est que tu peux me comprendre

To J.M. Coetzee, Adelaide

2010-11-11T08:33:00.002+05:30

Dear Mr. Coetzee,

Thank you for your insightful, albeit depressing, reply. May I suggest that you cease prying into people's Facebook profiles to scavenge all the little "notes" written to you? While I am extremely flattered by your attention, I cannot help but feel you lack a certain something called life. Nonetheless, you have done your duty by replying but that must needs elicit a few words from my end. As you can tell from the time I have taken to send you my response (in the context of an instant-coffee culture), I have put some thought into what I feel would be appropriate, so kindly bear with me.

When I first read your work (I believe it was Disgrace) I was amazed by the neatness and that keen piercing quality of your prose. Worry not, this is not just your ordinary fan letter, but I must be allowed to preface my interest. What soon attracted my attention, however, was your obsession with the self and the manner in which the written word could (or could not) access that self. To cut a rather long and untidy story short, I decided to follow my initial observation and I am glad to say you have not let me down on the "self department" yet. If in the future you become so affected by my casual notes that you choose to work against my thesis, I shall consider that rare praise. Thus you see my naivete, as you so endearingly term it, is not without its own history--and one that I am more than willing and capable of defending.

Now to come to the little matter of professional academics. May I remind you that you too walked the same path you believe I am walking, several decades ago. But this is not to remind you of your own failings. The poet can hardly be that cruel to her muse. However, you are not the first (and I sincerely hope not the last either) to warn me, and if I may be allowed a rather MTV-esque reply: I don't give a tiny rat's ass. Those musty corridors of canonical texts now unfortunately house you (I delightfully refuse to add "work") and would even you go so far to disparage yourself? Ah the flipside of being a Nobel Laureate. You may refuse to go where they praise you, but praise you they will.

I look forward to hearing from you in the future, and something tells me I have punctured your ego enough to expect another reply. If you find some of what I have said too off the cuff, feel free to let me know. I am a graduate student you know, I can fake interest far more than you think a human being capable of.

Yours sincerely

Sunayani Bhattacharya

JMC, a response

2010-11-10T00:09:00.001+05:30

Dear Ms Bhattacharya,

I received your rather cryptic, and I might add intriguing, note via this vulgar contraption called Facebook. I am still not sure what to make of either the strangeness of the mode of communication or your audacity, but I feel a reply is in order.

So you believe yourself to be one of the rare individuals to be investing your academic time in my work as you try and climb the precarious ladder of graduate school. I hate to be the one bursting your psychedelic fantasy bubble, but you are probably the one thousandth person to consider my work as suitable subject for study. Perhaps they did not warn you, but the others ahead of you in the field have not fared too well. I am not a kind muse. However, since for some perverse reason you choose to persist, I feel it is my duty to acquaint you with the imminent pitfalls.

When you so peremptorily suggest that "we" need to talk (a line, by the way that was last used by my ex-wife to inform me she had had just about enough of me) you have no idea who the "other" is in this dialogue. Nor may I add, you ever will. Your naivete might have been endearing a decade or two ago, my response too might have been more favourable. Today, however, I have seen too many of the likes of you to believe any good will ever come of it. What you will eventually produce (if anything) will be a naive mix of idealism and baseless logic, supported by arguments as strong as the various anti-war protests. Once you finish basking in your momentary glory, you will realise the futility of your work as you will be relegated to the musty corridors of teaching canonical literature. When (or rather, if) you do acquire the power to teach your "area of specialisation" you will be left spouting trite arguments following the latest theoretical fad. At the end of it all, when you can no longer hide your disillusionment even from yourself, you will be resigned to having spent the better years of your life wondering what made an old man's work so special without ever having uncovered their polyvalent layers.

If, after such persuasion, your enthusiasm remains vigorous, then I can only offer my sincerest condolences.

Yours

JMC

tukro chhobi.

2010-04-04T21:59:00.002+05:30

spotted in a shop display in chandni. a full length poster of greta garbo smiling coyly at another poster featuring sri devi. would have been less remarkable had it not been for the sheer strangeness of the expressions.

also near chandni. a shop claiming to sell "family planning appliances". featuring images of the aforementioned "appliances" that look disturbingly like instruments belonging to a torture chamber.

sunrise. over the dingiest parts near howrah station. followed by a dawn made more spectacular by the greyness of the city. the last of the electric lights struggling to compete with a foggy sun.

late at night, this time on the way to the airport. the old way, the one you had to take through the city before the coming of the em bypass. long before rajarhat. sleepers on the pavement, people coaxing a few more minutes of a faintly breezy night. late night classic bollywood on the radio.

gariahat more. just after sundown, when you thought the place just couldn't get more crowded. hagglers, stragglers. lights. shops. the works. and the sudden silence of the little lane that leads away from the madness. you wonder how.

pavement bookstalls. keen eyes (thank you. you know who you are.) spotting a second hand copy of sartre. first edition. also being offered nancy drew while looking for hegel. it is, after all, just words.

being nagged awake on sunday mornings. yes, this too is a luxury, sometimes sorely missed. the same sunday spent doing absolutely nothing. and the feeling of despair that settles at the pit of your stomach just when the sun goes down and everything starts gearing up for the working week.

running into old, old friends. ones you thought didnt exist any more. the sheer randomness of the conversations that follow. that leave you ruminating about the "good ol' days".

realising that you are getting on in years. you remember parks, places, rickshaw rides dating back to the 80s. also that those things dont exist any more.

being inside the eden gardens again, and remembering why you had thought of the fish-eye lens in the first place. witnessing water-pouch pelting. a noticeable lack in sportsmanship.

conversations. about anything. continental philosophy. dating bollywood films to the exact month. books. boka people. the city. the south of the city. life. love. ideas. and sometimes wondering why the wind has to start up only when you can see it from inside the shop.

2009-12-08T23:45:00.002+05:30

yet another year comes to an end, and yet again i realise i have precious little to show for it. i consistently remain my non-achieving self, and sit down once more to do a spot of stock-taking. you could also call this an escape-from-sop-writing, but then again, life is full of nay-sayers. 2009. one significance of it could be my 25th year of existence on this here our glorious planet earth. i mean, 25 years, a quarter of a century - it's gotta count for something, right? right? right. the last couple of years have been somewhat crazy, and this one tops the list. decisions that i was supposed to regret didn't bother me a tad bit, people i was supposed to forget i couldn't stop thinking about, and loves that were'nt supposed to happen just magically did.

special mention must be made of tampa. i hate that little town and i am bizarrely fond of it. if you ask me what i miss, the vote'll go to those breathtaking sunsets, to the funny sense of independence, to some very very good friends. but that little picture of the rain that still seems so very alien refuses to go away, and makes the whole sketch soggy. all in all, i have seen the beauty, and i know it had little to do with the place. with someone it was the best place on earth. at other times...let's just say, i'd seen better.

also, i doff my non-existent cap to a certain charles harpur from new south wales, australia. you're a boil on the face of poesy, your writing sucks from here to kamchatka, and you certainly could do with clearer paleography. but thanks to your reams and reams of nonsense, i get to go back to my home away from home. it would seem bad poetry does have it's uses after all!

kolkata. where would i be without you. i have tried and failed to understand what is in this strange city that makes me want to call it home. friends, faces, places, people yes. but just that something more that you suddenly get a whiff of while perched on a rickshaw, negotiating the lanes behind dakshinapan on a winter dusk.

remember the "just so stories"? just so.

hegel, an attempt.

2009-08-25T23:48:00.004+05:30

to begin with, hegel. i shal leave you to discover who is was (haha!) and what really was his philosophy, and right to the heart of the matter. in his phenomenology (the obvious lack of capitalization is not a bid on my part to imitate bell hooks. far from it. in fact i believe capitalization, along with most of the english language's other idiosyncrasies, has its proper time and place. it's just that i am lazy. now, to return.) as i was saying, in phenomenology, hegel employs an investigational approach that is now widely known (and mis-known) as the dialectical method. as kierkegaard puts it, this is to understand a position/phenomenon/concept etc. by examining difference. the object and the "not" object, "not" used only most loosely in this regard to express difference, oppostion. the self, then, for hegel can be defined only by looking at what is "not" the self, what lies outside the self, what is an "other" to the self. (again, please do me the honour of not taking a monologic view of "not.")

the logic of the argument becomes somewhat clear after one accepts the foundation of reason that hegel adopts. (although, i am sorry to say, the language remains stubbornly inaccessible.) consciousness, which is not yet a self, needs to become a self consciousness to indeed be called a self. hegel charts for it a logical progression, which is also, and here i believe necessarily, a teleological one. this "consciousness" first sensually perceives the "objects" that surround it. at this stage, it is not yet aware of its own subjecthood, let alone the subjecthood of the "objects." hence the terminology.

hegel argues that this process of perceiving soon exhausts itself and leads to an impasse. the consciousness can no longer be a passive observer and now feels the need to actively engage with the world/objects. for hegel, the form that this engagement takes is that of desire.

here i must make a note to avoid charges of oversimplification, and indeed, misinterpretation. although, i do not believe that a text can ever be "wrongly" read, but that is another story. anyway, what i wish to say is that i am indeed skipping over large portions of his thesis and presenting only the emaciated skeleton. just the top of the top of the iceberg. to learn more, please feel free to read the text.

the way this desire is expressed by the consciousness is hardly a unique one, if you keep in mind the reactions of a very young child. (the analogy itself introduces further complications, but think of this as merely an example. it gets tiresome to keep typing "the consciousness." consider this my creative input.) the child desires the object that is before him/her, say a block of clay, and it manifests its desire by trying to consume/destroy the block. (again, not literally, please.) consciousness, too, desires an object and thus destroys it by consuming etc. after it has destroyed the first block, it must then transfer its desire to another object, which it must then destroy and ad infinitum.

the ability to express desire lets the consciousness know of its unique subjecthood. after all, it has identified itself as being "different" from the objects that it consumes. hegel grants the consciousness the status of a "self" consciousness, as it can now perceive difference. however, even now, this knowledge has no universal validity as the consciousness cannot find any external proof to confirm its unique existence.

the problems are obvious. and also, here the logic of the argument fails, and so hegel moves on. he then describes the meeting between two self consciousnesses. as kojeve says, let this be the meeting between the first two men. (oh sod off you feminists/gender equalists. too much work.) each self consciousness perceives the "other" as another self consciousness. the significance of the statement is that this "other" is no longer a mere object. rather, it is a self consciousness, much like the one that perceives.

this leads to the next impasse. self consciousness, in the hegelian frame of logic, needs to establish itself as unique, for it to have any validity. it needs to prove its unique existence. in order to do this, the self consciousness must be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice--it must be willing to destroy itself, its existence. paradoxical, yet necessary. after all, if you can't put your life at stake for the recognition that you seek from your "other," then that recognition cannot be of supreme importance to you.

now, like the one self consciousness desires recognition, so does the other. and so ensues the famous "battle unto death" described by hegel. both self consciousnesses stake their most precious possession--their selves--to win the most important battle. with both self consciousnesses engaged in this mortal combat (forgive the pun), the result is logically obvious. one of them has to win. the winning self consciousness is the master, says hegel, while the self consciousness that loses this battle is the slave.

