La Extranjera

2011-04-02T04:47:00.000+05:30

I find myself at a loose end ever so often. It's 4.30 in the morning already and I had absolutely no freaking idea till the little digital display at the bottom right hand side of the screen caught my eye and had me feeling incredulous for a bit. Where did all the time go? What did I do? It was a respectable 12 midnight just a little while ago. Dunno what's not respectful about 4.30, though, but that's besides the point. Very soon it'll be light outside. For whatever reason, I have this innate fear of watching darkness turn to light. Like, night into day (this obviously does not apply if I'm on Tiger Hill. Or anyplace where there is a brilliant sunrise.). I feel like I've lost out on something that I will not get back, ever, and no, it's not just the sleep. I can sleep tomorrow.

And now it's suddenly struck me that I ought to, perhaps, shut everything down and go to sleep. Except that sleep does not come if sleep does not will it. I'd put a smiley here but I cannot think of one that shows how I'm feeling right now. Incidentally, if only two out of all the emoticons called smileys actually smile/ laugh, why the fuck are the rest of them called smileys? So weird. Bunch of lazy fuckers, human beings. I'd know.

I really wonder what's going through that mind. I really do.

2011-03-10T01:32:00.002+05:30

And now, suddenly, I don't feel whiney anymore.

2011-03-10T01:14:00.001+05:30

It's one of those moods. Where there's a weird sort of tug right behind your eyes, suspiciously around the tear duct area. Just that there are no signs of any tears, thank God for that. Just an inexplicable lump in the throat. Priscilla Ahn is saying that she's old and feeling grey and doesn't know what's left to say about this life she's willing to leave, and as I write this she reaches that beautiful, soaring crescendo that makes this song oh-so-beautiful, and dammit, fuck man, there's that tug again. And I don't know why exactly I'm doing this to myself, because "Chicago" is next on the playlist - I've made one of those playlists, the kind that consist only of songs loaded with memories of times that'll never come back, but you insist on reliving them over and over again, because of the unspeakable joy they bring. And now the sound of that saxophone is filling my room. Athena will know what I'm talking about.

I started off wanting to write a sort of post ('rant' is more like it) about people who seem to have mastered the inexplicable art of expressing profuse love online for people they'd bitch out in an instant.

Erase and Rewind. Coz I've been changing my mind.

2011-03-04T01:14:00.000+05:30

Sigh. There is something about the Beatles. I do not care for the obvious, highlighted aptly by the worldwide hysteria that surrounded them then, and surrounds their songs, their memories and even Ringo Starr's house now. Nope, I do not care for the obvious at all. It's what people have never been able to define that really matters. There's something about the Beatles. We'll always feel it, and never know what it is.

Let's just keep it that way.

2011-03-03T22:58:00.002+05:30

A butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker.

2011-03-03T01:58:00.000+05:30

I think I'm ever so slightly neurotic. No, really.
Also, the problem with me is that I have the attention span of a 5-year-old. A 5-year-old on a sugar high, to be precise. When I was a kid, I remember my folks trying very hard to explain the adverse effects of television to me in a way that would sound scientific, and therefore irrefutable to my interpretative abilities. They said that the quick changes or switches in images on television screens have a jarring effect on the brain, and that (I do not for the life of me know how) TV images find their way into your cranium and then proceed to play volleyball with the brain, hitting it in so many places that it loses its sharpness and becomes a blunted lump of mush. Whattaprettyimageno? Especially for a 5-year-old twerp on a sugar high.

2011-03-02T02:43:00.000+05:30

I'm sleepy and in denial. I don't want to sleep right now. Torn between calling it a day and watching "Across the Universe" all over again. I don't really know why I am torn between the two, though. As soon as I read that sentence I fired a mental "What the fuck?" at myself. I'm weird like that. I really wish I'd understand myself and why I function the way I do.

The Stranger

2011-03-02T02:33:00.000+05:30

She speaks in her way of her savage seas

With unknown algae and unknown sands;

She prays to a formless, weightless God,

Aged, as if dying.

In our garden now so strange,

She has planted cactus and alien grass.

The desert zephyr fills her with its breath

And she has loved with a fierce, white passion

She never speaks of, for if she were to tell

It would be like the face of unknown stars.

Among us she may live for eighty years,

Yet always as if newly come,

Speaking a tongue that plants and whines

Only by tiny creatures understood.

And she will die here in our midst

One night of utmost suffering,

With only her fate as a pillow,

And death, silent and strange.

- Gabriela Mistral.

2010-03-20T01:06:00.000+05:30

I can't sleep. And this is rare.
How I wish the passing of every day didn't bring it closer.

Time for my Bucket List, Installment 1

2010-03-13T15:57:00.000+05:30

1) Work for a while with a women's rights organisation in Afghanistan.

2) Hold, cuddle and play with a tiger cub at least once in my life.

3) Work actively for tiger conservation.

4) Have liquid chocolate in Madrid, Spain.

