All that happened in the past, about the Punjabi family and others

I was still in my hostel-days when my father came to Kolkata and started living with my mother and sister. I was fifteen, and there was one more year for me to come out of the school. Father’s job included whole of India, as he was in the audit department of LICI that time, so most of the time he was out for work. I would see him in my visiting dates only, carrying a bag smiling towards me, as he would walk towards me in those visiting dates…or when I would come back home for a month or so, he would take a leave from work for some days. It was a whole new city for us, except for my father, who did some of his higher studies here. I remained inside the thick walls of a hostel, which was a very conservative and strict one that would not allow any student going outside, so didn’t have the opportunity ever to know the city very well in one corner of which we were actually living for six years.

Things started changing with the starting of 2005… to start with we had a maharaja at Narendrapur who started scaring us saying that he would actually throw us out once the test exams get over, given the fact that we do not behave properly inside the hostel. This was tough. For a student of class ten, this was a real threat. In one hand you’d like to live the last year of your life at Narendrapur to the fullest, doing all the stuff you didn’t for the past five years, and on the other hand you have the threat of this maharaja who dared each one of us, individually. Being a student of the school I can tell you how much value the tutorial classes held which were done in the post assessment session. Boy o boy, weren’t we scared!


So the time came and as usual three of us (me including the two roommates of mine) saw the doors of school for the next one and half months. Sourabh went back to Tarkeshwar (his ancient home) and Arunava and I stayed back in Kolkata to attend the tutorial classes. Now this whole scenario started the very first interaction between me and the city.

At first it was real tough. For a boy who was born in a mofussil, raised in a joint family and sent to a boarding school to spend rest of his childhood there, a big city like this was a real astonishing factor. You’ll have to admit that there are times when you just lose yourself in the vastness and aggression of the city people (A few years back I made this comment only to make a few city people angry at me). But anyway, life was good. I was experiencing the flat life for the first time. Besides, the colony I lived was real elite, calm and quiet…just perfect for me to have my first resident at Kolkata.


A couple of months passed. I went back to the school, appeared for the secondary exams and came back home, biding the goodbye forever to the hostel. This was the time when I took the decision not to go back to the hostel to further my studies back there. The fact that I got humiliated by the maharajas for no reason hurt me a lot. So before the results were out, I had already decided that whatever would be the result I was going to opt out Narendrapur anyway. Now after years I understand that specific maharajas had personal grudges with people and it was real good news for us that the particular one was transferred to someplace at south India. And my love for Narendrapur hasn’t decreased for any of the happenings that have happened with me inside the walls of the hostel.

Now something else must be said here about the colony we lived.


It was the property of Life Insurance Corporation of India we were living. Dad bought the flat in 2003-2004. We had some seventy-two flats spread over six buildings of LICI. In front of our compound, resided the Pramatha Chowdhury sarani…Chetla road started a couple of minutes’ distance away. On the other side of our compound, the slum existed. It was the infamous slum of Tolly place spread over kilometres. The same slum consists this bridge over the old Ganges which connected New Alipur with the rest of the city. On the other side of the P.C. sarani, at the diagonally opposite side to our flat, we had the relative of a very famous Bollywood star as our neighbour. Now it is different that I will not disclose the name otherwise you might think I am bluffing (considering the popularity of the actor it is alright). And just opposite to our building we had this old building, owned by an arrogant wife and her saintly husband, living at the first floor with their one and only daughter, full of vanity and ignorance (don’t ask me what’s the source though). The girl’s room faced mine and I found myself pretty curious about her. Things changed afterwards when I actually understood that she was no real beauty. Since then no further interests have come up.


At the ground floor of that building we had our favourite neighbour of the colony – the Punjabi family. They were the calmest people alive in the area. The Punjabi parents had two daughters. Both of them were around my age. My hitherto interactions limiting only to Bengalis made me curious about them too. In 2007 I started writing a story named ‘The no-private room’ loosely based on the life of mine in the living room where I was directed to live once I returned from hostel (I am still living in that very room alright) where I mentioned the Punjabi family in a very funny way. I feel I should copy the whole thing here.


“Beside the road, to the opposite side of my room, lives the Punjabi family; my favourite neighbour, and it is a nice job for me to watch them. They have two cars, and both the cars shout like bulls, and the little boys at the road shout at them. But you can curse them, laugh at them but you can’t help but love the two daughters of the Punjabi parents, the same two girls aging between 18 to 19, who were the popular topics of the boys’ talking in the town.”