here comes one of the crucial paradoxes. (what an idiotic statement. all of hegel's paradoxes are crucial. if they were mine then they would be just that, paradoxes.) in this battle to death, if one self consciousness dies, then it defeats both its own and its"other's" purpose. if it dies, it ceases to have an existence, and therefore no unique existence is possible. also, if the self consciousness dies (i.e. it is destroyed by its "other") then who is to provide the recognition that the remaining self consciousness seeks? with the "other" gone, the self consciousness can have no proof to validate its theory of unique existence and hence it is back to square one. so it is imperative for both consciousnesses to be alive. one the master, the other the slave.

apparently, the self consciousness that is the master occupies a superior position. it has engaged in a fight to death and has emerged victorious. it has reduced the "other" slavish self consciousness to the position of a "object" by expressing desire and consuming it. the slave self consciousness is bound to fulfill the desires of its master.

the slave, on the other hand, has surrendered its unique existence by succumbing to its "other." the defeat has resulted from a fear to sacrifice its existence, and so the slave self consciousness is, as the americans would variously say, a loser, a dipshit, a toolbox and many such choice terms of endearment.

however (the "aha!" moment, if you please), there are some problems. (there always are. c'est la vie.) if the slave self consciousness is indeed an object, then what is the worth of the recognition that it provides? what does the master gain by being recognised by an inferior "object"? nothing. the win itself sullies the proof that is sought. the master, very simply put, cannot overcome/transcend its position as it has achieved victory. but this victory is contingent. the master needs the slave to do the work of recognising, yet the slave's recognition is worth nothing. also, by virtue of its postion, the master is dependent on the slave for the fulfillment of the former's desires. bit of a quandry, eh?

for the slave self consciousness, now, there is a pyrrhic victory. (oh how the ghosts of the ancients refuse to depart.) it provides the crucial (!) recognition and so is conscious of the master's dependence on it. but here comes hegel's brilliant sleight of hand. the slave is close to nature through the work that it performs for the master. (nature a.k.a. the object world that surounds the self consciousness) it consumes this nature yes, but in the way of moulding it. the master, with its distance from the actual work, is incapable of directly influencing this nature. so the slave can see the products of its own work, and this reinforces its (guess what) sense of self. also, it has already experienced fear and defeat, so there is a possibility for it to transcend its present position and change. the master can only transcend through death. the master self consciousness cannot afford to change as that, in the hegelian argument, can only be toward a higher position and the master cannot attain a position higher than it already has.

so it is the slave, ultimately, who has the upper hand, and what hegel stops short of advocating, is a passage through slavery for all men. because only after a self consciousness has been enslaved can it then hope to overcome its position of disadvantage and attain a higher position.

i shall not venture into how the unhappy self consciousness comes into being, partly owing to ignorance and mostly to lack of desire. the final solution (funny, innit?) hegel proposes is that the self consciousness becomes only too aware of its unique existence and now desires an unification with "god." (too problematic to define. bugger off.) however, it also realises that it cannot ditch its unique self consciousness (then the whole project fails, non?) and so is rendered unhappy. here hegel, i am sorry to say, fudges and decides that the only way out is for there to be a "priest-like" self consciousness on whom the unhappy consciousness can dump its material glories, achievements, desires and be free for some holy fun and games.

you thought this was bad? just you wait.

an attempt, part 1

2009-08-25T23:27:00.003+05:30

there must be a way to end my madness. put an end to it. end it. caput. finit. callitwhatyouwill. now, if you have a modicum of intelligence, you will ask me, define "madness." i understand your lack, hence i shall expect nothing from you, but will rather place the question myself. the madness, dearly beloved friend of mine, cannot be defined. at least not to you. and in reality, even to myself. because, you see, you poor besotted fool, to embark on any such adventure, i must first establish what i mean by myself, since i speak of "my" madness. as you are well aware (of course you are not, but i shall do you credit by assuming you possess such obscure knowledge), the bid to define the self has been the defining quest for western philosophy. so while for "me, poor man, my libary was dukedom enough," the journey is an attractive one, i cannot presume to even begin to have the answer.

this is not leading us anywhere, is it? in fact, i will be the first to admit that the question itself has by now been lost in this definitional banter. hence let me begin anew. or rather, let me rephrase. how do i establish the self that is at the present continuous moment experiencing a phenomenon commonly known as madness? (yes, i understand there are obvious problems with the statement/question itself, but such is the nature of language. to survive outside it is not possible, and so we make do with what we have.)

the self, then. who am i? now you are thinking, "what?! after all this rather derridean phrasing, this is what she wants to uncover? ah my pauvre deluded ami, the this that you so casually dismiss is the crux of the matter. and i will be damned if you can even begin to confront it.

let's try. i know, i know. asking to much of you, but just try not to fal asleep. okay? simple enough? here is what i shall do: given the obvious lack of knowledge on my part, i shall make a very feeble attempt to outline the theories of a few major philosophers. now by no means is this an exhaustive understanding. in fact i shall choose only certain very restricted points of view and present the case from there.

her story

2009-08-20T00:49:00.002+05:30

The city was wet. Rain drenched. Buildings stained by the downpour stared out of their tired windows. Soggy streets. The last of the raindrops clinging to the sodium rays of the vapour lamps. Slowly, she walked back home. Through streets that were more a part of her than most things. But tonight the city wasn't on her mind. Tonight even the rain couldn't invade her thoughts. Tonight the rain water in the cracked concrete didn't reflect the storm in her eyes.

Tonight she could only think of him. Of his eyes, and the way he looked at her. He was an alien in her city. Lost, feeling out of place. But she did not see this all at once.

All she saw were his eyes.

"You want to tell my story? Why? Why would you?" She couldn't tell him. She sensed he wanted reasons, logic even. She had none. Facile, convinient answers that would have fooled anyone else. But she couldn't lie to him...

sex with books

2009-03-10T03:44:00.002+05:30

there is something almost insanely comforting about a good library. especially one where you know your way around. the huge stacks, the numerous rows of books, the silence that surrounds it all...a touch of magic is as close as i can get to describing it all in words. and when you touch the spine of those books, so patiently waiting for the day that some starving soul will pounce on them and thank the heavens for their existence. or even for the day when that very same soul comes across a long lost friend. a familiar face. a challenge. relationships that require total commitment. a book knows when it is scorned and it will return the favour. a book knows when it is loved. actually, i have no right to put it simply this way. because you, you too will know when the book rejects you. oh, they are not all good books. like you are not all good yous. but mostly we lie in the various shades of grey, a little bit of good, a little bit of bad, a little bit of a mystery. and when you find the one you want, when you finally touch the book that almost calls out for attention, then the magic begins all over again. a moment of trepidation as you open the book and read the first few sentences. will this work? will this not? a gentle dance of courtship. a bit of back and forth, a few flirtatious smiles, the frisson of sudden, unexpected brushes...and then imagine the afternoon. one sensuous pool of liquid time as the glorious afternoon drifts by. and you contemplate in your mind as you realize, damn right, high theory does turn me on!!!

one winter evening...

2009-02-10T03:09:00.003+05:30

Why such a disparity of reactions? Where did it all go wrong? Or was it wrong from the start? No, that fact is untenable. Then there must needs be answers. Must there? Probably not. Then "must is too strong a word. Answers are desired. Or maybe not even answers, as they can be more painful than this void. And answers cannot change reality, which is what is truly desired. No answers then, only a move back to status quo. The previous, unpleasant one. This one is all too familiar, as the words themselves prove. A long face and mindless chatter--both leading to a profound sense of loneliness. Survival is the key here and thankfully the means are not entirely absent. While the larger picture drips of sardonic bitterness, it is the quotidian that is the hardest to deal with. The larger picture can be ignored, at least temporarily. The long everyday hours leave little room for comfort. Or cheer. A world full of lonely people, waiting for that one stroke of magical good luck. All too often that moment passes by,without adequate warning. And then the wait for the next. And the next. In an interminable, inexhaustible line of forced cheerfulness. Faking it becomes the goal and suddenly, one day, the lie becomes the truth. Hope dies a cruel death, and takes with it all that is beautiful. The wake is terrible, unimaginably cold and cruel. Surprisingly, though, very little actually changes. Status quo returns. The one never hoped for, yet endured for the longest time. The one strongly detested, yet lived through, year after melancholy year. Age comes. The coming of age. Youth appears to be a dream--long forgotten, very briefly lived and intensely enjoyed. It is an eternal strife with a dead, soulless, pitiless world. A world that taunts you with a beauty never to be had. Tempts, dares you constantly to cross that one invisible line separating love from a hopeless, pointless existence. Yet that line can never be crossed. Not with any definite sense of finality. What is the meaning of such a life? Why do we hang on to the slimmest threads of incredulous belief? Why not take the final chance and let it all go? Questions, whose answers we do not know. Or perhaps, we do. We hang on just to see the next pointless sun rise, the next meaningless day unfold in all its majesty. Because we never stop hoping. Because we never stop looking for that moment of bliss that might be just around the corner. What if all we needed was just a tiny miracleto that next step? What if all we needed was just that vision of uncontrolled passion, of a love beyond all human, divine belief? And so we hold on to whatever shred of despair we choose to call hope and look for the next, tiniest of all, miracles.

2009-01-18T02:47:00.003+05:30

i long for those simpler days when life revolved around uncomplicated decisions. no growing up, no adulthood. nothing. i guess it is of no use asking for such times because from what i know of myself, i would still have been asking for the good old times back then. although, i think i can say with some certainty that there was a period in my life when i was more or less satisfied. clothes, boys, friends, JU...what more could a girl ask for? well, those days are gone, and gone with them are the few certainties of life. when it comes down to a daily battle of "where the fuck am i going to end up?" one can rest assured that life is fucked. totally. completely. screwed. and the sad thing, as i discovered a few weeks back, is that you cannot go back where you left off. things seems pointless and small and boring. no going back.

2008-12-12T23:34:00.002+05:30

as yet another year comes to an end, it's time to sit back and do the whole stock-taking thing. really? i think not. alright, just another excuse to write in my own blog. pathetic, i know. but since it's just me and i really don't care, i think it is safe to say, who gives a fuck?
on a more serious note, i should finish looking for universities for the phd. what a pain in the ass. and in so many other placews. i would rather be gallivanting and having fun. but no, here i am, chained to the desk, looking through deadlines. if this isn't boring, tell me what is. there you go, i knew you would come around. my point of view is really quite compelling. really. a lot of really-s already in this post. well, since the trend is well established why not further it? so further it i shall. with more inanities.
do i have anything to say in the first place? a lot. but those shall not make their way here. no, not yet. so what else? oh, a whole lot if you please. a whole lot of horseshit. or otherwise. once the school thing gets sorted out life will be a lot more pleasant. look, i can type without looking. and look, the moment i try to do that i mess it up. yay joy.
okay, so i have spent a considerable amount of net space saying or doing nothing. time i bring this gig to a close.