5) Adopt a baby girl.

6) Get one more tattoo.

7) Get pretty much all the stray dogs in Calcutta spayed (tall order, but have had enough of seeing puppies lose their lives under vehicle wheels).

8) Dance onstage again.

9) Eat food cooked personally by Nigella Lawson, Kylie Kwong and Rachel Allen.

10) Sing my heart out to an audience.

11) Meet Mia Michaels, of "So You Think You Can Dance" fame.

12) Watch a sunset in Leh.

(This was just Installment 1. I am rather greedy.)

Night Sky

2010-03-06T02:31:00.000+05:30

So I looked up at the sky in the evening, the vast expanse of it, and didn't know how to respond to what it did to me. I told Athena "Athe, I'm having a moment."

It was night, and it was a blue sky. Bluish-mauve, if you will. I searched its expanse for stars, and found three. It seemed the natural thing to do, to look up. I muttered something about the transience of everything that such stargazing almost inevitably brings on, but I don't think Athena heard me.

There's something about feeling the solitude of company. Something so undefinable, its almost pleasant. It's what you feel when you sit on the ground with your knees pulled up to your chin, and look up at the night sky with your friends sitting close by. It doesn't matter, because it's really just you and the sky. And them and the sky. Never all of you together, and the sky. Never.

I wanted to freeze that moment, that point in time. Just somehow, by some sort of inexplicable intervention, negate the possibility of it passing and never ever happening, quite like that, ever again. It was somewhere I wanted to be. To remain in. The thought of even this passing, felt like a weight.

I was fine when it passed. John Mayer finished singing "Gravity", Jeff Buckley's 'Hallelujah" began, and I didn't prolong or stretch what remains beautiful only if it is held onto during the lifespan of it's beauty, and no longer.

These summer evenings...they're to die for, and they won't last.

I'll remember that night sky, because we won't be young forever.

2010

2010-01-11T23:11:00.001+05:30

So I'm here again.

I keep proving to myself, every time I return to this blog, how bad I am at keeping in touch. It took me a blog to accept that. A blog. Oh well.

It's 2010 already. What's happening? Time is just sitting on her obscenely cushioned, obscenely soft couch, her feet up and folded on her table, leaning back in that infuriatingly languorous manner, half-smoked cigarette in hand, fixed in her knowledge that she's not going anywhere, while she watches everyone's fatalistic panic with amusement. I'd slap her if I could.

And then probably wonder what good that did.

2009 was a year to remember. I changed in 2009. Everyone changes, all the time. But 2009 was akin to the metaphorical pivot around which the before-after concept is devised. You know what I mean. You can do without the explanation.

One thing is for sure. There will always be plenty to do.

Thereafter, the choice is individual.

Everything will go on as it always has, since consciousness. There is a strange balance, always at work, never tiring, that will never, ever loosen its grip. You can go to hell, for all it cares. It'll always be there. Thank God for that.

If you want to, as in really, really want to, then it shall mysteriously be arranged such that you are never at a loss.

We'll move, in stasis, and honestly, there's probably no need to worry.

I'd like to tell myself that every moment of every day, for worry sets in sometimes. But you can't please everyone, and frankly, it's been years since I've met someone who wants to please everybody.

It's never complicated if you don't want it to be.

So it's 2010, and I'm here again.

2008-07-01T02:12:00.000+05:30

Bhallagchhe na. Bhallagchhe na.

2008-07-01T00:56:00.000+05:30

Whenever I visit my blog, I sit and futilely wonder why I don't blog more often. Why why why? Not only do I enjoy it (whatever little of it that I have done! =P ), but the knowledge that what is a release for you is often likely (maybe) to be appreciated, or at least read and thought about, by others, like-minded or otherwise, is a nice feeling.
I love Srin's blog, as well as Aveek's, Shaapla's and a few others'. They write about things one would actually want to read at the end of the day. And what keeps people going to their blogs to read what they have to say is largely due to the fact that they're all consistent bloggers. Yes, of course, they're immensely enjoyable to read. But, take my blog for example...why would anyone want to keep visiting my blog if he/she saw that for days, weeks and months on end, I posted nothing? Purely from the point of view of another, I'd consider it a waste of time.
Yet, though I come online everyday and do various other things, I always invariably neglect this.
Someone I love told me that, largely, I'm not proactive, I'm reactive. I couldn't agree more.
There are a million things I decide I'll do with a sudden rush of enthusiasm. All gung-ho, ready to go, let's-make-things-happen sort of thing. And then, as you might have guessed, the enthusiasm starts to wane, till it fizzles out, and I'm left thinking "achha chuck it, pore hobe". The only thing is that, pore hoye na.
College begins from tomorrow. Jadavpur University, Comparative Literature. Rohan told me I'll hate the daily commute. Especially since, for 13-14 years, all I had to do to get to school/college from home, was to walk for half a minute across the street =)
The Experience begins from tomorrow =)
Its time to be "proactive".
Good luck to me.

