Sunday, August 16, 2009

The Great Escape

There weren’t any tunnels, but, Tom, Dick and Harry could well be the three of us who took the plunge! With the rather arduous job of getting our fathers to agree (which trust me, is no mean feat), we found ourselves Shantiniketan bound.! Right from the moment my paranoid Daddy mistook B’s driver to be our stalker, we knew it was going to be one Crazy Train!From chattering away incessantly much to the disgust of our co-passengers, devouring PD’s mom-made sandwiches to trying to whisper about our co-passengers and failing miserably, we set the tone for the days ahead.

And right from the time we set foot on this little town,aye my friends,’twas bliss!

Walking through the University, the “Orange County”, with a continuous canopy above us and wondering whether His feet did pass where we now did step, it was an exhilarating feeling.The quaint little sculptures, the Uttarayan complex, the architecture, it was like another world altogether. Walking through the Museum, B and me rued the lost past of Bengal, its height of intellectualism, marveled at the true Romanticism of Tagore’s poetry and the dregs that are left behind. We regretted the burgeoning mediocrity of today’s ‘Bong’, which prides itself in being “Modern” yet ends up being a cheap imitation of the past in a pseudo-garb of respectful indifference, which again is nothing but ignorance and incapacity. .And, yes, we couldn’t escape the blame.





We found ourselves in the core of our rustic roots,with the Bauls,in their elements,leading us to a journey of contemplation through their simple words and tunes.Mysticism at its best!

We had our share of crazy fun too.We had a self-appointed Butler who could put Kareena’s frame to shame. We experienced Formula 1 racing on rickshaws. We played stone-paper-scissor for taking important decisions. We met uncouth ABCD’s who I bet won’t be coming back to India very soon! We clicked embarrassing pictures of each other, which is really not a tough job given our record.We carried out real life optimization problems. We picked up a wonderfully horrendous Bengali song which is like an Anthem these days! We reminisced about our school days. Laughed our hearts out. Almost missed our train! Was helped and thoroughly scolded by absolute strangers. We came back home, to the joy of our fathers!

We came back just the way we wanted to : "We ain't changed,but we know we ain't the same."


Yes, I do wish that I hadn’t indulged in certain impulsive stupidities, but well, I guess it’s good to have a whole spectrum of experience. No regrets.

How else, could we have ridden a rainbow,like we did?

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Idle Musings II

I was wondering.

(Yeah, again!)

With the sudden demise of MJ and the flood of messages from the millions around the world, the network to Heaven is bound to be jammed!

Some were simple, some drab, some heartfelt, some touching, others creative, but almost all of them had one thing in common.

All wanted this tormented soul to find solace in death.

Rest in Peace or RIP was how most ended.

And that’s what got me thinking.

It got me thinking about Rip Van Winkle.

Rip Van Winkle, almost a symbolism for prolonged slumber now! The Western parallel to our dear old Kumbhakarna, I think. Only,a more mundane character.

Rip, rested in peace for 20 years; a temporary escape from the drudgery of life.

‘RIP’ on the other hand, is the perennial slumber, prospective salvation.(?)

I wonder whether Irving named Van Winkle so, for this reason!

Guess, we’ll never know!

But for everytime that we are Rip,seeking temporary(that is a much,much deflated version of the 20 year marathon) refuge from the life around, yet sure of being woken up ,Life just pushes us,closer towards ‘RIP’,the GREAT escape!


That’s the Divine Irony.

Morbid.

Beautiful.

Friday, June 19, 2009

Idle Musings I

I was wondering.
I had my books in front of me.
They were open.
But I was wondering.

My pink-ink pen had run its due course.
I had unknowingly started depending on it.
Weird.
I know.
An underline there, a note scribbled here, a star somewhere in the corner, a box somewhere else.
All in pink.

A chapter with a lot of pink was a chapter well done for me.
It was my mark of satisfaction.
It was my catalyst.
And I am not even fond of the colour pink!

I sulked.

I had an inverted-U staring back at my face.
The page looked drab.
The chapter: more so!
I needed my magic-touch.

I sulked.
Again.

In the absence of the pink-pen, I rummaged through my drawer, looking for some inferior stimulant to my academic pursuits.
I found one.
Not a close substitute but the only one available.

I sulked some more.

I took a deep breath, preparing myself to be engulfed in a nimbus of monotony.
I turned to the first page of the chapter.
I started colouring the box which had the chapter number.
The box turned green.

All of a sudden it struck me.
I found reason in randomness.
It might have been trivial.
It might have been a random coincidence.
Then again, it could well have been a reasonable incident.

I smiled.

I took my ruler and underlined the name of the chapter: "The Environment and Development".
In green.