2008-10-03T22:23:00.003+05:30

eshechhe sarat, pujor porosh and all that jazz. well eta ke sarat bole beshi bola hobe na. pujor porosh porjonto achhe. you see each day and swear that it is so much more beautiful than the one before. it couldnt possibly get prettier. and then you see the next day. and it is prettier. so all that is there. majhe majhe ekta pujo puo gondho-o paoa jaye. kintu byas okhanei shesh. ar kichhu nei. not a moment tp spare. run run run. and just wen you think you're done running, you just have to put yourhead down and run some more. sometimes i get the feeling that i am the one i am trying to beat. how far can you push yourself. after that magical week in scotland i havent seen another moment when i can truly say that i havent had a care in the world. mom told me that it is time to grow up. part of that involves no more whining. shotti-i to, ar keu keno shunte chaibe? kharap lagchhe, mon mejaj gorom hoye achhe, jai chai tai nagaler baire. keu keno shunte chaibe eta? tar cheye borong ami-i shuni lok er dukkher kotha. conceptually better. better to be the sufferer than the one inflicting the suffering. has no connection to what i was writing. but it's there anyway.
okay, so i'm venting. big deal. tell me, who cares? really, who does? nobody. and i dont blame them. that is the logical thing to do. i'm just going to have to go back to that mirror of mine. repeat after me: my life is perfect. i want nothing more. i am so happy. thrilled to bits.

2008-09-06T07:57:00.003+05:30

too soon to write? technically yes, i guess. haven't even left the country. but since when has that stopped great minds? so a performance it was. a little nervous, yes. even patchy. but worth the while. oh so worth the while. i know not all conferences will be like this. in fact this might even be the exception. but it was a nice start. a very nice start. and who said academics don't get to perform? they do! and boy is it fun performing! now i have no reason left to feel left out when i think of people acting in plays and deriving a sense of belonging from those acts. i had my group here. i'll have another group the next time. hopefully just as nice. hopefully just the same people. ah we are hopeful!
the one thing i can say with a huge degree of certainty is that i haven't been this happy since i moved to the US. reminded me of old times. old people. but without the sadness. each moment came up as another one to be enjoyed. each feeling to be savoured. how many people can get so lucky? how many indeed.
the stories, there are many. the moments, there are many. recounting them is not my purpose. at least not right now. savouring them is. and so that is exactly what i am doing. savouring the feeling of being young again. of having no cares. of having the luxury of imagining oneself to be grown up. the right to be playful. the right to have fun. some people to have fun with. basic you would say. there are two sides of a coin.
and oh beautiful it all was! for once i do not have the words. and neither do i need them. i have the pictures in my mind and they say it all. here's one of them, just for starters.

2008-08-07T03:25:00.003+05:30

another life of waiting. for what? i know not. i wait. like the proverbial idiot. do idiots wait? profound question, but i dont have an anwser. these days i dont have too many answers. what do i do? how do i make it right? sometimes i think i am doing it all wrong. it was my fault that all this happened anyways so who am i to crib. but crib i still do, hoping for one of those miracles to emerge from somewhere. let it go girl, let it all go. let the good times go. let the bad times go. question is, how? how do i stop myself from staring into something i dont want? i was afraid of meeting him. now i'm petrfied. what difference does it make? none, i know. oh but i love him. i love him so much. he is my baby. was. all has changed. changed so much that i no longer know anything anymore. i look at myself now and i dont recognise the girl i was. so how will he? two strangers will meet in a world without possibilities. i know i will get over this. someday. somehow. till then i will crib. hey, i can do that much can't i? juvenile. but of course i am juvenile. but at least when i talk about her he talks. otherwise the silence is too much for me. i was never one for silences anyways. never one for living a life without words. and when words are all you have how can life go on without them? if life can go on without him, then words are mere pebbles on the beach. of pebbles and of scribbles. not me. it was not me. the smell, the memory, the rain, the smile after the rain. it is not me any more. it was. not so long ago it was. i was there. now i am not. people come. people go. life goes on. he said, move on with your life. i am trying baby, i am trying. but i love you too much. and there is no way i can tell you. if there had been invisible words you would have seen all my love in letters. as you would have heard it in my silences. i know you know. you know i know you know. but is it only me? am i only a distant memory? self pity, gir, this is all self pity. grow up. get out of it. shit happens. life goes on. so will yours. you will look back and laugh. i keep telling myself that but why do i find it so hard to believe? why do i find it so hard to end this? even these words? why do i feel the moment i will stop writing all of it will come crashing back on me again? because i know only too well that it will. so i keep on writing. in a vain hope that i will be able to keep all else at bay. if i succeed you will know. if i fail, even then. it seems only yesterday that i met him. only yesterday we were spending a lifetime all in one night. i can see her right now. huddled beside the window, clutching her blue little cellphone and typing out her life as the rain comes pouring down. he's right there, waiting for her. her little boy. his girl. a girl in a blue dress. his girl. she liked that. she wanted to be his. when she crossed the road, she could imagine him standing there at the bus stop, smiling a smile only he could. she can see it all. the room, those stolen hours, the birds in the wide open sky under which they sat...where did it all go? why did it all have to end? there is no answer.shadows, he says. shadows came in the way. yes, he is right. they did. she let them in. time and again as he tried, she messed it all up. now its just not fair that she asks him to back. what is gone is gone. shadows took them away? maybe it wasn't only the shadows. maybe it was. what difference does it make?
let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. love is not love that alters when it alteration finds, or bend with the remover to remove. o no, it is an ever fixed mark that looks upon tempests and is never shaken. it is the star to every wandering bark, whose worth's unknown although it's heighth be taken. love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass comes. love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom. if this be error and upon me proved, i never writ, nor no man ever loved.
pretty words. but it ends. they all do.

2008-08-04T23:32:00.003+05:30

they were strangers. who knew each other only for a lifetime. then the night ended. then the song ended. but while it lasted it was good and that's all that really matters. the question is, where do all these songs go once they end? do they just disappear? do they stay somewhere hidden?
they sat and asked each other how the chinks appeared. no one really knew the answers. or maybe they both did, but what was the point? so they are strangers once more in a world full of strangers. and so it begins all over again as the paths go their different ways. but the memories remain. with the good times and the bad. the walks they walked. along dusty roads...one hungry dog, a packet of biscuits. yes it's all good. she asks herself, will the paths cross again? will they walk together? he answers with his silence, one that she has come to know so well. where did it all go so horribly wrong? why did shadows cloud the dreams they had? she knows. oh yes she knows so well. she's paid the price, she's paying for it every day. back to old love songs, sappy movies and a certain dravid. a life she had dared to leave behind. she wishes him a world of happiness, a world without shadows, a world full of rainy days and stolen kisses. it's finally all about her again. only about her as the world swirls around in with its madding crowds. yes, it's all good. once again.

2008-08-04T08:55:00.002+05:30

i have been watching this tv series called "Californication" (oohh how terribly american that sounds. tv series. anyways). after a very long time i actually found something i liked so unabashedly. as unabashedly as to watch 13 straight episodes back to back. i like the guy. evidently aging does not have to make someone look bad. the opposite has definitely happened in this case. i love the humour. i love that sarcasm. i dont know if its just me or if there is something in the air that says that this world could do with a lot more tongue in cheek, plain old fashioned sarcastic humour. now is that an oxymoron? to some maybe. i love.
and there is something so terribly appealing about a goodlooking man who is willing to engage in an intellectually amusing stychomathia with the necessary deadpan face. all in all, a good combination. how much i am going to like the next season i do not know. what i do know is i want the story to have the cliched happy ending. it is just so fitting. i mean, look at it this way, dont we have enough unhappy endings as it is in this world? why extend it to the movies? thus i finally discover the philosophy behind sop. but let me tell you this, those people who make and buy that sop are lonely people, heart broken perhaps. hoping against hope that some of that cinematic charm rubs off onto their miserable day-in day-out existence. well as things stand, i like what i see, ideology or otherwise. or was it philosophy?

2008-07-18T00:25:00.002+05:30

you reach a point when nothing you write makes any sense any more. what is the best way to return to that phase of writing something meaningful? something that truly makes you feel good. makes you feel that you have a few of those grey cells still functioning. taking a break? i have taken many. too many. i think that is why right now i'm facing this block. well as things stand, even now iam producing a precious load of horseshit. i need to do something. and do it fast. i just don't know what to do. change of venue? where to? the only other place which is of any real consequence is my room. and i know only too well that that is not going to help. i know because i have tried. so this place is it? too much noise today. i need a break. i need to go home. im not writing anything useful anymore because i want to go home. and it's just not working out. too many things falling to pieces all at once. i don't know what to do anymore. i know i will finish this. i know that. simply because i have no alternative. but that feeling really does not help.

2008-06-21T20:47:00.002+05:30

what if nothing existed beyond my field of vision? what if all that i see before me is all there is? the incessant rain pouring down the wet huddled trees, the white grey sky, the white bars on the window. this is my universe. this is all i see. what if everything beyond were merely a speck in time? memorial hallucinations. what is it that i fear?

the goldfish

2008-05-07T08:11:00.002+05:30

have you ever heard of something called the goldfish syndrome? probably not and you probably don't want to either. couldn't care less etc etc. well since i know i will tell you. coercion? you could say so. do i give a damn whether you listen to me or not? unlikely. oh yes, the goldfish. well it's disarmingly simple really. if you put a goldfish in a tiny fishbowl, chances are that it is going to get bored. the situation is then thus: it feels like bouncing off the bowl's wall in a desperate attempt to break out of it. it's not necessary that the world outside is conducive to the goldfish's survival. what is of paramount importance is to break out of the bowl. unfortunately few goldfish ever manage to even scratch the surface and spends its days swimming round and round the fishbowl. i shall not presume to tell you how it feels because i am not a goldfish. i can however tell you how a person might feel in an analogous situation, but by now you have probably guessed those emotions anyway so i shall spare you the agony. moral of the story? nothing really. you could buy a larger fishbowl or the fish could try jumping out instead of breaking the walls. in either case, i don't know the answer.

2008-04-13T20:02:00.002+05:30

rainy days and sundays go rather well. only if i didn't have the evil/not-so evil kings hanging over my head liike that god-awful sword. democles? was that the name? oh bugger. never mind.
i am to be "bloody, bold and resolute" about certain actions of mine and i love the idea. just the execution bit has me in a bit of a quandry. how the hell do i start? oh i know i know, just start and it will happen. how brilliant my thoughts are today, i am positively overwhelmed. hah.
the depressive charge has been fired again. oh how i wail when i think my blog seems depressing. my blog? depressing? u must be kidding yourself! yes, i agree it's sad and mopey, a tad dopey, unhappy-sorts....but depressing? nah, now you're reading too much into it! hooray, there is a point to be celebrated here--you are reading the blog.
people write all sorts of things when they are sad, but what do you write when all you are is sad? i mean, give me a break already. but hey, not without a reason say i. so now i am publicly justifying myself? this is crossing the limits somewhat. o all ye hapless readers who stray into the path of my cosmic blog, disregard my moans and groans and unhappy wailing. having said that, you might actually end up disregarding my whole blog if you do follow my advice.
it's a jolly holiday with mary, mary makes the sun shine bright. nice song, nice lines. drawbacks? no mary, no sunshine (which is actually positively lovely) and certainly no holiday. go figure.

2008-02-09T02:02:00.000+05:30

no one really ever visits this blog. not like i am writing for an audience, but its sheer lack can be quite amusing at times. ah well, such is life. my office walls are still very very bare, but i have seemingly lost the initiative to impose changes. i dont like changes i think. of any kind. so i shal let it be. maybe this is a bit like a duel wit myslef. how long can i hold out here. silly question. obviously only as long as i must. what a depressing little thought. i have to stop myself from going through other people's albums on orkut. quite the voyeur you see. but no, it is time i consciously try and put an end to it. else i will continue using that as an excuse to get upset or feel depressed. how ridiculous! as if i need more reasons. as i am amply demonstrating, i can be quite funny if i so choose.