Taken from Mirna

2008-04-17T00:14:00.000+05:30

TEN things you wish you could say to people right now (don't take names):

I miss you terribly.
Why is that you only contact me when you need something from me?
Don't you think it's time you learnt to do your own work?
Thank you, baby.
I'm so sorely disappointed in you, it's not funny.
I'm sorry, I wish I could have done it differently.
Why? Why? WHY?
You superficial, two-faced, judgemental bitch, you got what you deserved. First you pass judgement on my friend because of something she does, and then you go and do it yourself. Up yours, airhead.
I love you.
I wonder where you are right now.

NINE things about yourself:

I'm conscious about my gradual weight gain.
I'm hypersensitive and emotional.
I used to have lovely hair. Wonder where it all went.
I think I seriously suffer from Borderline Personality Disorder.
I scream when I'm angry.
I cannot handle whiskey.
I have never smoked up. And never felt curious about it either.
I take an insane amount of sugar in my tea/coffee. That probably explains the weight gain partially.
I love chick flicks.

EIGHT ways to NOT win your heart:

Hate dogs and cats.
Have two left feet.
Think no end of yourself.
Show minimal interest in food.
Proudly proclaim that you "don't read".
Be overtly physically affectionate without me indicating that you are one of the few who are allowed to.
Try to sound obtuse and random, thinking that you sound very smart.
Be judgemental. Either about me or about my friends.

SEVEN things that cross your mind a lot:

Ufffff, aar bhalo lagchhe na.
When will i reduce?
What can I read after this?
What the fuck am I doing? I should be studying!
Dude, PLEASE, for ONCE, let there be something yummy in the fridge.
I want to resume dance training.
Thank God I have you.

SIX things you wish you had never done:

Passed up the opportunity to go to Delhi and visit my Pishi in January. Now, I'll never see her again.
Made so many efforts to set things right with A.
Neglected my hair.
Trusted D so implicitly.
Yelled at Mom in circumstances that were embarrassing for her.
Wasted so much of time.

FIVE turn-offs:

Chauvinism.
Elders who think that they are automatically right/you are automatically wrong just because they are older than you.
Body Odour.
Brainlessness.
Bloated egos.

FOUR turn-ons:

Chivalry (I firmly believe that there is a difference between chivalry and chauvinism).
A sense of humour.
The clean-shaven look after months of growing the Amazon forest on one's face.
Respect.

THREE things you want to do before you die:

Adopt a girl.
Travel all of India, and then the world.
Meet the infamous South Carolina contestant of Miss Teen USA, in order to convince myself that I wasn't hallucinating/hearing things when I watched the pageant. (Yes, I watch beauty pageants).

TWO smileys that describe you:

ONE confession:

I take 6 spoonfuls of sugar in my tea.

I tag Mirna, Ponchee, Bubu Da, Rohit, Abhi, Aveek and Shaapla.

Babla Pishi

2008-04-10T03:03:00.000+05:30

My Pishi succumbed to her illness on the 7th of April, 2008, after a long battle of four years. Her suffering was indescribable.

And in the midst of it all, she still requested people to "go and have a bit of coffee/tea", even when, lying on the hospital bed, keeping her eyes open and uttering even a word was painful and laborious for her.

Two years ago, when it was difficult for her to stand for too long, she stood with me in the kitchen and taught me how to make "peyaji".

A gem of a human being. Not too many of her calibre left in this world anymore.

And needless to say....she was gorgeous.

It still hasn't sunk in. I don't know when it will.

I cannot believe it.

Ranjini Mazumder Sen...a beautiful, strong, successful, selfless, intelligent and caring woman...my Babla Pishi.

She's still with us. I know.

2008-03-25T22:47:00.000+05:30

Pishi's extremely unwell. Cancer relapse. Deteriorating fast. Baba, who is usually reticent, said that there may not be any time left.
I don't know why I'm blogging about something so personal. I'm just in the depths of desperation right now, and I need all the prayers and good wishes I can get for her.

Please pray. Whether or not your believe in God. Please pray.
I need a miracle.

Holi 2008.

2008-03-21T23:57:00.000+05:30

This year was the first time in twenty-one years that I did not play Holi.

And I can tell you, it feels bloody awful.

One of my aunts, who I am very close to, is suffering from breast cancer, and recently she had a relapse. The cancer has advanced considerably, she is in acute pain, cannot even eat properly, and hence it just didn't feel right to celebrate while she suffers.

Really wanted to meet up with Rai and Siddharth because I haven't seen them for quite a while, especially Rai. I even thought that I'd just go and sit around with the whole jing bang, after explaining to them why I'm in no mood to play. But after stopping 3-4 cabs and seeing how drunk/stoned out of their senses the cabbies were, I decided not to risk it. So I just sat at home.

