No matter how he tried,
He could not break free.
And the worms ate into his brain.

Land Ho!

Hopes.


Futility.


They go hand in hand. Sadly.


But the joker parties on! And the fool removes things from tabletop-s and laptops.


Words.


Memories.


Emotions.


Three things you cannot wipe off. For everything else there's toilet paper.


And still the joker sings merrily. And the fool shouts "Land ho!" in midsea. The world pretends that he's right.

The disgruntled onlooker's insight into the life(or whatever) in the USA

Part II : Of whiskey, hotchicks and pain

Okay. That’s what a lot of whiskey does to me. Now, don’t laugh. Or else I may cut you into two. Hnu hNu baawa!

As for hot chicks, I have got two very serious reasons for not uploading any photos. First, this space is too limited for all of them(And alas! My kind self can't tolerate to see any one tight-ass big-bosomed beauty being preferred to another). Second, I generally, while taking pictures, concentrate on other parts of their body than the faces. So some people might even find those innocent pictures a bit "aesthetically jarring".

Huh! If you thought that I would again start my usual teary-eyed "raindrops keep falling" stuff with the pain part, this time I have you fooled. Yippee! The pain comes roughly twice a day. Once when you have to eat something for the lunch and once again when you have to take dinner. Cooking is a serious concern. For people like me, who have always had plates full of wonderful food put in front of them(even when you don't exactly feel hungry) by loving mothers and grandmothers, it is even worse. Believe me. Even if you are starving, the very thought of cooking something for yourself can be very disconcerting. In one way, actually it can be good. Oversized PIGS(poor Indian graduate students) who can't afford to eat out regularly and who can't manage to cook regularly, it actually helps them to reduce some extra flab. In maximum scenarios, the survival factor : MAGGI!!!!!!!!! And yes, I can cook very tasty maggi, that too in three different flavors!

P.S: That's where I go if I don't feel like cooking. Sometimes I go there even if I feel like cooking, if there's a generous friend hanging around with me.

The disgruntled onlooker's insight into the life(or whatever) in the USA

Part I: A different dawn

17^th August, 2007. The day before, i.e 16^th, was an important day. Very important. Not only because it was my mother’s birthday but for some other reasons too. The night of the 16^th was stormy. But not a storm that everyone could see or feel. It even rained. But again, not the sort of rain everyone would be drenched in. As the storm and the rain subsided slowly in blissful sleep, it started to rain even harder. Only this time, the whole city was wet. The rain continued as I reached the airport around 5 in the morning( As someone later pointed out, I could have written that the city wept because I was leaving. But that is too melodramatic, too much me. So I deliberately decided not to write it). When I checked in, the sun was slowly coming out of the clouds. Then, a long and tiresome and uneventful journey punctuated by red wines and vodkas and whiskeys on the rocks. And about 30 hours later I was standing on a wooden verandah in a house in New Jersey. Watching the sky reddening. Watching the sun coming out once again. Only this time, an American sun on an unknown sky marking a different dawn. And for the first time in those 30 hrs the feeling sank in. I knew I was away from home. I knew I was not going back soon. And it rained once again. Inside.

P.S: This has been long due. Perhaps too long. Especially for someone like me who cribbed a lot about the usual leaving-ones-city-and-roots-and-going-abroad stuff. That too, publicly. May be even to some people’s dismay. But settling down in a new place, getting your internet connection up and working, cooking and above all, getting into a mood for writing, surely takes up a hell lot of a time. That is more or less what delayed this.

Once upon a time, there were three brothers. They embarked upon a journey together. Days passed, weeks, months. And one morning they saw a beautiful fountain ahead. As they went nearer they saw an extremely beautiful girl sitting by the fountain. On seeing the three brothers, the girl said “my name is Beauty. Come hither and speak of what you think of me”. The eldest moved forward and said “my name is Any one and as he sees your breathtaking beauty, Any one wonders if he could make love to you”. Then, the younger brother moved forward and said “my name is Some one and as he sees your beautiful eyes, Some one thinks if could marry you and have children with you.” Then the youngest brother moved forward and said “my name is No one and as he sees your most charming self, No one thinks he doesn’t desire but only loves you.”

To this Beauty answered “Any one desires me, Some one wants me and No one loves me. I could have embraced Any one, married Some one. But I have decided to love No one.”

Aamar shohor

I love you more and more each day as time goes by.......Bertie Higgins.

I have only a few days left in Calcutta(yes, I prefer Calcutta to the more bengalified Kolkata) and as the day approaches, slowly but steadily, the above song keeps coming back to my already pissed mind. Yeah! Pissed!! Thats what I am. Everyone around would expect me to be beaming with joy, thrilled at the prospects of a whole new world, lost in the eternal American dream. But I already miss my city.

Ret-e mosha din-e machhi
Ei niye Kolketay achhi..............Kobi Ishwar Gupta.

The 21 years that I have spent in Calcutta(+2 in a goddamned Kanpur, that makes me 23. Sigh!!!), every single day has been like a whole lifetime. Every person I have met, every place I have visited has a special memory attached to it. Sometimes it seems as if nothing about this city is ordinary. Be it the extremely messy traffic jams, the hartals, the numerous fairs going on all throughout the year, the waterlogged streets, the festivals .........every other thing about Calcutta seems to be weaving a magic touch on my otherwise ordinary life. Sometimes a healing touch. A walk amidst the book stalls in college street, the fragrances of new and old books in my veins have often calmed a brewing storm. Many a fond memories have been chalked on the ragged old carpets of Olypub(Ahhhh! Oly!!!! More on it later). On the alleys of this city I walked alone, made friends and foes alike, did what I didn't mean to, lost what I never knew if I wanted or not ............in Calcutta I found what I long for, most.

Ei shohor jaane amar prothom sobkichhu
Palate chai joto, se aase amar pichhu pichhu.............Kabir Suman.

This city has made me what I am today, it knows me inside out. And I have tried all these years to know her, to be one with her. And now when I will be leaving for New Jersey in a few days, I don't miss my parents as much as I miss her. There would be quite a few raised eyebrows on hearing that. But the greener pastures I am leaving for, promise me a better future when I can, in all probablities afford to have my parents by my side anywhere in the world. But with all the moolah in the world raked in, I won't be able to have even a tiny piece of Calcutta around me. That very thought hurts!! Muchly. And I want to come back. Desperately. Even before I've left. Maybe its my roots calling. Maybe my soul. Which strays along the roads of the city, wherever I am.

A (very)short story

His beloved mother often accused him of being forgetful. Little did she know, how he spent his days yearning to forget.

He has always likened himself to a rock. Has always tried to take life as it comes. Pain, happiness, solitude, he received all with a nonchalant look in his eyes. But deep down, he longed. Longed with all his might for what he had no hope of acquiring. And at times when it bore down on his mind, he wished that he could forget everything. Every damn thing!! But then, forgetfulness is a bliss. And he was not blessed.

False accusations, he thought.

Naive old lady, he laughed.

"Bless me, o God!!!!!!!", he cried.

Disclaimer: Likenesses to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.