2008-01-19T03:10:00.000+05:30

obviously im back. nothing special about it. sadly nothing new. i wish there was. there are imes when i start to envy other people for the happiness in their lives. how sad and low can a person go? this has to be pretty close to the lowest.
but let's try a new tack. imagine this is the composition class. write about where you are. the campus can look pretty. on days. like today. cloudy. cold. windy. and pretty. tree-lined avenues, snug little coffee shops. see i can say nice things about the place. a bit lonely but usually a good book can cure that.
actually why dont i say nice things about this place? because im afraid i'll grow to like t and then not want to leave? i doubt. but maybe there is an element of truth in that statement as well. maybe i am shutting myself off from enjoying. maybe i cannot or for some freak reason do not enjoy it here. oh i like the way i put that! "some freak reason" indeed! how hypocritical can u be?!
i should do something about my office. looks rather...how should i put it....empty. white walls dont make for stimulating viewing u know. or maybe they do for minds more creatively charged than mine. i need to put something up. i will try and decorate. deadeningly white.
shoulders straightened (i do slouch an awful lot), chin up. onward to battle. or the next cup of coffee. and a smoke. hmm....this is getting rather inviting.
ps. "awful lot", "rather inviting". no wonder i dont fit in. bloody brit.

money money money...is seriously funny

2008-01-15T05:07:00.000+05:30

happy thoughts and happy posts. i have been told that m blog is becoming a tad depressing. i think i see logic in that. hence the desperate drive for change. on a happy note, i have been defrauded of $2200. how happy? well im not quite sure but for some obscurely weird reason i find this situation to be rather amazing. isnt this what they all say about money? easy come easy go? wll hopefully not this easy go. hopefully i shall get the money back. please oh please do not ask me how i landed myself in such a mess. i seem to be specializing in such messes. well not that i lose such vast amounts on a daily basis, but just that i seem to be perpetually in some scrape or the other. on a secondary train of thought (why not plane or car or bicycle i wonder. how very poststructuralist), if i did have such vast amounts of money to be lost on a regular basis (now i can finally pinpoint the sadist in me) that would certainly say something about me. wouldn't it? i mean, mum would have absolutely no grounds for saying that i spend too much. i simply get defrauded. im tickled pink.
the sad story all started with one silly email which i, in my infinite genius, thought to be a genuine mail. out goes the account information and hey presto! i have a debi card fraud on me pretty lil hands. aint it al just mar-ve-doo! bank lady has been very nice. told me to go file a report with the police. e ki jadavpur thana-e giye library card harano-r jonne diary kora naki! ki abdar! jai hok, now i shall make my weary way to the cops to tell them my sad story. im positive they'll think me to be the freshest idiot to have ever walked the famed american soil. and i do not blame them.
as of now i shall consider my options. mope. moan. wail. hmm....im certainly imaginative.

2007-12-10T02:01:00.000+05:30

august is my friend again. he goes home. somewhere towards the end i had lost faith in him. conformist. but no. i like him again.

2007-10-26T06:11:00.000+05:30

i saw a picture of myself today. smiling. looking happy. really happy. strange thing is that i cant remember someone actully taking that picture or even being in it. compounding this sense of disjunture is the fact that i cant seem to recognise myself there. i looked at the girl in the image and asked myself "is this really me?" why does this happen? im sure im not the first peson to think like this. i guess i wont be the last either. but a strange feeling nonetheless. it was a happy day. a very happy day. i miss you, happy me. i miss that smile. like i said, right now all i can do is deal in somedays and somewheres. someday i will meet that smile again. i will see that girl again. i wont need to be reminded to say hello.

2007-10-04T07:24:00.000+05:30

i am depressed. again. it's becoming a little tedious. i had envisioned this blog entry would be all about my sudden fascination with new york. it obviously isn't. it's just that i see nothing great ahead of me. i do not know why i have come back here once again. i had managed to hold myself up alright for a few days. then new york was simply mind blowingly amazing. but coming back to tampa has not been easy. it is such a small town. i miss the city. i miss the crazy charm of a big city. where you can get lost so easily. where you have such a multitude of sense perceptions surrounding you.
it's just about a month away from my birthday. usually by now im plotting and planning as to how make that special day extra special. now i can do nothing. i have a sinking feeling that im going to spend that sunday sitting sadly at home, dreading the monday classes as usual. nothing new. no spark. just another day. welcome to la la land. things shouldnt be this way. i should be happy. i was happy in new york. gloriously happy. things worked well that day. the weather, the city...everything looked just right. goldylocks had found the right bed, the bowl of porridge.
i shouldn't be complaining so much you know. i like the stuff that i have to read. im fascinated by derrida. and that is what i have work on now. create something that is mine.
should i aply for journalism? i dont know. i might get into the programme, but do i want to leave what i am studying right now? no. definitely not. this is what i have been looking for. but teaching? now that's a whole different ball game. and im not even too sure if i am cut out for it. but i am not shirking my responsibilities. i am carrying them out as best as i can. if i am not having any fun in the process, well then it's just too bad. the proverb is well known. you certainly cannot have your cake and eat it too. although right now i am not too sure if the cake is entirely in my possession or am i terribly mistaken?

2007-09-17T22:32:00.000+05:30

it's time to be homesick again. what if i set aside one hour each day to be homesick? cry my little cry and then go back to reality? wish i could compartmentalize things so easily.
pujo ashchhe...kintu pujo-r gondho nei. notun jama-r moja nei. shob theke boro kotha...keu kotthao nei. honestly, i don't want to be so sad all the time. i could do with some fun and laughter you know. im not this alien from mars who loves being depressed. there's nothing happy about being depressed...i dont even like chocolates when im low.
so why cry? why plan for the day that i can leave? isn't this what everyone longs for? the US of A, a paying job, doing the things that i like...what is it? where did i go wrong? if someone asked me for my dreams right now, they'd be right there where i'm not. with mom. and poli. and dad with us. and...and..and...i could go on...but what's the point?
i was thinking today about how i could chuck my phd plans, take a degree in publishing and go home. you know something? the more i think about it, the more i feel like doing it. i know, probably chucking the phd is not something i will be able to do. but then going back is something that i have to do. compulsion. i don't want to explain myself to anyone. don't think anyone will really understand. so i'll keep them "online"...in the hope that someday, some kindred soul will tell me that this is how it really is...this is how it feels.

2007-08-31T21:40:00.000+05:30

there are times when i begin to dread my imagination. i begin to wonder what on earth shapens the edge of memory? as i sit here in tiny little office, desperately trying to do my work, something comes up as a sudden flash and i am back where i used to be. back where i know how everything goes, i know the faces. you would think memories are a blessing. there is a flip side when you cant take them out of your mind. why do i still see those places so clarly? would i rather not then? catch 22. i see the people, the way the sunlight falls, the shadows, the hot pitched road, a thin sole. someone beside me. faces that pass by unconcerned. i can see myself standing there. i can see everyone. i can hear everone. but no one can hear me. im invisible and i do not want to be so. and this is not a dream. it is not even a nightmare.
i go with them. into places that i know only too well. i go with them, i talk to them. but know one can see me. they think im somewhere else. but im not!!!! im right there with them.....but....
what am i trying to get at? what am i trying to say? i live in an illusion? hardly. e je ghor shotyo. would i wake up where i was? how does one do that? you know my problem? i still look at the skies and imagine flying home. everything i see around me reminds me how far i am from home. homesickness. all neatly tied up into a word. yet so much is left out of it. i deal with the package and everything else that could not be packed. so much of it...............

2007-08-14T19:55:00.000+05:30

the one thing that bothered me throughout my flight to the US was that i seemed to have no sense of wonderment. no such feeling of "wow, i'm finally going there". not even the mandatory excitement about seeing a new country. the time hasn't come for me to talk about hindsight, so i don't really know how to look at the way that i was feeling. even now this country doesn't seem to have anything new about it. or is there so much of newness that the whole effect is paling on me? or am i too much of a cynic? what is it? why do i not have the wide-eyed look about me? so truly what is new about here? a lot is. the people are. the way things are done. but not new anough? is that my problem? or it is because i have dad with me that i'm till not seeing it as a whole new place?
whatever be the answers, i remain puzzled. i agree i'm a tad too cynical too really appreciate everything here. the one thing that did interest me was when i heard americans talk about their institutions, their politics. that had an aura of strangeness about it. not something that i know or something i can enter as an insider. the thing is that i am conscious of not being an insider. in fact i perhaps subconsciously maintain my status of an outsider. but there are time when i do it so regularly that i do not have the feeling of looking in. i am habituated to the things around me without knowing them. i expect things to work or happen the way they do without really knowing or asking how or why. this creates a curious dichotomy that sadly is my life and outlook. i am inbetween looking at things as though that is how they always have been and should be, and constantly knowing that at some very fundamental level they are different. i have not dropped the us/them binary and i see no reason as to why i should. see, that is what i mean by consciously or subconsciously being an outsider. i think much as i dont like that fact, i actually don't mind being the "other".
this has been one of the very confusing posts. though, paradoxically, i actually did have something concrete to say...shite!

nothings.

2007-08-02T20:49:00.000+05:30

time is a great bane. makes u do all sorts of stupid things. like writing on the blog for lack of better things to do. it never seems to stop raining here. not the warm comfortable rain of home. even the thunder seems a bit...odd...different i guess.
a lot of poetry could come out of this weather. but im not poetic. at least not now. well i guess thats at least a blessing, else i would have had to subject myself to the torturous non-rhythms of my over-strained poetry. or at least attempts.
so what does one write about? the weather? the people? the difficulty in getting cigarettes? or the mere lack of matchboxes? the topics are many, as i have so aptly demonstrated. methinks there's strain in my lekha which reeks of condescension. or stupidity. its amazing how closely related the two are. i think i personally like stupidity. it has a charming quaitness about it. so i have stupid write-ups. oh joy. now im devolving into self-pity. i believe the time has come when i should stop typing. but there's a hypnotic thing about the sound of a clicking keyboard in an otherwise empty and silent house. its at least way better than sighing.
could i say im sarcastic? ok so im desperately trying to be objective about myself and failing hopelessly. stupid and sarcastic. now doesnt that sound inviting!
the inbox is sadly empty. i have to admit that few people have the tenacity, or the severe lack, to sit for hours in front of this thing and hope to god that something will turn up. since i seem to have an abundance of both (or a lack of everything else), i will persist.

