.

However, several years down the line, when me and my mom both became sufficiently fluent with Gujarati, Dad decided to move on to Kolkata. I am a Bengali, but brought up more as a Gujju all my life. So when I got admitted to a school in Kolkata, the first hurdle I faced was that I had to master reading and writing Bengali, within six days of my admission.

Shock waves followed. My first semester was scheduled within six days of my admission. I somehow managed to read and write Bengali, only I remember how. After completing college in Kolkata I go selected for a journalism course in Chennai. Chennai was a completely different experience altogether.

Our college is more of a cosmopolitan sphere, where interactions between people is never thwarted because of language problems. The problem is with, you guessed it right, when you try to deal with the rick drivers.

I found myself at a loss of words when for the first time I communicated with an auto driver in Chennai. Having spoken languages with a Sanskritic base so far, my first encouter with a Dravidian language was a disaster. Over these ten months though I have somehow managed to handle a little bit of tamil as a language, I am still not an expert with it.

However, that does not stop me from liking the Tamilian rituals and customs. I like Tamil movie songs. Some of them are really melodious. I heard this instrumental piece by Illayaraja called 'How to name it,' which appealed to my senses in its own special way.

Thought the language part of it was missing in it but still it had a special appeal of its own. Music according to me is one such sphere which can connect people who cannot communicate to each other through words.I find communication works its best at music.

Animation lover anyone?

2005-03-07T03:28:00.000-08:00

Somehow till now, I feel I could have made a better animation expert rather than a journo. My reason for asserting this is my personal love for animation films.
Sounds kiddish? I always believe that every person has a child within him, whichever age he attains. Therefore, perhaps, Shakespeare spoke of old age as a "second childhood" of a person. Shakespeare presents a more pessimistic image of a man with brittle bones, ready to collapse in the grave. But my idea of childhood is more energetic, creative and one that speaks of maximum freedom for the mind and the heart.
I don't know how much you guys agree with me, but cartoons like 'Tom and Jerry' and animations like 'Lion King'appeal to the most basic emotions that a man can identify with. Pleasure and joy.I don't know about everyone, but till now I jump when I watch a Tom and Jerry cartoon. I laugh every time Tom ends up making a fool of himself and gets defeated by little Jerry.
Similar thing is with animations. Once again this is a subjective thought, but personally I feel that movies like Lion King, Alladin, The Road to El Dorado have an edge over real movies with real actors. Just imagine how do the animators make those figures move so meticulously so that they look as realistic! Whereas for a human actor its easy to follow directions and act.
I would have loved to make one such animation where all my imagination can follow its own dictate, without anyone to stop me and say, "rules are rules and you must follow them."

Interpretation of dreams

2005-03-04T06:19:00.000-08:00

Inspired by one of my friend's posts in her blog I am writing on dreams. She has narrated on her blog, http://varshahere.blogspot.com, about a dream of hers, and questioned regarding the relevance of the dream.

Back in College we studied a bit of psychology where we were taught some part of Feudian analysis of dreams.

So I am jotting down a few things which I remember of having read about Freud's ideas about dreams:

If you are sleeping at in a position that stress falls on your neck, you might dream that you are being strangled.

If you dream about a king and a queen then it might mean that you are thinking about your parents, or maybe missing them.

If you are angry with someone on whom you did not shout at the point your anger was at its peak and the person (who angered you) was in front of you, you might dream that you are discharging your anger on someone.

Freud also spoke about his own analysis about dreams. He once went to get diagnosed by a doctor he did not have faith in. At night he dreamt about the doctor with a long beard, whereas in real life the doctor did not have any beard.

So the next time you dream any similar dream, those might be the possible reasons which lead you to dream what you dreamt. Thats as per Mr.Freud.

Discovering a friend

2005-02-28T03:31:00.000-08:00

People think I am a highly cynical person in most of the matters in life. They are wrong! I am not only cynical but also pessimistic about certain things. Judging people is one area where I often go wrong. Therefore it often makes me sceptical when I find that people do not turn out the way I had expected them to.

I know many of you shall not agree with me but there have been experiences in my life which have forced me to modify my opinion about the people around me. I would definitely not deny that good people are there. Infact there are people I know, who are genuine and good to a degree, that you can never imagine in today's world. In my previous post I spoke about one my my dearest friends, Varshu. She is a gem of a person. If she makes friends with someone, its forever.