I miss my pink pen.
But then, things come to an end for a reason.
Apparently pens do too.

Although it was just a case of the right colour coding, I had one of my "quirky” realizations out of this seemingly trivial incident (or coincidence).

Ends add more rhyme and reasons to the beginning.
:-)

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Potpourri III



Another installment of my random farragoes that has become a habit of mine of late .A necessity : a troubled cure for my troubled mind .


PRE-STORM BLUES : I have never been fond of the lull before the storm. In fact, I wonder why would they call it a lull? If you look at it from the operational perspective, storms and human activity are counter-cyclical. People are at the height of their activity during the lull, trying desperately to seek “shelter from the storm”,in whatever way they can.Once the storm comes,there isn’t much one can do but to hope that the preparations that one did during the lull were enough to hold on.There’s a storm on the horizon,1st July to be precise, and during this lull I am expected to prepare for the impending storm.I find this period frustrating,boring and nerve-wrecking.For one,I never manage to do what I plan to do.I never have.Then, one cannot seem to have fun whole-heartedly without one of those Satan-vs-Angel face-off that Captain Haddock used to have,at the back of one's mind!There’s too much constancy in this period and that depresses me. I like things linear only when it comes to solving equations during examinations.Maximum variability is welcomed otherwise.

BLIND FAITH : There has been one song that I’ve been listening to,repeatedly for the last few days, “Can’t find my way home” by Blind Faith.I had already been bowled over by the Clapton-Knopfler version but the acoustic version of the original has a sense of pathos and helplessness that cuts through.The words are beautiful in their minimalism. It almost feels like a conversation I would be having with myself.The song is almost therapeutic at some level,personally.(I believe that whoever does not know the therapeutic effect of music is not an up-to-date free thinker.)Anyway, the album itself is pretty good.They are one of the best super-groups I’ve ever come across.PB remarked in one of our time-defying-days-dissolving conversations that Baker-Winwood-Clapton is a magic formula.He was right.Ah well,I never thought blind faith is a good thing.However,in this case it was!.But I always did feel blind faith doesn’t last for ever.In this case,sadly it didn’t last long as with most “super-groups”.But thankfully,divided they didn’t fall.

VACUOUS DEBATES: Elections are around and everybody has an opinion. Well, nothing can be done. It’s a free country for old men! Heh!There are debates, discussions and press conferences and so on and so forth. I don’t have anything against them.There are few things more fascinating than listening to a refined verbal duel.But all I hear are vacuous dialogues. I used to believe that politicians and oratory skills had a good correlation. However, that has now been reduced to “bitter clamour” of “eager tongues”. Very few of them make sense.Other’s repeat "exclusive" figures and forget facts. Some lie with overweening hauteur.Some are bellicose in their speeches which again,are rather hollow.Some having hit the rock-bottom of their family’s gene pool make outrageous comments to ratify the fact that they are indeed the product of depleted wisdom over generations.Seriously,whatever happened to the art of rhetorics and dialectics?We can only blame the politicians for making politics look so drab. Maybe few years later, any contradiction or point of contention would be registered by throwing a shoe and instead of a Question Hour in the Parliament we would have a Shoe-Session(The word makes a good tongue-twister I find.Try out! :D)!That would save us all these torturous sermons of platitudes!

MOTHER’S DAY : No,I don’t celebrate it.And I would not give a clichéd justification saying that “Everyday is Mother’s Day for me”!I irritate Ma for most part of the year. That’s one of my hobbies.I put in some nice gestures once in a while but only when I want to.So this Mother’s Day,while studying New-classical Macroeconomics I had one of those bursts of spontaneity.(Don't ask me to justify the circumstances.Assume that I was a victim.Period.) So I wrote her a poem and that too in Bengali.It was pretty inane I think.My Bengali has become rather rusty these days.My hand-writing looks like one of those 5 year olds mastering the alphabets.And the less said about my spellings,the better!But anyhow,I thought it’d be special, for Ma alone knows the effort I’d have to put in for that.Heh!Anyway,the job was done.I wrote it out on a page torn from one of my exercise books.It even had a margin drawn!Yes,I am lazy!I delivered it to Ma’s room while she wasn’t looking and then came back to Lucas and Muth.Few minutes later Ma,came in,dewy-eyed.We looked at each other.Not a word was spoken.But our conversation was done.Ma later told me that it was probably one of the sweetest things anyone had done for her and in the same breath added that she would make sure I practice Bengali handwriting(What!) and revise my spellings(How!?!) for to quote her, they were “Shanghatik!” I don’t mind the trade-off but in terms of problems,Dad has been dropping hints that he’d like one for himself too and I fear if he doesn’t get one,he is going to bring charges of partiality against me and worse still,be hurt!Sigh! And they still think human beings have rational expectations!!