2007-07-31T20:29:00.000+05:30

as i sit by an alien window in an alien land, i wonder what it feels like to belong here. what does it feel like to wake up every morning in this land of bearded trees and thank god for keeping you at home? what does it feel like when you see a stretch of road and think "home stretch!" how does it feel indeed. what i do know is what it is like to miss home. to stare at an empty strech of the afternoon and think of all the places you've ever been with your friends. al those places where you could have bee now. where you're not. the places go on fine. people there go on living. so do you. at least in theory. in part.
you adopt a strategy of blocking things from your mind. try not to think of the voices you cant hear, of the people you cant touch. cant see. sat sagor er pare...
neat rows of houses...manicured lawns. strangers. strange eyes. that's what you fear the most. the way they look at you. if i said i long to be home then that would be an understatement. its nice here...but LA's fine but it ain't home....

shib thakur er desh e

2007-07-28T23:25:00.000+05:30

have u seen all those movies where the hero gets caught in a time wrap? the same thing happens over and over again...the same time...that it can happen in real life too is a bit of a disorienting fact. when u go by ur watch that says its 12 noon when its pitch dark outside, u begin to doubt that thing called sanity. so ok, over and done with an entire day. u've imagined what everyone else would have been doing at what particular time, cried over missing it, felt nostalgic...the works. then, voila! the day comes back. in a new land. same watch. same you. and the same time. on a different continent. told you this was going to get freaky. so what do u do in such a situation? plan a) u bravely admit that such anomalies happen more frequently than lack of money in ur pocket. plan b) (and this is the tricky one) u feel like a total dumbass alien. and that, coincidences of all coincidences, is what ur called when u land. legally. theoretically, literally, and im guessing metaphorically. remember all those times when some inner voice told u not to gape at firangs? well it comes right back at ya. and believe me, when u get the "ahem-u-look-kinda-funny-and-u-dont-sound-like-us" look...its really not funny anymore.
problem no. 2. or was it 3? oh what the hell...next problem. everything turns topsy-turvy. literally! (u knw im beginning to think that everything in this place is a litte too literal for my rather esoteric liking). a ride in a car? pleasant enough, say u? well imagine this. u think its the right side, but actually its the wrong one. the way u think they'd crash is exactly how they drive safe. switches turn the other way. taps too. up is down. no wonder that movie was made by an american. only an american cud live so easily with the right-left/up-down concept. plus they tell u the temperature outside is abalmy 82 degrees. u do a double take. balmy, did u hear? balmy? downright batty, i say. farenheit. jeez. whatever happened to degree celsius? i tell u, what this land needed was a good does of british imperialism. then they'd begin to see things the "right way".
so now comes the critical question. is everything all that bad? oh by the way, before i break into my joyful song, it costs $3 for an airport trolley. the next time u push along that wheezy old thing at Netaji Subhash airport, remember someone up there is warning u to count ur blessings, and count them fast.
oh yes. now to the nice part. things are clean, things move fast, no noise. overall a nice place. having said that glorious line, i now ask u to sit down and seriously ponder upon the connotations and varied interpretations of "nice".

2007-07-04T14:21:00.000+05:30

it's been raining almost non-stpo for the past few days. i think all this rainy weather calls for a post. wow. of all the lame excuses i have come up with, this has to be the lamest. or the best. it might be a psychologically interesting question as to why i look for excuses in the first place. you could call me a compulsive lier. maybe there are some dark freudian explantions behind my behaviour. alright, shut up.
now the question comes, if i shut up, then who talks? im not expressing my deep seated curiosity as to the pseech-abilities of all of mankind. what i mean was, if i dont talk then who talks here? if no one talks here then what happens to the blog? if no posts are put up then this just becomes another useless piece of junk occupying a bit of cyberspace already loaded with useless pieces of junk. hence, in the interest of all of humanity and of cyberspace, i keep writng.

names and chanachur

2007-06-08T12:39:00.001+05:30

there are moments when u wish u cud blog in bengali. not the transliterated gibberish that one is forced to put up in the name of bengali. the words. the nuances. the little twists that can only be understood when u dont have to break through the maze of english alphabets. but till then, this is my chosen language. this is the language's chosen me. perhaps that is a bit presumptuous. it is. i had to check extensively before i could rest assured that i was not maing a major spelling gaffe. gaffe. faux pas. nice words. im rather attached to them. they seem to define my actions the best. well that i am sure is not what one might call a flattering description of the self. the "other", more revealing self, has taken over now. the "other" of the "self". l'autre du soi. dear lord. i believe it is high time i look beyond theory. im beginning to think in theory. then relate things. my my, what arrogance!
i had a pretty firm idea in my heade that i would call this post "chanachur and chirebhaja". i started with "chanachur and muribhaja" but chire seemed to a better option. but now i see no reason to continue with such nomenclature. not that i did back then, but back then the sheer eccentricity of it seemed appealing. now it seems stretched. mundane. i believe i am becoming my own critic. or critique. or both? or neither? how about a change from this (and i assure you i believe this entirely) rather monotonous discussion.
where to milady? chalao panshi belghoria. aj amar hathe odhel shomoye. er por kichu na korle poche jabe. tai a frantic bid to finish it all. oooh, that had a lovely melodramatic touch to it. i think it's time to call quits.

2007-05-26T21:20:00.000+05:30

I'm writing again. almost compulsively. something might be deduced from this i guess. like dream reading. or was in interpretation? well either ways, not my cup of tea...somebody took down all the curtains at my place today and the effect was rather startling. for one thing i didnt know the place could let in so much of light. for another, i was shown the extent to which i could be privy to to other people's lives. and vice versa. so good? or bad? or both? well predominantly bad. i dont like being looked at. not in this way. i like looking in. furtively. some would use the word peeping. some voyeur. is that wrong? coul be. again, im hovering within that grey zone of uncertainty...
but there is much to be said for those who peep in. you look in, the light shines bright. the stage is set for the daily soap opera. types. always i meet types. people who fit in. people who have maddeningly secure lives. patterned lives. routine. did i say maddeningly? funny i should be saying that, when its that maddening security that draws me there. have you ever felt this way? that you have your nose pressed against a window pane and are looking in upon a cozy family room? the trick is that you always have to be outside. in the snow. in the storm. an outsider looking in.
what does it feel to be inside? ah..but that is where the catch lies. within, the cracks become apparent, the crevices take control. the picture is spoilt. no. i like it here. outside. looking in.

2007-05-24T22:46:00.000+05:30

it's that time of the year when time is your biggest fear....loads and loads of it....and nothing to do. you'd think that's the way to live? compulsive entertainment? heard a phrase from calvin and hobbes? who ever knew having fun was this hard work!
life's confusing. so many things that you once thought would never change...so many people...so many feelings. sometimes i wonder if words are adequate to express all thatone feels. lately i have begun to question the efficacy of words. they can hide so much. so very much. masks and more masks, that's what i make best. masks of words, letters on page, hiding all, revealing all. maybe what really scares me is the fact that my words reveal everything. if you look hard enough, it is all there. bare, naked, vulnerable. secrets are my passion. whether i like them or not, i can't avoid them. they pile up within me, stack upon stack, choking me, violently seeking a way out....being melodramatic again. masks up. face the world. belinda smiled...and the world was gay....

jerks

2006-11-27T23:10:00.000+05:30

why do they do this? over and over again? dont they get tired? its not like the job's easy or that he's not trying. but thre remains a question of time which is necessary. not something he mioght be given as a favour but as something he deserves. after all this, this i what they can come up with? i wonder why i still follow all this. addiction? u might say so. one word on the other side--i might say so.
i have asked this before. im asking it again. and no, i dont particularly hope for an answer. but whatever it is that they are fighting for, they'll never get it. never-fucking-ever. you cant walk over someone just he is civilized. louts. hooligans. bloody gutter-snipes.
or maybe its just because they have a severe lack in life. how many homicides can i commit? hitler planned his genocide pretty well. maybe i should take a leaf out of his book. they deserve nothing better. far worse, if i have my way. and some especially....by god, if i could only lay my hands on them..........
they think that their aggression is worth tuppence? they think that what they are doing is right? do they even know their own memory span? i'd like to see all these morons when they come lick his feet. wouldn't that be a sight. and they will. oh yes they will. i will see that day who laughs the loudest. for one thing, it wont be them.

2006-11-25T00:31:00.000+05:30

a sound outside. wind...windchimes...late night. have you ever heard the sounds at night? in the stillness of sleep? magnified sounds. little tinkerbell sounds. windchimes. there they go again. how do u capture the sound? how do u make it stay beyond that moment? how do u fill the gap before it comes again? of its own accord. willingly. trees. leaves. trains. the odd rickshaw slowly making its way down the sleepy lane. suddenly something tears through the night. u start. sit up. then slouch back into the comfort of unknown sounds. and wait....for the wind. the windchimes.

2006-11-24T23:30:00.000+05:30

at first i thought it was just another one of those things my machine loves doing. you know, you want something to load quickly and just then things get inexplicably slow? or low? or just fucking wht-the-hell-am-i-doing-here-? speed? yeah? well anyways i thought that's what had happened when i tried to write something on blog. everything comes, but this page where u write. so u wait. um...wait some more...refresh...aha!!!!!!!.....nothing. on a serious note---blogger's way of pouting? prolonged leave of absence? how romantic.
so, how have things been? lately a little bizarre. what with mum out of station, the liberty to go jump on the moon if i care to.....or other things which i shall discreetly leave out at this moment.
winter should have set in by now. the season of woollens and over-ripe oranges. the smell is here alright. the sharp tangy smell of winter. but winter isnt. its strange. when u wonder how the season can be so far behind with its smells already thriving. or maybe not thriving. maybe just an oversensitive piece i got below my eyes. boy does that sound corny!
everytime i look beyond my machine i see books. piles and piles of them. prreetty impressive huh? i know. if only the feel-good factor would last when i opened the fucking incomprehensible sons of bitches. execrations, execrations, where will all of this lead me? hopefully to a slightly clearer understanding of donne, but going by the looks of it......

dukhu

2006-09-03T12:53:00.000+05:30

as the car moved away i could see his face growing smaller and smaller. standing in the rain, he watched us leave. with our unruly bundles. things sticking out, things pushing themselves off. a life carried away. 10 years moved into a new place. and he just stood. incomprehension writ large on his face. why did he wait? did he believe we would come back? did he think that the rain would stop, bringing sunshine and all the happy days? but then again, how would he know? and that's how i remember him. wet, fur clinging close to his body, a wet, dripping tail, still vaguely trying to wag. but the look on his face is what i remember the most. somewhere between confusion and disapproval. maybe he was just hungry. did he feel all these things or am i just looking for an outlet for the way i felt? i've seen him once or twice after that. never the same. he came after us, all the way home. but nothing was the same again. and then he disappeared. if i ever saw him again i'd like to say sorry. i'd like to bid a proper goodbye and not leave him with the falsest of hopes. he had seen us leave before, but there had always been a return. so what went wrong this time? why the absence? i miss him. miss his raggedy-ann looks, his tail nipped at the tip, his perpetually hungry look, his crucially mistimed bark. most of all i miss his presence near the door. a shadow on the doorstep. wish i could remember him some other way. but what sticks in my mind is that one soggy morning, with the rain just beginning to fall and the face of a lonely little dog. miss you.

2006-08-26T13:30:00.000+05:30

i know, i know!!!!!! i have been away, and not with good reason. well i cant call orkut a good reason with all my good intentions.
on the college front. nothing. greek. some death. a wee bit of metaphysicals. but nothing. and oh yeah, lots of fish and lot of ruti and pauruti. my own theory goes that if we manage to feed the fish enough pauruti then they'll be pauruti and not fish anymore. if you cant comprehend this one, never mind. i wont hold that against you. the other theory says that overfeeding might cause them to die of stroke. serious things to think about. one might even consider taking the fish into consideration. but they're so bloody greedy! serves them right if they become pauruti.

the vagaries of passwords

2006-08-14T00:54:00.000+05:30

who knew they had so much in them? and who knew others put so much in them! first its too short, or weak, or medium. then a moment of spite. a password which is finally STRONG! and then? the moment of stark realisation...what the fuck was it?????

2006-07-29T22:29:00.000+05:30

late.