But I also know of people in my past, who call themselves friends just for the sake of it. I might sound very sentimental but then to me friendship is a very important relationship and something which you can cannot take for granted.

I shall narrate one incident in my life which probably shall explain my perception of friendship better. My father shifted to Kolkata when I was 12 years of age. I had just completed my studies till sixth standard in Gujarat and papa decided to quit his job in Gujarat and move to Kolkata, where he had taken up a new job.

Among certain things, that worry most of our parents, when they shift to a new region, is the kind of accomodation they can find and the kind of jobs they will have. But perhaps the most important concern for a person is to get his/her children admitted to a good school in whichever city one is shifting to(this is only if you have a family and a schoolgoing child).

In my case, my parents were no less worried. However, their prayers were answered (along with mine) and I got admitted to one of the 'good' schools in the city. My first day in school was an experience that is worth remembering. I wore this pink frock (like kids, but thats how my mother dressed me up) as my uniform was not ready yet. When I entered my class, the entire first bench people jumped out of their seats and asked in chorus, "What is your name?" I was slightly amazed at the way they managed to produce that orchestral effect by asking one single question all together. After a brief pause, I answered "Amrita, Amrita Sarkar." Thank god it was an all girls school, had there been boys who would have jumped out of their seats I could not have answered their question.

The teacher had not arrived yet. I walked in confused as the other students buzzed among themselves about my brief introduction with them. Suddenly I heard a voice from somewhere at the back of the class. "You there." A girl with blunt cut hair was calling me and waving me to come towards her.

I went and noticed another girl sitting by her side. The girl had brown curly hair, a very fair complexion and thick glasses on her face. She looked at me and smiled. The girl with blunt cut hair introduced herself as Sushmita and introduced the other girl with curly hair as Sweta.

Sushmita behaved in a very friendly manner with me from day one and declared me her best friend on the very first day she met me. She told me that Sweta was from Korea and therefore she had a strange superiority complex and stuff. I did not speak to Sweta much in the beginning. But I could not believe that she is a snob. She was quiet and did not speak to me much.

Sushmita started to change over a period of time and soon I began to realize that what she said was not what she meant. We had to participate in this programme called 'Spectrum' which our school organised after every four years. Unfortunately, the year when I joined was the year when 'Spectrum' was to be held and we all had to participate in the programme compulsorily.

This meant going out every day, in scorching heat in the fields and for hours do the stupid steps your trainers ask you to do. Sweta was in the row parallel to mine, so we often used to chat. For the first time in my life I realised that how wrong we can be in judging people.

Sweta was actually a chatterbox, a very cute chatterbox. She kept my spirits up throughout the entire drudging regime of 'Spectrum' practice. Whereas Sushmita started to drift apart from me. She remembered me when she needed to take notes. Sweta was different. Slowly Sushmita and I saw less of each other and finally we drifted apart.

On the other hand Sweta and I became closer to each other. She knew all the stupid kind of jokes and I laughed on all of them. One day Sushmita and I had a fight, I don't remember regarding what, but we had a fight which terminated our friendship.

The day when our 'Spectrum' got over, I and Sweta were returning together in our school bus. The bus was packed students who were screaming with joy at the end of their daily tasking schedule. We were discussing about our families. Suddenly, she asked me whether I had a best friend. I said no(Sushmita was the not the kind whom you can call a 'best friend'). Then I asked her the same question.

She said "yes." I asked her,"Whats her name?" Sweta smiled at me and said "Its you." We both laughed and were really happy to have each other as friends.Its been eight years now since I know Sweta. She is still my best friend.

Its a relief that, I have friends like Varshu and Sweta. Having friends like them gives me a feel that good people are rare to find but when you find them they stay with you forever.

I would end on an optimistic note, which is quite a refreshing change to my pessimistic image. I generally make very few friends. But all of them are the best people in my life, people I am blessed with.

To become a journalist...

2005-02-25T02:53:00.000-08:00

To become a journalist, its not enough to be good at writing, editing, scripting, reporting etc, but a lot of other stuff as well. Wondering what am I talking about? Well, what I gathered from my own experience after a ten month course in journalism,is that you got to be good at chatting, buttering, flattering and lots of other things like that.

Most of the these qualities are alien to me,so when for the first time I arrived at the one of the best colleges of journalism in India, I was bewildered to find people who were experts at the above mentioned areas.

Added to these aspects was also a very common attribute in most of their characters - weirdness to an excessive degree. Everyone was weird in his/her own distinct manner. Well, if I see it from that angle I was an extraterrestrial creature to most of them.