It was a sad day for me when they actually left the colony and went away a couple of months ago…now everything in the colony looks so boring and formal. The Punjabis have taken away all the energy they had incorporated into our lives away with them. Even now as the monsoon has showed up…sometimes I just leave all the works behind just to keep looking at the closed doors of the rooms where they used to live. How on earth people define attachments and attraction when they don’t have any clue about it?

Living next to a slum area taught me a lot of things in these years. I saw a variety of people across the colony. A slum is like a system of a race or kind…and the lives of people staying there reflect the very basic premises and truths. Living with these people made me think a few things I wouldn’t have thought, had I not lived here. And that brings some positives into their lives, at least.
New people started coming into my life in various ways…There were people from ‘the great institution which promises you to find your path’ with whom I am still in touch, college friends were bizarre at first but after a few years we sort of got adjusted to each other’s madness. Pallabi came in from nowhere with all her Varanasi background n all and went away in no time. I am still in love with her memories alright.




Throughout my life, as I have experienced, I found three kinds of persons exist in our lives. First, those who mean everything to us, our loving ones; second, to whom we mean everything, to whom we are the most loving ones; and the third is the kind who neither means anything to us nor do we mean anything special for them. It’s as if we don’t exist for them and they don’t exist for us. But in the due course of time, as we find out, in the secret corners of our heart, we all keep the intention of knowing them more and they are the ones who remain with us forever as the most attractive and mysterious persons on earth, and whenever we think of them…our face turns into a rainbow of happiness, in the nostalgia of those days we had passed in the thoughts of someone or something else, and all the while those moments we could’ve passed with them to know them better had gone in vain.


- August '10

The old dock

The sky above the port was the colour of television, tuned to a dead channel. The ships looked vast and bizarre creatures descended from hell in the night of new moon. And the water was still, dark and mysterious, till it’s deep. The December fog had rapped everything under its cover giving it a deserted and wraith-like environment. And in the midst of all these, a dark red figurine stood about fifty yards away…must be made for the occasions with straw and mud, remained bent and rusty from the salted sea air.

“She’ll definitely come” I muttered.

The fact that a girl was murdered at this very place five years ago didn’t shake me much. In fact the Police tried to convince me not to pass the night in the deserted old dock. “Don’t you remember what had happened there?” “I do, and that’s why I want to go back.” I answered.


The distant railway station marked its presence by the whistle of the last local returning to the countryside place. The scent of chhatim flowers kept coming from the abandoned place nearby, and suddenly the dogs started howling from the railway-side graveyard.

I observed the figurine again. It’s unusual both in colour and form.

“She’ll have to come tonight.” I muttered again.


It was known to no one that I killed her, save only for me and the police, whom I bribed for some portion of my property…Being a famous writer I could not let her say that all the writings of mine are taken from the girl’s diary…which she sent me over a year ago from the happening stating whether any of them could be published so that she gets something to live on.

A narrow ray of light piercing the curtains of darkness fell on the figurine. Must be a patrol boat, I thought. This confirms it’s one o’ clock now.

Hasn’t the figurine changed its shape?

Isn’t that the purple salwar Police found with the girl’s body?

When was the last time a figurine walked by itself?

The crooked and strewed figure has taken a discrete shape of a girl…who is now coming towards me. And even in the moonless night, I could say that this was the girl I murdered five years ago.

“Come with me.”

Spellbound, I followed her. She took me to the edge of the railings and looked at my face.

The patrol boat returned again. And in the middle of light and the darkness, I looked at her.

The last thing I saw before I fell from the railings was her white face, pale like paper and flat. No eyes, no nose and no mouth… just a white curtain of skin.



I woke up from the nightmare and kept shivering in the dark, sweating profusely, having all my hairs stood from their root. I found myself still sitting at the port, with the figurine about fifty yards away.

The last local whistled and the graveyard suddenly boasted the dogs’ howling.

And in the midst of nowhere a patrol boat’s light piercing the darkness of the night fell on the figurine.






- August '10


(SENT FOR THE TIMES OF INDIA SPELLBOUND COMPETITION 2010)

A romantic story

"Isn't it romantic here?" That's the first question she would ask...