The day wasn't completely wasted, though. Ayan came in the evening and took Piu and me to watch "Race". Both of them are Christians, so they had Good Friday today. Hence, both of them had to attend a Mass not less than three hours long, and thus were in dire need of cheering up as well =) "Race", thankfully, achieved that, even though it was two-and-a-half hours of tryhard nonsense.
The songs were nice, however. Though Katrina Kaif, in her "Zara zara hug me kiss me etc" song, looked more comical than sensuous.

All in all, it was a nice day. But it didn't feel like Holi.

Inferiority Complex

2008-03-21T15:21:00.000+05:30

Ever heard the word "tnash"? From the poem "Tnash Goru" in Abol Tabol (for the uninitiated, "Abol Tabol" is a legendary book of Bengali nonsensical poems by Sukumar Ray. If you are a Bengali, and haven't read it, then I believe that you deserve to die.)? A couple of days back, I crossed paths with this delightful specimen whose Tnash Quotient would probably measure a perfect ten on a tnash equivalent of the Richter Scale. He was the cousin of a friend whose place I was over at.
The poor child, no more than about 16 years of age, looked a little forlorn, for whatever reason. The kind-hearted, compassionate person that I am (my modesty, on the other hand, would probably measure about one on a humility equivalent of the Richter Scale, no?), I decided to try and converse with him. His cousin (my friend) seemed to consider talking to him rather distasteful, so I undertook this noble task.
The first thing I noticed was his "American" accent.
ME : Tor naam ki?
HIM : "---------" (his name, pronounced with an American twang, of the rather irritating variety)
ME : Have you lived in Calcutta all your life?
HIM : Yeah. Borrrn (you know the way Americans roll their "r"s?) and braadup ('brought up') herrre.

(Okay, so that rules out a possible acquisition of the American accent due to a stay in the US of A.)

ME : Ki korchhish tui akhon? School? You'd probably be in Class 9 or 10 now, if I'm not mistaken?
HIM : Yeah, I'm in the 9th grade. ICSE comin' up next yearrr. Dude, the syllabus is, like, killing, man. I dunno how I'm gonna manage.
ME : Haha don't worry, ICSE's actually a cakewalk. Toder syllabus ta change kore gechhe? As in, do you still have "Bolai", "Daini", "Mohesh" etc in the syllabus?
HIM : Which syllabus?
ME : The Bengali syllabus. You do have Bengali as your second language, don't you? Or do you have Hindi?
HIM : Nah I have (with a semi-disgusted look on his face) Bong.
ME : .......so? Has the syllabus changed?
HIM (flippantly) : I dunno man, I don't read Bong.
ME (ever so slightly incensed) :Um, okay. But considering the fact that you have to pass in Bengali in order to pass your ICSE, you must be havin a slight idea about what you guys have in your syllabus?
HIM (rather proudly) : Haha I haven't yet touched mah Bong text books. Waste of time, if ya ask me. Why'd anyone wanna read or study some redundant piece of literature written by...whatshisname...Tagore?

(I SHIT YOU NOT. This is how the little piece of toxic waste was talking).

ME : Um...I don't know about "anyone", but maybe YOU'D want to, considering the fact that it IS, indeed, your mother language?
HIM : Whatever man. (Very proudly) We hardly speak Bong at home either.
ME : So what DO you speak? Swahili?
HIM (confused) : Wha?

At this point of this rather infuriating conversation, I caught my friend's eye, and she gave me a knowing smile, as if to say "Can't say I didn't warn you". And suddenly, most of my mortification at that little pipsqueak gave way to uncontrollable mirth, and my friend and I burst out laughing in his rather bewildered face. Thankfully, he left soon after, and my friend and I had a gala time mimicking him and dissolving into fits of laughter occasionally.

When I think about it, its so ironical.
On one hand, you have people like Jean Stevens (British acquaintance of mine, met him through Rohit), who, inspite of being from the supposedly "superior" stock that people with colonial hangovers try their level best to copy (Tnash Kid being a case in point), has come to Calcutta to, yes indeed, learn Bengali.
And on the other hand, you have about a gazillion Bengalis (others too...I stick to Bong coz I am one), who are ashamed to be so, and think its "oh-so-khool" to diss their language, their heritage, and everything connected to it, in favour of American accents and the like.

Most of the doctors who have treated me for various things throughout the course of my life have been Gujaratis. Dr. Madeka, Dr. Doshi, etc etc etc, you get the drift.
And all of them speak impeccable Bengali =) Hell, even the Sardar family my Dad is friendly with speak to him in fluent Bong!
So my point is...if they can, when its not even their language, then why can't you, especially if you ARE a Bengali?
I'll dispense with the usual disclaimer that say that "don't get me wrong, I am not anti-American or anti-anything" because that goes without saying. Besides all those who know me well, know what I'm about. I'm not ranting against anything that is non-Bong. In fact, truth be told, the glaring faults of Bengalis are a favourite topic of discussion with me anytime =) No, this post isn't about Bengalis and/or Americans.