In my very first post I had mentioned that I am a reserved person by nature. I landed up in journalism accidently.So the unusual quietness that I maintained since day one of the course, made some of them curious.

The kind of expression I saw in their eyes (I presume),when they saw me, was some what like this -
"what a strange and unusually quiet girl, she is not the chill type, she doesn't party, she doesn't 'booze'(I learnt much later that it means to drink), no smoking kinds."

Some of them might have smirked and thought this, "with this kind of attitude, this tiny little girl shall not survive as a journalist." Anyways, good news is I have survived, without partying, smoking, boozing, flaterring and chatting too much. I hope I don't sound arrogant. But what I am trying to say is I just chose to be myself and not someone else.I owe it all to someone sitting above all of us and smiling at me.

I also owe it to the most wonderful kind of friends one can ever have in their lifetime.They are my most prized possession. I remember how I met each one of them. At that point of time I couldn't have ever guessed that one day, when the course would near its end, I would cry at the thought of parting with them.

For your kind information, my friends are also devoid of the qualities that I mentioned at the beginning of the article. They are like me and still unique in their own way.

I remember meeting two of my roommates when for the first time I moved into the apartments which was provided to us by the college, in Chennai. The first one was a girl with a white complexion, big popping eyes (which appeared even more big from behind her glasses)and a sweet saccharine smile(big enough to cause diabetes) on her face.

The second one was whom they referred to as a 'chinky-eyed' in Chennai. Actually, she is a Tibetan, but Chennaites find the entire race of Koreans, Japanese and their kind similar to look at so they call them 'chinkies.'I dare not mention Chinese because of Xing's obvious dislike towards China, being a Tibetan. Xing is the name of my Tibetan roommate.

I met another one of my roommates after a few days when she shifted into the apartments. A "hype," "slick" girl obssessed with her own life. Somehow I could not corelate to her. After some days I realized why. She was the one of the experts in what I have mentioned in the beginning of the post. Not my type as you can understand.

My fourth roommate was yet to arrive. The kind of specimens (the first and the third one) I discovered a week in the form of humans perplexed me and worried to a large extent.

My fourth room mate arrived after a few weeks. On seeing her I remembered of having met her before during the day we had our orientation and Chennai tour. She was the only girl wearing a black formal suit, and looked the most sophisticated out of the entire lot. She is from Indore, the only one along with Xing, who at that point of time appeared sane to me (i.e, matching my perception of sanity). Today she is one of my closest friends.

But, what actually changed my otherwise jerky life is my introduction to one girl, who called herself, "Varsha Sreenivasan." She was in a different flat but after a month exchanged places with the my "slick" roommate and came to our flat. Lots of things took place before she finally transferred to our apartment about which I shall write in my book (yes, please don't get shocked, I am indeed planning to write a book).

Varshu is the sweetest thing to happen to me ever since I joined ACJ. We have fought I do not know how many times over these ten months. But we shared more blissful moments together which are more precious to both of us.

I never had thought that God would gift me a "chechi" ('elder sister' in Malayalam),with sweet plump cheeks, which you love to pull. Varshu has big wide smiling pair of eyes. As I got to know her I grew very fond of her. Now the situation is such that I started crying the other day by thinking that the course has come to an end and I would not be able to see her in Mumbai, where I got a job.

I enjoy the times when we cook together and sit together, talking happily about various things. The best thing that I have learnt from Varshu is that we should not generalise people as bad and call the few good one's as exceptions. Being a pessimist I always have been cynical while determining whether people are good enough.

However, I won't write more about us now, all the rest is reserved for my book. Studying in Chennai, has been a worthwhile experience and opened my eyes and heart to lots of things which were once again 'alien' to me previously.

So wait patiently till I publish my book. I have decided to call it 'To be a journalist....'

The day I gave my first job interview...