I was returning home from the institution...and was sitting at the front left side of the auto. The wind started playing with my hair, which remained uncut for over four months now...and all of a sudden, the touch of the mid-July wind brought a quick romanticism within me. (Well you'll have to accept real life romanticism is hard to find these days...how many of us go hand in hand with a girl anyway, or sit in the parks or lakes...considering those facts, I somehow prefer these short-time romanticisms)

"I should write a romantic story now" I muttered to myself. The autowalah and the guy sitting behind me looked at in surprise, former for the reason he thought that I wanted to get down the running auto right now, and the latter seeing me smiling to my own in the mirror and taking me a crazy for sure.

"Yeah, right. Enough of worthless dark and wandering stories...they are boring anyway."

Alright then, I thought. It must be a story of a girl and a boy...set in a given situation. As I started walking from the Rashbehari avenue towards my colony...I decided it must be a meeting.

"Isn't it romantic here?" That's the first question she would ask...

Now once again I am in a dilemma. What does the word 'here' mean? It must be a place where the girl and the boy meets...but in order to make it a bit more mushy, I had already decided that the meeting has been fixed by the girl...and so here they are, totally in love with each other while the girl shows the romanticism in the air to the boy who is here probably for the very first time.

But the fact is where can I put this 'here'?

I rule out the possibilities of a local park, lake places, malls, dark corners of the city, restaurants with curtains(read privacy), dark cinema halls, avenues and footpaths in the evening(a personal favourite for kissing purpose for one of my friends, don't ask me her name though). And then I rule out the possibility of a sea-beach. Sea-beaches are more like when you are in a honey-moon, no one gives a girl permission to go with a guy at the sea beach before marriage...that is just a premise to start with.

I thought about myself...where would I take my girlfriend so that she feels romantic? In fact I didn't have any answer to this. To start with I don't have anyone special. Second, even if I had one, I would have taken her to the top floor of the Golpark Ramkrishna mission in the evening just to listen to the evening songs. Well I know its hard to believe and some of you are actually thinking that I will make a worthless boyfriend. But that's the way it is, and I really can't help it. Anyway I decide to move on from my own experiences.

Can it be a shop? Well it could be...provided the fact that there are not much people inside it...and you still have that much of romanticism left within you to utter those words.

I decide it could be a curio shop. The owner of the shop is probably resting at the corner, with dark pair of glasses(you would doubt whether its of use now), every inch of the floor and wall is filled with old stuff, stuff from the century old days...paintings, figurines, more paintings, more figurines, letters written to unknown people, unnecessary stones, necessary stones, old masks- some are from the darkest and most mysterious parts of the world...and more and more to continue. Adding to that we have the smell of a thousands of years' stuff that were meant to be useless by the people of modern society...carried marks of their times of glory in an indistinct manner. To add to the effect I make the weather a rainy morning...now it all set the whole thing up.

"It really is." The boy answers, as he reaches out his hands to hold the girl's hands.

Now this is some romantic. For a guy who was brought up in a hostel, with only exams to appear, discussions of the boredom of everyday dull life and how to give rare lessons to the cunning maharajas in various objectionable ways...writing this sort of romanticism is absolutely unexpected...add to that holding hands in public is one of those things he has hated the most.

But anyway, this scenario was quite different. These people are in complete love with each other. And they must not have known the writer, for their own good, otherwise they would've opted out being hero and heroine for this writer.

The girl leans towards the guy and plants a soft kiss at his lips.

Great man, I told myself, still walking towards my colony. Guess I am quickly becoming a pro to all these love stories...what can be more fascinating if you are being kissed by a girl, surrounded by all those old stuff, as if you two have been there for thousands of years, looking at each other, holding hands and showing love for the other one, with absolutely no one to watch you two, as if you have escaped to a different world, no one around you...just imagine you and your lover to be completely lonely in an island...it is that sort of stuff.

The girl mutters something at the boy's ears...

"I have always loved you...in the happiest of times of our lives, as well as the dark times, when no one was there...you were always beside me, and I love you for the way you are, that you mean the other half of the world to me...promise me that you will be forever with me, and never leave me alone."

Good. Now this is real good. Those who said I was pretty bad in writing romantic lines this is for them. How is it for a change? I certainly hope after all these they will stop criticising me for being a tragic love story writer.

The guy caresses the girl, holds her face with his hands to lift it a bit high, to say a few words...

"My darling, I have travelled thousands of miles, crossed rivers and moved mountains. I have suffered and endured agonies. I have resisted temptation, and I have followed the sun, so I could stand before you and tell you, I love you."

And they kiss again.