Its about Bengalis who are ashamed of being Bengali. Its about Bengalis who can't speak in their own language properly.

Which is just not cool.

And unfortunately, there are way too many of them these days.

I'm sorry if this post sounds too moralistic. But, I stick by it. =)

2008-03-18T15:50:00.000+05:30

I just wish I could rise above it. I think about it, and I wonder what the hell it's got to do with me. I wish I had the balls to rise above it. I really wish I did.

Departure.

2008-03-18T01:31:00.000+05:30

Questions.

There, on the sand.

Washed away

Before I could answer.

Wedding.

2008-03-15T02:20:00.000+05:30

If you're (a) an Indian (b) have tonnes of relatives and (c) don't know more than half of them, chances are that by my age (21) you'll probably have attended about a million weddings (most of them unwillingly). Just like me.
You'll have witnessed the sacred rites of marriage over and over again; you'll have wondered when the hell the damn thing's gonna get over, so that you can leave without looking rude; you'll have longed to attack the buffet table before you pass out due to sheer boredom, and the agony of baring all 32 teeth every time a gushing relative you don't even know comes and fawns over you and exclaims at how BIG you've grown.
There are, once in a while, rays of hope, when there's a cousin, or someone who you thankfully get along with, getting married, because then, for once, the rite of marriage tends to mean something to you. Not much, just a little bit. Enough to make you stand and patiently watch that cousin get married, with a faint smile on your face, with thoughts of the food table reduced to twice in a hour, from the original 1oo times an hour.

And then there is THAT wedding. One wedding, in the life of every person, where you wake up, smell the coffee, understand the magnitude of the event, and realise how much you actually respect it. One special wedding, which is not necessarily your own.

(Quite easy to believe aajkal...what with two to three weddings per lifetimes rapidly becoming the norm.)

For me (and, I'm sure, for many of us) that wedding was Rex's (Madhurima's).

Maybe it's because Rex is my friend, and more importantly, my first friend to get married. A friend's wedding is always a source of real excitement and emotional turmoil, because its not like an obligation, the way family do's are. Moreover, a friend's wedding is just that - a FRIEND's wedding. A contemporary's wedding. Someone who's your age, or somewhat older/younger. It drives home the truth of the situation - that whatever you are witnessing before you right now, is likely to happen to you as well, sooner or later. And its next to impossible to describe how it feels to watch your friend get married; a comrade in arms, a fellow dreamer of mischievous dreams; someone you spoke to, joked with, spent priceless moments talking about a comfortably distant future with....and then watched her embark on that future in front of your very eyes.

When i saw Rex in her simple red cotton sari, at her place on the afternoon of her wedding day, it still didn't strike me that this loud-mouthed, cursing, jolly, huggable, beautiful friend of mine would now soon belong to someone else apart from us, her friends. As I watched her antics on the terrace, during the "gaaye holud" ceremony (which were, to say the least, extremely unlike that of a demure bride...but then Rex and "demure" never really got along anyway), all I felt was amusement, simply because it was Rex.
When I arrived at the wedding venue in the evening, and saw the vision that was Rex, in all her bridal finery, during the "ashirbaad", realisation almost dawned on me for a nanosecond, before disappearing...it still didn't hit me. Neither did it sink in during the "mala bodol", the "saat paak", or the "anjali".
It was only after Swarnadeep (the lucky man in question), put the sindoor on Rex's forehead, that the magnitude of what was happening started to sink in. And a while later, after everything was over, when Bimbo came up to me and said "Tara, it's just sinking in...she's married"....that's when I felt it.
Felt an overwhelming sense of that inexplicable emotion...an amalgamation of intense joy, of intense grief, of panic, of madness, of extremes...
She was now married.

Rex'll never change for me. She'll always be my absolutely crazy, loud-mouthed, alcohol-glugging, almost-chain-smoking, cursing, jolly, lovable, huggable, beautiful friend who knows the choicest of 'galagali', lights up my (and everyone else's) day, and can be counted on never to change. Only, now, there's another life who's name shall henceforth be uttered in the same breath as hers, for, as Samata said, they've gained each other.
And, while at it, Rex made me a part of THAT wedding, that comes along once in everyone's life.

Love you, Rex.

A Point In Time.

2008-03-11T02:17:00.000+05:30

At first, years back, he was the sweet, smiling, one-head-shorter child who walked up to her shyly and handed her a hand made paper rose...

Years later, he changed into the friendly, cocksure boy, who conveyed his feelings by one touch of the hand and innumerable sweet nothings whispered over the phone during random stolen moments...

Even further on, he transformed into the child-man who looked deep into her eyes and promised forever...

For a transient period, he spent a few brief moments being the performer on whom all eyes were trained as he did his thing...

And then suddenly, he was the closest thing she could get to her ideal of perfection, tall, strapping, engulfing her with strong arms into a embrace in which she had always wanted to get lost....

Nothing was real.
And now she looks back over the years.
Wondering at which point of time he had been The One.