2006-06-27T16:40:00.000+05:30

am late. as usual. its not like i leave home late or anything. its just that somehow or the other i am late for office. mebbe its just my distaste for this place. could be. well by now i have almost spent a month here. i have got to know quite a few people and they are by and large nice. well i guess wht i truly dislike is the fact that i have no way out of here. no, im cribbing again and that was not my intention.
well my intion then? just to post a blog. coz i havent done so in a while. bodhi keeps visiting my blog to say "she's ALIVE". well yeah dude i am. barely. but yes alive. alive and bored.
so what's new? the weather actually. its brilliant. today when i left home a storm arose. (storm arose? tht right? oh what the hell!) and the storm was brilliant. grey skies, wind blowing, leaves flying all over the place, the wind picking paper up and making little eddies of paper and rubbish. and people. thats the most brilliant part of a storm. people seem happy. free. carefree even. i love that. in fact, i love almost everything about storms. and then the rain comes. in thick, fat droplets. first a few. just to make you wonder where the water was coming from. then you look up. and sploch! one on your nose, the next on your cheek. one, two, three...a million. all of nature seems caught up in this happy dance. the tree leaves dance, the little multi coloured puddles dance...happy, happy, happy.
then after the rain. soft. wet. a little cold. birds sit on trees, their feathers all a mess. people pass you by, dripping. dripping umbrellas, sighing as they are closed after a good days work. happy. squish-squash go rubber slippers. wet clothes. clinging. water dripping from your hair. happy. a little cold and a lot wet. but happy. happity-happy.
then night falls and darkness gathers. a wet darkness. still semi-drenched. wet sighs. frogs, crickets, insects. everything bonded by a little water. a lot of water.
then? steaming cups of teas. hot pakoras. gorom gorom muri telebhaja. television. good adda. a cosy warmth that can come only after a drenching. draw your knees right up to your chin, sit close to mommy and talk of all the grand things you plan to do. happy.
outside the rain starts again. this time its not playful. this time its not a happy dance. hard and unforgiving, it banishes the rest of humanity from its sight. harder and harder it comes down, drowning streets, roads and the signs of life. you sit inside. warm and cozy. khichuri and alu bhaja safely disposed of. the tv has finally run out of things to show. talk no longer flows. as if afraid of the rain outside, it oozes. slowly. drips. slower...stops. draw the chador tight around you. lights out. everybody softly sinks to sleep. drowsy, you look out the window. the rain drops still dance, freed by the night. the street lamp creates a rainbow. distorted rainbow. splish. splosh.splish.splosh.......

just bored, tired, sleepy, hungry, sad, upset, angry....

2006-06-23T16:13:00.000+05:30

another year. another exam. things seemed a bit diluted this time. coz i wasnt as involved as other times. how could i be with this darned office thing?!!! reached college so late today and i could hardly stay after it was over. such lovely weather outside. the last place i want to be in is this office. but what choice do i have? zilch. zilch, zilch, zilch.
felt a bit bad about fighting with mum this morning. i did not want to fight. but just coz i have office cant mean i cant go to college. especially on admissions day. mum is right about them not needing me. but then i need them. would she understand that bit? i dont know. mebbe she will. she just wants me to be ok, both physically and mentally. i understand her point too. but i have to do certain things too. life is so fucking confusing.
i know for certain the one thing that i like to do. that i want to do. have no one controlling my share of time. no one to tell me when to go where. no one to tell me that i cant leave when i want to. no one to bother me. ideal? i know. so who doesnt want an ideal life? i know at some point in time i will have to work to earn a living. and i know saying that i am still too young to be doing that is just being a shirker. but hey what's life without a dream??????????

reasons not to wear sleeveless to office

2006-06-20T19:46:00.000+05:30

statesman has one amazing thing. there is no dress code here. people wear what they feel like.friday dressing galore.more like a sad residue of college. so i felt emboldened. took the plunge and wore a sleeveless top. and boy do i regret it. remember those frigging acs i had talked to you about? well it seems like they do work afterall. especially when you choose to leave your sleeves at home. the upshot? i am freezing. outside feels glorious. warmth! blessed warmth!!!! god! just yesterday i was like, sheesh its colder outside than in here. looks like someone up there heard me and, for once, was on statesman's side. so here i sit, hugging myself in a vain attempt to warm me up. would they let me off if i told them that i was feeling cold? hm...now what could the chances of that happening be?

some stories...never told

2006-06-20T16:54:00.000+05:30

machines here are bizarre. some open this site. some refuse to point blank. some are rather polite. they will lead u on with the hope that some day u will reach your destination. all too soon you begin to believe. all too soon you are brought crashing down. the realities of a blank screen. hopes. false hopes. the world is too full of them already. what need do statesman's machines have to add to that ever growing list????

Unique, by a thousand miles

2006-06-18T16:39:00.000+05:30

wishful thinking

2006-06-18T15:55:00.000+05:30

lazy sunday afternoons by the sea. the proverbial sun-kissed white sand. baobab trees gently swaying in the breeze. a cool shade. a cooler sea. soft lazy waves lapping the shore...kids in multi-coloured sea gear. sand castles, sand pools, clear blue-green water. beer bottles by the side, half buried in the sand. just perfecting the art of laziness...oh before i forget...amazing lunches...stuffed on heavenly food. living life. enjoying it. not merely existing.
think im trying to make you jealous? think again. just trying to relieve happy memories. happier days, happier times. innocent times. in all likelihood this entry's maing as much sense as a pea-fowl's, but what the hell. wish i was at home. then i could upload a few pics. never mind, will do that soon.
downloading the weather right now. gonna be a very hot day tomorrow. the weather dept is funny. everytime i call them they say "Likhun, discomfort day.." what the crap is a "discomfort day" anyway????
i may get to make pages today!!!! hooray!!!! tomorrow when people read the statesman (however few, ahem) they might just read a page made by me...ah the day-dreams...

office. again.

2006-06-17T15:52:00.000+05:30

right. 3rd saturday at office. saturdays are usually quiet around here. no pluses go on tomorrow so a lot of people have their off days today.
there's this thing with the astrological predictions in the afternoon statesman and me. never never never do they have anything good for me. today they had this one thing. i was to go on a shopping spree. i was! i really was supposed to go to new market to buy cloth for a couple of new kurtas. as usual was too lazy to get out of the house early. and hence no shopping. must do this one of these days. umm...mebbe monday or something. what are the chances of me going to JU and then going to new market and then going for work? pretty close to zilch im guessing. ok ok, i will do it soon. gosh, i need to pushed and prodded to go shopping!!!! not that. im just short on time. plus lazy. i have to admit that one.
hm...so what now? right now is too early for work. stories dont come in so early. the work effectively begins from say 6 when you have to sub the stories so that pages can start getting made by 8. their deadline is 10 pm but ive never seen them finish on time. so i guess its sort of a guideline, more than a proper deadline. things do get done by 11 though. but that's early city. late city stuff happen til later. there arent significant changes. but there are some. and what with the world cup there are definately changes in the sports section.
the sports guys are real fun. had a nice chat yesterday. my immediate boss was absent yesterday so had virtually nothing to do. plus some awesome games were on. go argentina!!!! well anyhow, i actually asked mum to send the car in a little later. not cause i had any work to do. but cause i was chatting. hehehe!!!! what a turnaround!!!!!

2006-06-16T19:26:00.000+05:30

i have nothing to do. hence a post. strange--do i write posts only when i have nothing to do? but then that shudnt be the case. does that mean i dont really like writing? or i dont have time for writing. oooffff. how terribly inane. i guess it would have been better had i decided not to post. but now that i am here, i might as well make use of the time. having said that, wht do i put?
looks like all the rahuls are in news. funny but they are ALL called rahul!!!! how came this to pass? that right english? i have my gravest doubts. and i complain of bad english. but i swear the purulia copies i do are so so so SO bad!!!!
harshe's counting the no. of shots cambiasso took to score the goal. everyone's an expert. sigh!

things to think about

2006-06-11T15:40:00.000+05:30

they have this thing called the world cup diaries. maybe i should start one for office. saturday sundays at statesman are like weekends at any other office. things are generally slower, fewer people turn up. but since this is the business of running a newspaper, every frigging day is a working day.
i thought a lot about this work yesterday. the primary question is--is this what i really want to do? i know if i stick to it i wont be sub-editing for the rest of my life. but do i want to deal with news and reports? then again, there's this thing about french. i want to finish it. i want to learn german, russian, spanish, greek, latin and sanskrit.ok so that is going to take me aa better part of my life. but hey people have dreams. i want to learn them. plus there's linguistics. honestly one might think that im just trying to create a world so tht i can show-off to people. but that's not my intention at all. these are things that i love. nothing interests me as much as language does. the nuances of a language, the intricacies of its usage, its development through time--all this fascinates me. and i think that is as good a reason as any for me to work in that area.
having said that, i do not plan to quit on this one either. i have never run away from anything. dad and mom both tell me that i am not a shirker. just because i havent enjoyed the first few days, does not mean that i am not going to stick to something i have decided to give a shot. that is just not my style. yes you might say that i am trying to prove a point. but that is not to anyone else. not to the world. not to my parents. just to me. i have to do this.

2006-06-10T17:17:00.000+05:30

there's this window in office--all boarded up with transparent plastic, thanks to the barely working acs--through which you get a glimpse of a time gone by,of an era which you can see only through boarded up windows. there are old run down houses there. just their rooftops. but that's all you need. there's one house which has a garden chair on the roof. rusty and neglected,somehow, it still manages to retain its charm. who sat there? on which windy evening overlooking the still growing calcutta? who thought what there? love thoughts? happy thoughts? sad,crushing ones? who sat there? amidst the ruins and overgrowth, i can still see all those generations, taking their evening stroll on that rooftop.or then again sunny winter afternoon. a little girl and her mother.oranges.warm, sweet smelling blankets. the winter sun. where did all those years go? where did all those people go?

2006-06-10T00:31:00.001+05:30

there's nothing like home. no place like it. really. mum's taken to feeding me after office. quite a lovely treat. promised mum l'll be with her in 2 mins so this one's just to say helo to my keyboard and to admire my typing speed. im on a "confidence boosing trip" so i'll just ignore the typos ok? hehehe...who gives a damn neways? piyu seems to look for a opening at statesman. poor kid. if she only knew...na na...not fair of me. i wont scare neone off. just let them come and get freaked off. speaking of which am quite freaked out myself. u know why. qont get into it. well i know for a fact tht im being silly. well then i am going to be silly till i find a way to stop being silly. god this keyboard sounds like a frigging type writer! dad would go berserk if he saw it!!! lol!!!!

lows, lows and a few highs

2006-06-09T12:44:00.000+05:30

grave universal fact--no job can be called fun. i seriously question those that say that they have a "fun" job. long hours, virtually no time to call your own, generally feeling trapped--sounds melodramatic? well then im afraid thats precisely how i am. enough of work related shit.
saw fanna yesterday. now i know why i might support the ban. i mean im all for freedom of expression nd all tht, but this kind of shit hs to be banned. its a three hour long torture session. it sucked so bad that after a point of time i just quite watching it. i think i must have fallen sleep or something like. havent seen such a boring, inane, unrealistic film in a very long time.
on the one good note--its world cup time!!!! im little bugged by this brazil mania, but things should be fun. one question, why is it that i am always the one who is opposed to popular taste? not the first time i have noticed this. gut feeling says it wont be the last time...

at office

2006-06-04T19:02:00.000+05:30

did not believe i would be ever doing this. am sitting in office and typing blogs. am not too sure if im allowed to this or not. but what the hell. im still new. this is the famed statesman. hallowed. glorious. whatever. frankly speaking, i hate it. i just want to go back home. never thought i'd love the sight of home this much.
what is most appalling is the kind of stories i have to handle. (like everyone else i guess). egs? ok here goes. today i've done a story of muslims worshipping hindu goddesses, well constructors beibng saved and maoist alerts being issued. plus some dumb grievances. ok i have a grievance of my own. the people who write in those stuff shud at least get the english right!!!!!!!disaster!
neways, more later.