I certainly hope you are enjoying this story...a few of you might say that the above line is a bit more mushy type, but as I said before, I am totally in love with these romantic lines now, and no one separates me from this lovely lines...they will come more often now. A few of you want a bed scene right now, for them I must say stop reading, because that is not happening. A few of you are actually enjoying it though.

The boy and the girl keep kissing each other, surrounded by the old curio shop. At outside it keeps raining as usual. The mid-July cloud drenches the two souls, the cold wind touches their face and they become fresh, like a seed set to sprout. It rains, rains and keeps raining outside. Love in the air brings out happiness, a possibility of a new journey to a happier world.


The mobile continues to ring for the third time as the guy gets out of his dreams now.

"Are you coming or what? Remember we have the Group Discussion exam today..."

Oh, shit! the boy thinks, it was all in my dreams? What the hell that is happening to me? Add to that I'll have to appear in the GD couple of hours later. Hell ya!! Why on earth did I dream of a beautiful girl like that?

He gets ready for the college. And a couple of hours later, after a hectic schedule of college and several weird studies of an institution, he almost forgets about the dream.

What an unromantic way to end a romantic story.

Hell of a writer!




July 23rd, 2010

Training day 4

Reached @ training: 10.20 AM.

Irrespective of the fact that I called and told him to keep a seat for me, Sobitri failed to do so...bad for me.

10.40 AM: Stream, streamreader and streamwriter on the slides...

Oh and btw, for the past three days our landline isn't working...so no internet for me...no orkut,fb or mafia wars, and no free download from 2-8 AM. Let's see if the BSNL actually manages to shape up things today.

11.00 AM: Break for 5 mins. A guy sitting in the row of nath, sufal and sobitri rejects to interchange the seat with me...how poor these guys are, really. What would be in their head? Anyway I don't pity on them.

Still haven't found the last two members for the upcoming project...Nath, Sobitri, Sugal and me...this makes only four of us. Desperately looking for the other two. :(

11.50 AM: Trying to replace a file with another. Isn't running. :(

Messed with caps and small. Everything ok now.

Still thinking about the other two members for the project. :( :(

12.54 PM: Still working on three assignments:


1)Extract first five characters from a file.


2)Suppose a file has six lines. Copy the line no. 1,3,5 to a file and copy line no. 2,4,6 to another file.


3)WAP to count no. of characters in a file.

A new assignment comes in as the following...

4)Concatenate two files into a third file.



Filled a feedback form.

I guess this is the end for today. Had a shorter class...from now on this wil be regular case. :)

Its 1.35 PM and we are going home.

July 20, 2010.

Training day 3

Reached @ training: 9.50 AM

New assignment given at 10.10 AM:

1) WAP(console) to convert a temperature from Celsius to Fahrenheit

2)WAP(console) to display Fibonacci series

3)WAP(console) to display the following

*

***

*****

*******

11.25 AM: Fibonacci left, other two done. :)

11.45 AM: Fibonacci done.

sir has left the class giving a break of ten minutes...me typing fluffy words while Sufal vaguely at my laptop. :) Sobitri searching internet with out-of-decorum things...imagine what could that be anyway. Nath studying ASP.NET from the internet. :(

Have I told you I like a girl at the training...I wish I haven't. But the fact is she is cute. And I like her that way.



Took a couple of pics.

Sir is back. :( Why does the break always finish in time??

ASP.NET starts.

Printed 'Hello Writer' in a web page in a much simpler way. :)

Printed 'Hello Writer' in a gorgeous way... :D :D

12.40 PM: A new teacher is going to take over for the lab class. We are eagerly waiting for him/her.

1.15 PM: Designing website...great experience. :D :D

1.50 PM: Designed a web page using own name, learned how to hyperlink between two pages, how to apply button in the cases where used to generate a new web form/page, how to hide a password etc etc.

1.55 PM: Lunch break.

3.10 PM: Back after a heavy lunch.

At this moment when everything is quiet and normal and the teacher from the first day taking the class(apparently, he's more like a cool customer, never being excited, or running down the hall...that is the sort of thing we actually want from a professional guy actually, do what you are supposed to, and let us do what we want to do the most).

3.20 PM: Life cycle of a page is going on the slides...


3.55 PM: Break.

4.03 PM: People are playing MotoGp :( And the sir is back now.

5.30 PM: Designed another webpage for icecream buying...

And that's it for today...

A case of editing...