Rootless and Debilitated

2008-03-04T00:41:00.000+05:30

Fuck man. Almost 5 months since I last blogged. Borderline Personality Disorder rearing its pleasant self. Mine manifests itself in more ways than one, my extreme fondess and subsequent extreme aversion (and now again, what looks like another round of potential extreme fondness) for the art of blogging being a case in point.
What brought me back to it is something that has been distressing me greatly for the past week or so. My dad's place in New Alipore is in this lovely locality, open and beautiful, complete with a wide, traffic-free road, absolutely adorable stray dogs, and beautiful old trees along both sides of the pavement stretching as far as the eye can see.
About a week ago, I found out that our esteemed Kolkata Municipal Corporation plans to chop down EVERY TREE lining the pavements of most of the blocks of New Alipore. Block 'O' (my block) being one.
Why? They intend to "widen the pavements".
Why again, you ask? Wait for the answer to this one.
On my way back home one day, I witnessed an extremely familiar sight, which you cannot have NOT seen if you are a Calcuttan...the oh-so-delightful sight of workers digging up a road...AGAIN. And this time, it was the lane perpendicular to the road my house is located on.
Another delightful piece of news awaited me at home. Pishi told me that Arup Biswas, Councillor of Tollygunge (and now an MLA as well....why am I not surprised at the kind of people who lead this country?), had, during a speech of sorts, told her blatantly to her face "ufff, Madam, what is the USE of having trees on the pavements? Try to appreciate the measures being taken to make the roads of New Alipore (AHEM) clutter-free and uniform!"
Oh and that is not all.
His reasons for such a brilliant idea?
"Madam, you must understand...nirbachon aashchhe...kichhu akta toh korte hobe, tai na? (elections are approaching...I have to do something, don't I?)"
Thats right, you arsehole. Sit on your friggin arse all the time, and then when you realise that its about time that you "did something", go about destroying the very things that you should be striving to save.
There stood my Pishi, the lone entity trying to protest this move, amongst a group of sycophantic bastards who kept nodding their heads mechanically at whichever blasphemous statement spewed forth from the hallowed lips of Mr. Arup Biswas.
Anyway, after this, Pishi and I went to the KMC office, located opposite Navina cinema hall, in a desperate attempt to plead with Kartik Ghosh, Executive Engineer, to stop the carnage (because carnage it is, for me).
The gentleman was extremely polite to us, save his blithe disregard for the file that Pishi gave to him, containing the sanction of this very same Municipal Corporation that had, some time ago, given authorised permission for trees to be planted along the expanse of pavement in respective blocks of New Alipore.
Mr. Kartik Ghosh patiently heard us out.
Then, once we were done airing our grievance, he lived up to my expectations of him. he said what I was sure he would say.
"I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do, because I have no say in this matter. HIGHER AUTHORITIES have taken the decision".
No say, my fucking hiney. You're the fucking Exec Engineer, for God's sake.
Oh and more music to the ears (very proudly proclaimed at that) followed.
"Do you remember what Theatre Road was like? So many unnecessary trees? See what we have done to Theatre Road now. Akkebaare PORISHKAR kore diyechhi...akta-o gaachh nei (we've CLEANED it completely...not a single tree stands)".
And this proclamation of a heroic deed was thrown at my aunt and me with complete and utter pride. What an achievement.
We didn't know what else to say or do. We left.
The next day, I watched helplessly from my verandah as a beautiful tree opposite my house, which is probably (no, not probably, make that most definitely) older than Arup Biswas and Kartik Ghosh's combined ages, was felled. I had wild thoughts of pulling off another Chipko Movement kind of thing. But, like an ass, I just stood, frozen, and watched the tree going down, feeling a pick axe coming down on my heart every time the felling truck or whatever the fuck it is called, rammed into that tree.
That evening, I just went and stood near where that tree had been.
And I thought
Wow. Such people do indeed exist.
People who think that never ending expanses of pure concrete are more beneficial than that which constitutes the reason we still have SOME oxygen left in this city.
I wonder why I'm surprised. This is the same city where a refusal to maim the Maidan any further due to the Book Fair is denounced as "a war against books".
Congratulations KMC, Arup Biswas and Kartik Ghosh.
Mr. Arup Biswas especially.
Because you know that the people of this city will view your homicidal acts as a sign of progress, and fill up your vote bank.

Congratulations.

Waterfalls

2007-10-17T03:00:00.000+05:30

The kairos sped by

Torpescent...fleeting.

Erstwhile

No matter how much we tried.

Gone

Before the path returned...

Gone

Before the dawning...

Gone

Before the impulse to cherish.

Gone, never to be enshrined.

We adhered

And whispered incoherent traces

Of promises that just...

...Remained.

We sought...

And found

Before we lost

The truth in truth that is largely feigned.

We knew of love

Of crimson times

Of impelling tunes

Of abeyant rhymes.