2006-04-04T20:34:00.000+05:30

it seemed very strange to me today as i sat there. maybe it was a combination of the lake and the wind in my face, but as i sat in the gathering dusk i distinctly felt i was seeing a part of me that i was about to leave behind. it was almost as if i had a vision of this very evening, from a vantage point of several years down the line. im not quite sure if all of this makes any sense. infact im inclined to agree with aveek when he says that "lake er dhare elei sala shobai philosopher hoye jaye". but there was something. i dont quite know what it was. where would i be, where would all these friends be, where would the charm of this evening be tomorrow? it all sounds a little melodramatic now as i type in my room, but the feeling doesnt go away. someone had told me about this thing called a future memory where the present became a memory in itself. i guess that's what it is. as i sat there i could see the whole world before me with my hopes and big dreams. but all dreams come at a price. do i really want to take off from here and go away from all that i have come to know and love, or hate, during these past three years? moving away is not one of my forte and here i have a world which i have built, where i am acknowdged, for whatever it is worth as myself, no strings attached. yet i know i have to go. go somewhere i have never been before. that's a challenge, that's my dream. but then where does this evening go? where does this present go?

impact art

2006-04-02T22:58:00.000+05:30

awesome play. credit--bodhi, didi and gogo. i swear, the level of impact had me totally stumped. let me illustrate. my mum, who was, incidentally, seeing the play for the first time, had no clue that there were no water bottles, several apples, chlormints and will/scripts in the "original". ive never quite enjoyed an evening as much as i did today. and i had added entertainment in the form of arunabha. altogether, a great, if not weird, time. too bad people missed out on this one. u rock guys!

nothing

2006-03-31T11:17:00.000+05:30

I've got no deeds to do, no promises to keep
I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep.....

nothing, nothing, nothing. nothing to do. that day someone asked me what we famed JU people do after class or when we have some spare time. with all due apologies to srijani and debo (i know i deserve that kick. i really do), i told him the naked, unflattering truth--nothing. we hang out at monida. that's it? that's it. so what's my routine like? wake up, go to college (this involves a lengthy what-the fuck-do-i-wear-? session) and then--do nothing. we play bridge and gloriously lose by 2000 points. then we wear bridge out and go and sit at monida. we stare at each other. we stare some more. something needs to be done. debo, say something earth-shattering. debo--"ady's play was bad"...we make plans to go to dolly's (our ONE escape route), we create plans worthy of the great KGB/CIA to avoid the avoidable and then bitch about the avoidable. we even crack jokes--"Ma muffed, me miffed"--with saumava leading the way. we accept that the heat has got to us. but miss college? no way!!!! therein lies the paradox. if you can solve it kindly let me know. at least there'll be something to look forward to--other than nothing....

2006-03-25T21:13:00.000+05:30

which which is which?

2006-03-25T21:05:00.000+05:30

happy birthday!!!!22 fucking years!!!!you're old enough to be married man! on a serious note, do u think u should be serving chicken on your birthday? think about it. anyways, here's a happy birthday coming to you from...um..let's see.. JQ, Stephen, Ronan, Race, and i hope to get the other name ASAP. lol. happy birthday!

thoughts

2006-03-25T19:54:00.000+05:30

been a while since the last post. as i used to say to my now-virtually-non-existant diary, i dont have an excuse. just plain lazy. among other things i went to see ady's play the other day. how was it you say? well not bad, considering the only thing i can compare it to is her other play. better script, good music (has the same number of songs as any musical so i was, to tell you the truth, a bit confused as to the purpose of the play. but what the heck, i wont be complaining about good music). and oh, most importantly she wasnt the "one" and the "only" on stage. so tht, i must admit, was a huge relief. but the thing tht got me most was how "real" she was. ok this will make sense only to those who've had long, "emotional" conversations with her. the whole act--crying, "does he love me?", "he doesnt even care enough to ask!" and the crying some more--almost had me repeating my lines in the play. so which which is which? either shes a damn good actor or shes a damn good actor. ahem. anyways enough said and done.

hm...

2006-03-14T21:26:00.000+05:30

2006-03-13T22:17:00.000+05:30

guess i owe this post to bodhi. thanx to him i got back to "my fair lady" after eons. come to think of it i could actually list that film as one of my all time faves. at least the soundtrack. so here's to one of the songs which i know to be really really real. i do know what it feels like just to be "on the street where you live". i shall not go into details as to how big a fool i made of myself thanx to this song and my own insanity. but on hindsight it was worth it.

I have often walked down this street before;
But the pavement always stayed beneath my feet before.
All at once am I Several stories high.
Knowing I'm on the street where you live.
Are there lilac trees in the heart of town?
Can you hear a lark in any other part of town?
Does enchantment pour Out of ev'ry door?
No, it's just on the street where you live!
And oh! The towering feeling
Just to know somehow you are near.
The overpowering feeling
That any second you may suddenly appear!
People stop and stare. They don't bother me.
For there's no where else on earth that I would rather be.
Let the time go by, I won't care if I
Can be here on the street where you live.

ps: really really real? huh!? never mind.

a blonde joke

2006-03-09T21:49:00.000+05:30

ok this one's amazing http://kevinsnet.livejournal.com/2649.html

French blog

2006-03-08T23:35:00.001+05:30

recently i've been getting a lot of complaints about the "french-ness" of my blog. no one noticed milton. everyone saw the french. ah well, c'est la vie. but here's a piece of news for my non-existent french connnection. late night radio france internationale--the music's awesome. and for those not linguistically inclined this might interest you--the sheer number of hindi songs played is seriously not funny. any guesses why?

The Lonely Night

2006-03-07T23:42:00.000+05:30

Through the lonely night the train rushes on,
Ceaseless in its haste,
Stopping for nothing, fearing for times of waste.
Darkness blindfolds time's ever-rushing passenger
Pushing it on to the edge of doom.
Cloaks as dark as the hour of midnight
Cover the train as it rushes on through the lonely night.
Suddenly a tiny ray of light awakens the sleeping giant,
A small ray of hope
Bewildering it, only to be plunged into the depths of blackness.
Sleepy stations fly by, human figures fixed by the harsh light
Of the few bulbs strung carelessly
As if daring to defy the dark.
The stark background engulfs it
And before long it is gone, gone forever into the realms of reality.
The train plunges on into the nightmare of dreams.
The stars above look down upon it.
Cold and distant, they know what it is to rush
They know what it is to be alone.
But the moon is not there
Perhaps it is too large, too garishly bright.
Perhaps it is just the new moon.
But the night knows no reason, no logic, no reality
The train moves on, trying forever to escape
The clutch of a hand as cold as death.
It races with time, wins over it.
Only to be defeated.
Only to be plunged into the pall of despair.
Only to be left rushing through the long, cold, lonely night.

me on tv!!!

2006-03-06T10:47:00.000+05:30

hey guys, will be on tv for a debate on the 7th evening. think at 7 on bangla ekhon. kinda like self advertising, but wht the hell!!!

Nevermore

2006-02-17T22:58:00.000+05:30

Souvernir, souvenir, que me veux-tu? L'automne
Faisait voler la grive a travers l'air atone,
Et le soleil dardait un rayon monotone
Sur le bois jaunissant ou la bise detone.

Nous etions seul a seule et marchions en revant,
Elle et moi, les cheveux et la pensee au vent.
Soudain, tournant vers moi son regard emouvent:
"Quel fut ton plus beau jour?" fit sa voix d'or vivant,

...

Sa voix douce et sonore, au frais timbre angelique.
Un sourire discret lui donna la replique,
Et je baisai sa main blanche, devotement.

-Ah! les premieres fleurs, qu'elle sont parfumees!
Et qu'il bruit avec un murmure charmant
Le premier oui qui sort de levres bien-aimees!

--Paul Verlaine

?

2006-02-17T00:43:00.000+05:30

what if bad mood and grumpiness were like...well...like things you could simply fold and put away?maybe even frame and then just shove it into some dark corner. makes one wonder at the power of the "what if?"

SCREAM!!

2006-02-17T00:07:00.000+05:30

dear rahul,

2006-02-16T23:44:00.000+05:30

what happens when you see something you've hoped all your life you'll never see? some people become hysterical. some people shut up. some try and shred the past into pieces. it doesnt work. i've tried it. i know. why is it that some people never get what they want? why do you have to have at least one person on that dreaded other side? im tired of explaining the difference between a crush and something more. im fed up of being laughed at by everyone. even those who pretend to understand. maybe after all this, it should just go away. common human decency. should i be careful what i wish for? maybe...i see him. nice. her. a killer. a long time ago i had vowed that i would kill her, without knowing who she was. no wonder my friend didnt believe me. didnt think i had the guts. i didnt. i dont. once some one very nice almost dragged me to meet him. hand-writing analyst. thank you. but what happened? nothing. nothing happens. shit happens, yes. nothing else. sometimes i long for a magic wand to...no, i have a lot to be thankful for. i am. truly. but what do i do with that tiny black&white newspaper cut-out which i tried so hard to blot out, in a cab on a sunny afternoon not so long ago? when will it go away? ever?

lo, lola, lolita

2006-02-14T22:54:00.000+05:30

this book has something about it. for one thing, it evokes very, very strong emotions.

help!!!

2006-02-14T10:04:00.000+05:30

i really need the sutta song. can any kind, understanding soul please comply?!

train catching

2006-02-09T15:39:00.000+05:30

few things to do when you miss your train:

never thought you'd need this huh? well you never know which bond flick script you might be writing next, so go on, take a look.

1. look for a auto driver who does NOT have a f****** cellphone. and even if he does have one, pray to god he does not use it when your rushing to catch the bloody train. ps: why does every soul down south have a frigging phone on them?!!!! were'nt we supposed to be a 3rd world country or something like that? news-flash: it's a totally different world that the south indian (read: bangalorean) auto drivers live in.

2. when you near the station and see a train at the platform from the auto, do not shout (with any form of conviction) "that's a local train". reasons? a) local trains don't have ac sleeper class coaches. b) they don't leave at the exact moment when your train is supposed to leave.

3. if you have any friends already on the train, they must NOT pull the chain. yes i know it looks tempting, but the 1000 rs. fine, especially when you're returning from a financially taxing trip, along with a month's imprisonment is not the ideal solution. go ahead and scream at them, but that red chain is a massive "no no".

4. oh by the way, if you're talking to those very friends on your phone dont ever say "no no, oh shit no!". the line might just get cut and even though you dont want the chain pulled, this could lead to a lot of very heated souls. a better choice? "pull, pull, yes, yes!" (and no, im not running a porno blog.)

5. this one's a beauty. look around for some nutcase who tells you "you're too early for tomorrow's train". boy, all that temper really gets the adrenalin rushing, and trust me, you need that for the rest of the pre-train journey.