Edited a few no. of pictures of mine in a casual way with the softwares I downloaded from the internet(downloaded 14 softwares with which one can edit pics). Still finding it tough to get a grab in photoshop. No doubt will love to edit in PS3. Tomorrow have the training, actually looking at the clock one must say it's today, but anyway, that's going to come after a sleep. so that's 'tomorrow'.

Here is the latest pic I edited and made it the display pic('dp' in her terms)in the facebook and orkut .





July 17th, 2010

Training day 2

Training starts @ 10.30 AM

Much to my astonishment, seats are reorganized today and I’m not beside the previous guy. Thank God…was a nightmare anyway. :(

11.00 AM: 1st assignment: WAP to reverse a no.

11.30 AM: Solution:

private void button1_Click(object sender, EventArgs e)
{
int a, b;
a= Convert.ToInt32(textBox1.Text);
textBox2.Text=”";
while (a > 0)
{
b = a % 10;
a = a / 10;
textBox2.Text = textBox2.Text + b.ToString();
}

(‘Click’ is the event that happens when a ‘button’ is pressed.)

11.35 AM: Sir takes a break for 15 mins.

In the meantime we keep taking pictures of ourselves in the web-cams of our respective mini laptops. Bipul, sitting at the next row to me, invited me to take a couple of pics with him.

12.00: Sir is back.

New assignment:

1. WAP for testing whether a no. is prime.

2. WAP to count the no. of vowels in a string.

Since we all are looking at each other, these two must take a bit of time. (btw, have I told you about the building just next to ours’ which is under-construction…just a couple of months or so and they will be ready-to-use, looking up to the sky…with all those glasses and fibers only to prove the eliteness of the sector 5 workers. Considering the fact that we are sitting here, it makes things a bit ironic. Anyway, the teacher has entered, and time to go back to the coding.)

Reminder: I post the codes doesn’t mean I myself do all the codes. That’s just a premise to start with… :)

1.00 PM.

Prime solution: Not available(was careless enough not to save) :(

Think I should spare people giving every code written…

1.30 PM: Sir spares us, for a break.

Lunch break: Bipul, accompanied by me, Nath and Sufal headed towards the other side of the road, where we had the parathas the other day. Well, today became no different either. Five parathas, with vegetable and omlette. Afterwards had tea at another place…not a bad way to have lunch where everything seems to be at a much higher rate.

2.40 PM: C# language and Object Oriented Programming resides in the slides after the break is over.

3.25 PM: Lecture going on code editor, debugger and designer while I manage to take some of my own photos via the webcam. :D :D

3.55 PM: Console application going on. Printed ‘Hello Writer’ :)

Rigorous console. :(

5.10 PM: :( :( :(

After a tiring addition, subtraction and calculator code…may be its time to shut things up for today…not much of left of today though.

5.15 PM: That’s it for today.

July 15, 2010

Training day 1

It is already mid-July and the industrial training as assigned before, started today. Now that I am sitting and writing these words as a calm person sitting in my lone room, after a nice diner, it is very much obvious of soothing words flow down the line of thinking and while penning them…but trust me, I was hassled and turmoiled throughout the whole day, and even a come-back-home through SA couldn’t lower my anger about the fluffy little things of the world.


Alright, it must be formal anyway. So here it goes for the teacher who entered into the class at 12 o’ clock after a tiring changing rooms-sharing laptop-missing name in the group list-oath to help a guy who’s deaf, dumb and blind from the very birth of his life considering his knowledge about handling computer(don’t go by my humor, it literally true, he doesn’t know what does the switch ‘Enter’ do, and what is worse, this is just something to start with). One of my friends(Bipul, to be specific) kept blogging sitting behind me and I kept on commenting. His enthu must be praised about writing stuff that’s happening around. Whenever I felt like taking a 2-mins break from the soon-to-become-boring class and tilted my chair backwards, I found him blogging, and then I would rely on some portions of the human beings who are still human enough not to concentrate on the boring .NET classes…


.NET is basically more like what we did in DBMS or in VB. It has similarities and dissimilarities with any other languages such as C, C++, Java etc. We studied the key features of .NET framework, its components and classes with respect to DBMS components, advantages and applications…

In the practical approach time, we added two nos, subtracted, multiplied and divided(not sure how many did the last three, except me, because I didn’t). Then we checked whether a no. can be a perfect no.(In general a perfect no. is the summation of its factors, like 28).