When the astral and the quixotic invaded the mind

Gone, it was gone

Never to be enshrined.

Sleep never came

Not even by force...

For we turned to waterfalls

When the rivers changed course.

Catharsis..

2007-07-25T16:42:00.000+05:30

I have been sitting here for the last couple of hours. Wondering what to write.

Its not that I do not have anything to say.
Its just that I have so much to say that it hurts.
Its all straining to tumble out in one furious flow of agitation, with me (rather futilely) trying to curb it and filter what is relevant and what is not.

Oh fuck it.

Cassini’s Division are the best fuckin band in the city.

And today I witnessed their last show at the place where I had first seen them.
Someplace Else.

I have never before, at a CD show, felt such a confusing mix of emotions, pervaded by a united feeling of being connected to one another, through the music that we all love. Through the knowledge that what we are about to hear is undoubtedly the best that SPE, and indeed Calcutta, has to offer.
So much grief, and so much love. I hated it. I loved it. I wish it didn’t have to happen. I knew it had to. And I knew that it was for the best.

Togetherness. Unity in incongruity. Passion. Guts. Anger. Love.
It can all be so strange. It can all be so familiar.
CD showed me how.

Sundays, ever since I chanced upon them a year and a half back, have never been the same for me. For me (and for countless others) Sunday = Cassini’s Division. They defined a lot of things. Things that the other bands playing at Someplace Else will never come close to defining, not even if they play there till the day they drop.

We should know. We have witnessed the best.

I remember finding them accidentally. I remember liking them. I remember Bubu Da breaking the ice and talking to me on Orkut. I remember the first real invitation to come and listen to their music. I remember convincing my boyfriend to come along and give it a try. I remember the warm welcome. I remember the familiarization process. I remember staring in horror at those crazy people headbanging. I remember becoming one of those crazy people. :)

Fuck. I remember it all.

Asking Bubu Da for the lyrics of the songs. Reading them in awe. Getting to know the band. Starting to love them as people, and not just as musicians. My first guitar class with Sukanti Da (hehe). Listening to Rahul Da. Endless conversations with John. Laughing as Ludo Da pulled Ayan’s leg about his drunken acts. Losing my way in Salt Lake and then finally finding the right route to Liberty Hall. Bullying Dipanjan. Watching band practice. My extreme curiosity about a recording studio. Waiting impatiently for 5pm every Sunday. So that I could start getting ready to leave for SPE. Finally deciding which CD original is my favourite, after months of listening to them. Feeling all excited about their gigs at NIFT and Xavotsav. Meeting the people I’ve formed such strong bonds with, people who have so intricately become part of my life – Bubu Da, Dipanjan, Samita, Debou, Shreya, Rex, Poorna Di, Avik Da, Diyasree…and needless to say, the band.
The insanely crowded pub, the screaming, the jumping from speakers, headbanging on the bartop, taking picture after picture with my favourite people, watching the moshing from a safe distance, getting into spats with moronic bouncers, screaming myself hoarse, bursting Bubu Da’s ear drums along with Shaapla…

Oh hell. This life really is a bittersweet symphony.

I will never forget this show. Today, I know that I have the power to discern the best from the rest. Because I have been seeing and hearing the best for the past one-and-a-half years.

I am behind Cassini’s Division one hundred per cent in their decision. They’re in my blood, and I will remain loyal to them always, as will all of their immense fan following. Their music will continue, their shows elsewhere will continue, the love and support will carry on, as will their supremacy. Its heartening to see that there is a considerable number of people in this city who recognize good music when they hear it. Its awesome to see four individuals displaying the guts and gumption to make the music that they love, as opposed to other bands at SPE (ahem) who keep churning out songs by other people and reveling in their vicarious existences, not understanding that true merit lies in originality.

Fuck ‘em. We have Cassini’s Division. Let the rest of ‘em eat their hearts out. :)

Could Have Been...

2007-03-25T00:20:00.000+05:30

Forever waiting.
Open wounds, haze of smoke...
Hold on...
But how?

Cannot explain, don't want to
Because you'd judge me.

Am I wrong?
Would you understand?
You would not.
Because I do not...

Stay away.
You'd hate me anyway
And because I can't tell.

Loss...
No.
I don't want to lose.

Do you care? I don't want to know.

You can stand and look at me.
Maybe you want me.
Or maybe you don't.
You will never know
If I want you.

You'll never, ever know...

Don't touch me
It hurts.
But you'll never know...

I swear to you you'll never know.

I will stand here.
No, I will NOT move.
Turn around
And walk away if you wish.
I'll be here
Forever waiting...

For what?

You will never, ever know.

The Old Flower Tree

2007-03-23T01:07:00.000+05:30

(I'd written this years ago...now, of course, when i read it, i laugh over my [then hidden, now apparent] depths of melodrama...articulated by my late grandfather, who read this piece and said to me quite plainly "yes, as 'filmi' as you, my dear!"...but this one's quite precious to me, and at the risk of having some of you laugh, i wanted to share it...you might just feel what i felt while writing it...)