6. suddenly see an apparition of a cabbie who's willing to drive you to the next junction for 600 bucks. (you cant be too sure if it's the same bugger who made that guiness record-winning joke). make a dash for it. dump you luggage and yourselves into some squishy omni and pray very hard. your back, butt, knees and leg might ache away to glory. but on the bright side, you won't realize that your whole body is aching. i dunno, but it's one of those crazy tricks tough situations pull on you.

7. looking for a variation? here's one. have one friend call his/her parents 5 mins before train's supposed to leave and say they've not reached station yet, and then have the line cut abruptly. then mistake their no. for your own parent's and actually take that damn call. after that i leave it to your imagination. i'd ideally tell them that we're safely on the train and then hope to high heavens they dont really figure out that no self respecting train ever has a blaring car horn.

8. now comes the interesting bit. look out for all the red lights. sigh. get furious, coz nothing's below 72 secs. then voila! you're past it! zooming ahead of those dumbjock drivers. try counting the number of lights you jump. but take my advice, dont try it. it's way more fun just looking outside open mouthed and thinking "boy, bond must've had one heck of a time!" but this one's seriously not for the faint-hearted. count on having lost at least a few years of your life on that ride. oh and, i know you'll not have the time, try and get the cabbie's address, just in case you want to post him a x-mas card. it's worth it. or better still, keep in touch coz you never know when you'll be late again.

9. once at the other station, run like crazy, bag and all. now you'll know why everyone tells you tyo travel light. but never mind, too late for regrets, just run. ok, when you're throwing your bag on to the tracks to run across the blessed train, never jump before bag. those things are bizarrely designed. even the devil could'nt pull them off the platform without yanking off his arms.

10. anyways, now next to the train. safe, right? wrong. indian railways is one of those things which just might not want your happiness, let alone have you go back home in one piece. they have these dastardly things called general sections. (once described very aptly as "general sex" compartments where the only criteria is that you have to keep up with the sex. think there are no takers for this theory? try contacting JU 3rd year english and ask for chicko.) so you haul yourself and your blessed bags onto this crazy contraption and look around. lo behold! there arent any passages between coaches! why? coz these damn things are'nt connected at all! so off you go again, this time looking for a familiar looking coach. by the time you locate one and are up, bags and all, the trains off again, chugging like a little ol' lady. but thankfully this time you're on it.

11. the last part's easy. just lug everything behind you and go on a cross-train sprint, looking for your compartment. now you know what the members of the fellowship felt like. you also know that once on the train there's no need to run any more, but somehow your body doesn't seem to respond to that logic. and that running with luggage between people who, lets' just say, love their inertia of rest, is a task that would challenge even hercules.

so now that you know what to do, try it sometimes. you could always reach on time, but hey this one's fun too. almost like a movie. especially so when im not in it.

ps: variation: after all this you're still adventurous? go into the next coach for a smoke late at night. finish, come out, and what do you see? you just saw a passage, now you don't. why? coz some jackass just wanted to shut the bloody connecting door. now, dont panic. if you're lucky, the train will have stopped at a station, you'll find some one willing to open the train door for you. a short jump, a quick jog, another jump up and you're home safe! see, it was'nt so difficult now, was it? now if you go into all the possibilities...the train not stopping at a station till say the wee hours of the morning...spending a night with perfect strangers...the train leaving without you on it...again...ah well life's a miracle, aint it!

hm...

2006-01-22T21:47:00.000+05:30

is there any easy way of knowing that you're in love? i mean, how do you realize that you have fallen so hopelessly for someone that you are willing to overlook every fault in him just so you get to see the best things? is it when every thing that you do seems to be linked inexorably to him? is it when you really can't think of a situation where he's not there? what is it? well, when you come to think of it, there's no one answer, is there? all the things which seemed so corny before suddenly becomes not that bad after all. evening walks, endless talks about...well...nothing, seeing that awesomely cute blush appear at a private joke. when lo behold! you can write love poetry! sounds familiar? cliched even. yes, but then what is it that brings a smile every single time you think of singularly common moments? maybe the question i really should be asking is that how do such all-too-publicly discussed emotions suddenly become so private and individual? and you know what? the funny thing you'll notice about lovers is that they're a horribly superstitious lot. this that or the other and they get freaked out thinking some catastrophe is on their way. touchwood.
well anyhow i've drifted far and wide from my original query. in all liklihood, there's no straight answer to these questions. like every other bugging question, i guess. but nonetheless its fun to think about it, whatever be the outcome. or the lack of it! happy thinking!

just a simple story

2006-01-03T23:00:00.000+05:30

have you ever wondered how most of the stories we love are the simplest ones? ones we have heard so many times, yet every time we hear it again it just feels as though it were the first time? i guess a lot of people have thought about it, judging from the never-ending stream of narrative throeries. but somehow i think great stories are what they are because they can make you feel so comfortable--like the smell of newly washed linen, like the all-too-familiar bus ride to college, like the long-lost photo which has amazing time-machine like properties. you know them. yet you want to know more.
just today i heard such a story, which i'm sure will sound banal and inane and, frankly speaking, cliched in any other time or place. my mum told me and my brother this story of a little adventurous kitten and ball of wool. been-there-done-that you say? i thought the same thing. but somehow, as my mother went on with her tale of a little girl watching a kitten unravel a nearly-knit sweater, i could see my mother's curly haired 11 year old self fascinated by so "story-book"-like an act. i could see my grandmother and her friend chat incessantly, unaware of this minor wool-tragedy unfolding before their very eyes and the little girl gleefully sharing the kitten's sense of adventure. the house, the room, my grandmother's friend--i have never seen them. the cat has died its nine deaths, possibly in all the proverbial 14 generations. but yet, there's something that i know so intimately about the story. a recreation of a memory, a borrowed memory. a story which became a part of my mother's memory and then became mine. that's a really good story. that's a classic.

F* *

2005-12-19T21:21:00.000+05:30

have meant to talk about this for a very long time. tell me something, does double standards mean the only thing to most people? i mean just when the chips are down they rush up and greet him like a hero. and then when he does the same thing say a month later he's the worst thing on god's earth. and why? just coz he chooses to be a gentleman. well yeah, gues u could call him a loser. after all, in this day and time i guess very few actually know the meaning of civilized human beings. but this has really gone on for way too long! and the best part is yet to come. nobody, and i mean nobody wants to back the guy who's done so much! they all go salivating after this creep! tell me, is it asking for too much, is it really asking for too much when i say give him a chance! and he aint even doing too badly! he's doing his job damn well. u know what? i think that's where the problem lies. no one likes someone doing their job too well. reminds them of their own inadequecies. doesnt it? u tell me. anyways, u cant either coz u part of that same daft gang. just why cant u see? all of u are making a mistake! just because he keeps quite does not mean he's a chicken! there are just somethings which u have to do! he has his responsibilities and he knows them. and rest assured better than u guys do!

Going Back

2005-10-06T23:32:00.000+05:30

have you ever had this experience of going back to school just to find that you no longer recognise anything or anyone? i guess most of us have at some point of time or other, but the funny thing is that it does not take long a time for such a thing to come to pass. maybe just a couple of years. and then bang! before you know it, your old classroom's been walled up. those glorious broken windows whose charm you never seemed to realise while in school seem to look out into the greenest fields of memories. the half-pants and full-pants marching and the winter rain gushing in seem all the more real. it's then that you sit down and look back at all those physics classes not with disgust but with the fondness of an aging grand-aunt. the painfully long and suffocating chemistry classes seem suitably sepia-tinted, and even maths doesn't seem so bad after all. you let out your deepest sigh and wish for things which might just have made you shudder not so long back. a short walk out into the basketball court. even here things look painfully changed. remember all those gossipy chats behind those trees? even walking with the black cardigan held just like dravid might? things of the past. no more trees to chat behind. dravid too safely ensconced in marital bliss to be available for such dreamy romances...you walk up the wooden stairs and past all those messy classrooms. somewhere you hear the confident tiptap of shoes long past their expiry date. faces vaguely familiar, teachers strangely friendly, everything bordering on the glorious unknown. where's that place that you felt you completely belonged to?...all those who've been through this would agree with me on this one thing--yeah it's one heck of an experience.

000

2005-08-07T15:13:00.000+05:30

the other day day as i sat watching the disasterous india-sri lanka cricket match, someone next to me commented--"khela dekhe ar ki hobe? shob i to got up". according to this gentleman the only reason why ganguly played so slowly was because he wanted india to lode. sounds complicated? not at all! see, if he plays slow, then india dont score too many, then sri lanka stand a better chance of winning and then finally because of india's loss ganguly stands to gain back his captaincy. impeccable! and that's not all. apparently laxman was crucially injured at the beginning of the 1st match because he too wanted to play his full role in bringing saurav back to the helm. with conspiracy theories like these who needs the cold war!

lovers at first sight, in love forever

2005-07-06T00:29:00.000+05:30

Strangers in the night exchanging glances
Wond’ring in the night
What were the chances we’d be sharing love
Before the night was through.
Something in your eyes was so inviting,
Something in you smile was so exciting,
Something in my heart,
Told me I must have you.

thank god for frank sinatra!

c'est ou?

2005-07-06T00:04:00.000+05:30

what if all of us where to take this world seriously? where would all the poets go? to be more personal, what would happen to the likes of me, who thrive on a generous dose of "ridiculosity"? a scary scenraio, by all means. and yet, that's what we seem to be hurtling inexorably towards today. the tiny, insignificant details, the idiocy of even the most pompous asses, the stupid outbursts of a drunkard or a revolutionary--c'est ou? life's rather deadly serious right now. we all seem to be talking about earning good money, owning a pent-house, with a holiday in malibu thrown in, these days. perfectly justified. nothing wrong with wanting the good of mankind. but what about upholding madness, irrationality? so you think i've got my priorities all mixed up? well it's that very thought of yours which i wish someone would challenge. i wish, for once, someone would look out of that tiny picture-frame and at least try and comprehend that a larger picture exists out there.

how far will u go?

2005-06-17T11:18:00.000+05:30

a funny piece of news. the other day on tv i saw this report about number plates of taxicabs. the whole hullaballoo was centred around the number four being an unlucky number in the japanese culture. things became rather acute because of certain very important exams which would decide the future of millions of students in that country. so as to ensure the absence of all kinds of ill-luck, parents did not want their kids going for the exams in cabs which had the number four on their number plate. the end result? some of the biggest taxi companies in japan decided to take off all the cabs which had the dreaded number. age of progress and civilization???

est que tu peux me comprendre

To J.M. Coetzee, Adelaide

JMC, a response

tukro chhobi.

hegel, an attempt.

an attempt, part 1

her story

sex with books

one winter evening...

the goldfish

money money money...is seriously funny

nothings.

shib thakur er desh e

names and chanachur

jerks

dukhu

the vagaries of passwords

late.

just bored, tired, sleepy, hungry, sad, upset, angry....

reasons not to wear sleeveless to office

some stories...never told

Unique, by a thousand miles

wishful thinking

office. again.

things to think about

lows, lows and a few highs

at office

impact art

nothing

thoughts

hm...

a blonde joke

French blog

The Lonely Night

me on tv!!!

Nevermore

?

SCREAM!!

dear rahul,

lo, lola, lolita

help!!!

train catching

hm...

just a simple story

F*** ***

Going Back

000

lovers at first sight, in love forever

c'est ou?

how far will u go?

F* *