It had been raining all the while I had been typing this out!Raining,with a vehement force interspersed by lightnings!Lightnings I tried capturing on my cell phone camera!But that darned 299792458 m/s got the better of me!Anyway,I will take a mind-picture like an oh-so-merry-and-high-on-sugar Alec Baldwin did in one of those hilarious episodes in FRIENDS. *click* :D

It just stopped raining now.Just as I wind up my “thought-full” outburst here!Almost a Pathetic Fallacy situation , what say? :)

Saturday, May 9, 2009

On A Day Like Today


On a day like today,
When the sun rose, like everyday
The wind blew the leaves away,
And mortals scurried to make hay,
A life began, somewhere, this day.

A life that set many free as a lark,
Teeming with hope like a firefly in the dark.
And through his eyes the world seemed a land
Of unforeseen beauty,blessed by His hand.
And his songs did heal many a battered soul,
Like sunshine amidst the bitter cold.
His words did herald a new wave,
That swept away all who did emulate
To an elevated state of mind and thought,
To a deeper sense of self and its worth .

But just like a river runs its course,
And just like the waves crash onto the shore.
The harp of his life would play no more.
But his life defied death and Oblivion,
Alive in hearts,and still surging on.
And since his life blossomed,
On a day like today,
This day in May could never be,
Just another day!

Sunday, May 3, 2009

The Man with the Alpine Hat

Yes, I love him. I never thought I would. I never really thought I could fall in love with one of those rich, idle , air-heads. I was right. He isn’t one of them. He just appears to be so for those who haven’t been able to read into the real him. Yes, he is rich but you can’t blame him if one of his loaded relatives went sailing to heaven and left him a fortune! Incase you are, that’s just you being jealous! Stop cribbing and feed greasy pot roast to one of your despicable affluent acquaintances with high cholesterol,instead.If you don't have one,well,blame it on your benevolence for they sure EXIST!Anyway,when was being rich a crime? I guess the Red Army would disagree but I’d like to leave out such morbid 'matadors' out of my sunny story of love right now. Thank you.
The object of my affection is rich but seems to be quite oblivious of it. His garish tastes would bear testimony to that.The high society would consider him a disgrace.You might too.But open your eyes,and you shall behold an iconoclast. He appears to be obtuse but I know he is not. I just feel he is indifferent or too engrossed with the trifles of life to agonize over great matters. Well, we all do that anyway. One less wouldn’t hurt right? It is an ingenuous method to escape from all the bally-trouble. An escapist? A bird skimming the surface of water you say? Ah well, I love him still! He is an adorable man-child who makes what in others would have appeared to be galling glaring stupidity, appear as delectable innocence.He is a man waiting to be saved.He needs that from time to time with all the scrapes he gets into. He manages to wriggle out of them though, thanks to a wise man that walked into his life.
For him, I know missing a court hearing would be less of a disaster than his Aunt’s cook giving notice! I know all he can quote (that too incompletely and completely inappropriately) are inane country jingles and is hopelessly lost in the world of The Bard . I know he is rather spoilt and that he often needs someone to provide him with the perfect word to complete a sentence,or rather to make sense. I know he runs behind popsies and then runs away from them for his life. But strangely, one doesn’t love him in spite of that, but rather because of that.For all the wrongs make a right only in him.
He has no pretences. He is no snob. He is hilarious and again , quite unaware of it. He seems indifferent but he nurtures a sensitive heart.He is just a harmless blundering fool .But most significantly he abides by the code for he "never lets a pal down" , come what may and that’s what makes my heart soluble. Life with him around I imagine, would be springtime all year around and doodah-ing all the way!
And for him I would wear a ghastly pink-feathered alpine hat to the church!(I would have said the parliament but I guess weirder things happen there anyway).I just need to procure one. I sure hope to, for my Cherie Amour, Bertram Wilberforce Wooster. :)

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Your Promises.

You haven't changed.
You claimed you had.
You promised you would.
Promises.Your promises.
Flimsy and filthy.
Just as it was.
Just as it will be.

You had faded away.
Banished from my world.
Yet,you clawed your way back.
Forcing yourself in.
Bruising me from within.
Promises.Your promises.
Flimsy and filthy.

You reminded me of the "best of times."
Our times in the sun.I agree.
But did you forget the rain clouds?
For they still haunt me.
You promised sunny days and moonlit nights
Were all that you would give me,this time around.
Promises.Your promises.
Flimsy and filthy.

You cajoled.You reasoned.
You made me doubt myself.
And then,you lied.
Two years ago became today.
I was glad.
Promises.Your promises darling!
Flimsy and filthy.
All along.