The Old Flower Tree

She looked up at the sprawling house
That the creepers had nearly engulfed,
And the memories came rushing back
Of this place she knew and loved.

"So much, so much has changed", thought she,
And it almost made her cry;
She looked around for one, just one
Sign of the years gone by.

She searched and looked everywhere
But found not what she wanted,
The house, the garden - everything had changed...
Only she was haunted.

Suddenly she let out a shout of delight,
She could not believe it could be!
For among the overgrown, unkempt grass...
She saw the old flower tree.

She saw it all crystal-clear,
Like it was happening now...
The first time she met the man she loved
Beneath the old tree's bough.

She saw all the happy times she'd had,
Planning her life with him
Celebrating the days of love,
Untouched by realities grim.

The promises, the joy, the dreams, the love,
It all came back to her here,
The days witnessed by the old flower tree,
Now just memories she held so dear.

Her excitement knew no bounds.
She ran to the old flower tree,
And, touching the boughs after so many years
Asked softly - "Where is he?"

Her wait was short. Her answer came,
And it chilled her to the bone,
For she saw the answering flower drop
Onto the white tombstone.

She felt numb. But before long
By the pain she was engulfed,
As she knelt by the old tree, and by
The tomb of the man she loved.

Words eluded her. She just wept
As blossoms fell from above,
And the tree standing, silent and strong,
Witnessed the depth of her love.

Finally, she looked up at the tree,
With her eyes filled to the brim,
And said "Tell him I kept my promise,
And that I came back for him."

She walked away for the last time,
And the old tree, proud and high,
Stood by the grave, a witness to
And the symbol of a love gone by.

Epiphany....

2007-03-21T01:17:00.000+05:30

Endless moments, frozen, still,
In the recesses of Time
Touched by colours of the air
Alive.
Just a whisper...
She awakens
A breath away from bliss.

Illusory words, strange, beautiful...
Forbidden
Yearned for by straining ears...
A craving heart.
Phantasmic visions
Beckoning from far away
So close, so close
So terrifyingly needed.

Fleeting gain
Crippling loss
She shall get both
If she gets what she wants...

Overwhelming fantasies
Intoxicating
She is helpless
For she still wants...

Secrets covered
Hidden in the crevices of the dark
Locked away
Escape blocked forever...
Caught in the middle
Her cries reach just her ears
Her heart doomed to yearn
For that which she can never have...

Tears spanning eternity
Cascade silently
Flowing past her heart
Without a word.

Till that voice
Heard again
Like rain on the drought-lands of her being
Touches her...just once.

Chasms filled
The facade breaks
Lifetimes lived in a moment
As she falls, and falls, and falls...

And falls.

Alone...

2007-03-20T14:14:00.000+05:30

As i sit and reminisce about recent times
And the world goes by before my eyes
In retrospect it kills to think
About the pain when the self dies.

The frailty of the human heart
Is shattered by the slightest blow
Sometimes sheer strength tends to help
Sometimes it doesn't...the scars still show.

The anguish felt when the heart that loved
Is stabbed till the trust runs fully dry
Has no boundaries, has no end
Tears run a stream till you can no longer cry.

Learn to watch, helplessly
As the world takes your all away from you
Scream, shout, yell, stay silent if you want
Because there really is nothing you can do.

Your heart may scream, but your lips should whisper
Keep the pain locked inside...
This place, in the guise of alabaster virtue
Will leave you naked...till you have nothing to hide.

Stand still as the double-edged sword
Cuts through your skin and grazes the bone
Don't make a sound...no one will hear
No one cares...You are forever alone.

Tangled...

2007-03-20T14:03:00.000+05:30

Bringer of the dawn
Elusive when needed the most
Hidden
While mortal souls seek
And seek
Helpless
The need overwhelming
Consuming to the core
The essence lost
In a plethora of tangles...
Unseen tears
Reeking of the anguish
That is felt
Only felt...
Attempts in vain
To hold onto...what?
Faith, shattered,
Biting the dust
And into the heart.
Denial
Momentarily dulls the stab
Of the sharp pain
Unavoidable
But the fleeting respite
Respite, nevertheless...
Help me break through
Oh help me, help me!
Before the silence is shattered
By the breaking of my being.
Are you listening?
Herald a new beginning
Enable me to stand
Again
And obtain redemption.
Watch over me
While the raw wounds heal
Empowered by the vestiges of faith
That still remain...
See me through
While my soul journeys
Making its way
Through this loveless world.
Wipe away my tears
While i hurt
Hold me close
And keep me safe...
So that
At the end
Guilt fades into oblivion
I stand tall...
And understand.

Erm...

2007-03-20T00:51:00.000+05:30

Uh, hey. Am here. Am gonna ramble. Bear with me.

Shall continue ramblings later. College tomorrow. Eyelids shutting.

Goodnight.