2005-02-21T22:05:00.000-08:00

The day I gave my first job interview was a strange day indeed, people go to such interviews with special preparations, and update their G.K, to a satisfactory extent. It reminds one of an archery contest where you feel like the board with a bullseye drawn on it, and the person on the other side of the desk appears to be the archer waiting with his questions which he would shoot at you like arrows.
But strangely enough in my case, so far, interview has not been a dreadful experience. In fact the night before the interview I did nothing to update my near to nill G.K. My friends were I must say, diligent enough to wake up at 5 in the morning and start studying for the interview.
I woke up lazily at 7, got ready at a similar lethargic pace and went with them to college where the buzz was higher than the usual days. (Obviously, what did I think, its me alone who has come for being hit at the bullseye?) In the lobby, there was a que of students waiting for their names to be called. One advantage is that we have the campus recruitment system so we don't have to wander around like nomads in order to find 'archers'. But that does not mean it makes things easy. Out of 85 nearly 80% que up for an average of 4-5 vacancies.
The employers have suppossedly said that if they need more people they might recruit more people. Being highly 'creative' I started visualising again. A man (a steroetyped boss) hurling diamonds in the air, and an entire lot of students struggling among themselves to lay hands on the gems. I know such a vision might sound madeup. Ok, I confess it was after the interview, that imagined it, but it is an original thought.
I and my friends happened to almost bump into the 'archer'..I mean interviewer before the he got 'quizical.' The fellow appeared quite down to earth and 'docilish.' Surprise, he was as friendly at the interview as well. I gave two interviews and surprise again, no arrows at all. Instead I was asked an age old question - "Where do you see yourself ten years from now?" I gave a very conventional monotonous reply - "I see myself as a successful..blah blah...(yawn)." One of my friends had a bad interview (thats what she thinks but I think, things would definitely get better and she would get the job), another one of my friends', Varshu, is extremely close to me and I want her to get the job somehow. Infact its almost like if she gets the job it would sheer bliss to me. I shall write more about her some other day and dedicate one of my posts to her.
But now lets get on with the interview. So my interview went on normally, though I don't know how I fared. However, there were other interesting observations to make. One of our faculty members, wore a traditional kurta pyjama, which is uncommon as generally he is dressed in formals. When asked why did he choose such a ethnic wear on a day like this, he heartily replied - "On the occassion of all of you getting recruited I have worn this dress." Students broke out into peals of laughter when they heard that.
One of my classmates who was never interested in the interview frankly told the interviewer that,"I was never interested in business..". the entire day turned out to be a long tedious one, we all were hungry and tired. After the first interview in the morning we waited for the second one till the afternoon. One of my friends who is a Tibetan was inside giving her interview, and she took slightly longer than the usual timespan people took while they were being interviewed.We all were waiting outside for our call. The scene was similar to that of a hospital, where some critical operation is going on and people are waiting for the doctor to give his verdict. We all were standing quietly when our sir, clad in his kurta, broke the silence with an amusing question -"What is he asking her for so long, questions on the Tibetan economy?" We all laughed. Sir innocently glanced from one face to another not understanding what was impractical about his question.
Before me a girl (who also happens to be my roommate) swaggered out of the room. She was in high spirits. When I went in I wondered whether the man must have been tired by now. But surprisingly, (yeah, I know I am getting repititive), he asked me questions on the work that I had done in the college. The interview got over before it began. In a way I was happy because my tummy was grumbling all the while.
By the time the interview sessions got over, we all were drained of whatever energy we had, but went back home cherishing the memories of our unusual job interview.

A complete jam

2005-02-17T02:23:00.000-08:00

Yes, a complete jam, thats what I have landed into ever since I came to Chennai for a ten month long course in Journalism. God! I had never imagined I would wish that I can return to school again. Life here is just the title of this article indicates, a complete jam. As the course is nearing its end it is heaping us with all kinds of assignments and tests. We already have a software test tomorrow, and I am having a terriblw headache already. Tragedy is there is no escape for me for the silly fact that I happen to be the editor of our college website this week. So sit down and edit all those reports. but wait, there aren't any reports, coz noone has submitted any. They too are busy with preparations for the interview and tomorrow's software test .I am not the only one in the jam. my reporters (collegues) are also suffering. I can't really blame them, since they too share their load of assignments. The biggest blow to all of us is our job recruitment interviews scheduled this weekend. No time to prepare for an interview can drive anyone crazy. So, its a jam for all of us for the time being with no way to escape.

2005-02-16T00:11:00.000-08:00

Me and myself
Hi, I am Amrita and am new to this entire concept of blogging. I am by nature a very reserved person and hardly like revealing anything about myself. However, surprisingly being inspired by one of my friends,I decided to create my own blog. Blogging is something like dairy writing to me where you create a record of all your experiences in life. thats something I am terribly scared of as I do not like people to know about my inner feelings. Still I do feel strongly about certain things and certain kinds of issues and people, owing to the fact that I am a highly emotional person.I like to write, therefore I decided to create this blog