I left the insti. at 5 PM. Saltlake is horrifying at the dusk. First of all you are a strict non-resident of that place, which makes you an awful stranger which leave you with the only choice of asking people about the whereabouts of the buses. And add to that your destination is a place like IMS, where you know you’ll have to pass 2-3 more hours…this is something beyond words to express. Only slangs can describe your frustration.

And then came the catastrophe. Had a lunatic as a new maths teacher. Oh yes, trust me when I say he’s been pathetic from his youth to all the persons he has ever met…I mean how can a person be such an *******… After a tiring day like this, one doesn’t have an option but to sit and listen to someone’s gibberish and pray to God so that the class gets over quickly. Anyway God becomes generous sometimes.

So in this way the first day at the training passed…one of the toughest and worse, no doubt in that…but think there is still to come… :( Can’t imagine.


Will be posting about the training-thing in the upcoming days…For now, it’s chao for all, and to the lady in violet, its ciao as always.






- 13th July, 2010.

A hypothetical conversation

(A hypothetical chat between a boy and a girl over social site. Boy prefers him calling a writer, girl prefers calling her colorful.)


colorful.90 is busy.

writer : hi!
Sent at 11:29 PM on Sunday

colorful.90: hello

writer : so you have installed gtalk

colorful.90: no was chking my mails...hav not installed it yet..

writer : :D okk

colorful.90: hmmm...hw r u doing btw??

writer: good. exam is from the 15th :(

colorful.90: ohhh...mine will b from then as well...whats ur dept?

writer: I.T.I don't like IT btw. ironic, isn't it?

colorful.90: y??

writer: i dont like the coding sort of thing...and there are several reasons

colorful.90: okkk...no idea do i hav ac2aly.

writer: ok, i understand.

colorful.90: hmmm...

writer: u r happy with english?

colorful.90: yeah...i guess...actually its never lyk wht i xpected...bt m happy...

writer: so u never wanted to get into an iit or something?

colorful.90: iit??? r u in d verge of insulting me or something...dont pull my leg!! :(

writer: ahh, i was jst asking if u had any urge to go for the enggn thing. sorry. did u mind?

colorful.90: no...no...y do i mind? i tried for jee n aieee bt not fr myself bt for my dad...!! n dd tremendously bad!

writer: i guess ur heart was into these literature things

colorful.90: alwaz...it helps me xpress...since m a big introvert...

writer: trust me, any guy, or girl, from any missionary school is an introvert.......has to be

colorful.90: y??? dont kno ac2ally! all ur frnds from missionaries r lyk ds,i guess...
so d impression??

writer: I myself am from ramkrishna mission, it applies for me too :)

colorful.90: okkk...i do c....
Sent at 11:45 PM on Sunday
colorful.90: gone???

writer: no. i m here
Sent at 11:49 PM on Sunday
colorful.90: den?? blogging??

writer: :) nopes. do u think i always blog? :O

colorful.90: noo...jst lyk dat...u need to concentrate whn u write...

writer: ok i get it. you read novels a lot right?

colorful.90: have to..rather forced to..hehe..

writer: do u have any favs? like fav writer, or fav novel

colorful.90: mmmm....not as such...like jane austen...

writer: any indian writer?

colorful.90: may b jhumpa lahiri...bt dont ask me nything abt her...i dont kno much...read Namesake...
n some of her short stories...

writer: i haven't read a single of JL

colorful.90: u read sidney sheldon??

writer: a long time ago. he is good. have u?

colorful.90: yeah...writes raw...i hav read only 1 of his..

writer: yeah, dat's what i was gonna say :) well anyway, every raw material does have an inner meaning within itself.

colorful.90: r u into films???

writer: yup, not in a serious way though

colorful.90: serious way bole toh??? jst watch it for fun...

writer: yeah dat's what it is

colorful.90: u dwld??

writer: nopes. not films. don't have dat enthu

colorful.90: okkk...y??? dwld from torrent..its fast...1day for 1..i toh alwaz keep on dwlding...

writer: ok, so what are you dloading now a days

colorful.90: if u evr get a chance...do watch stendhal syndrome...i m dwldin pyaasa..well, its included in my course tho..

writer: gurudutt?

colorful.90: yeah...
Sent at 12:15 AM on Monday

writer: so why did you tell me that u are introvert? u are not one

colorful.90: not here...bt meet me sometym n u'll kno...

writer: are you kind of a shy person?

colorful.90: yeah kinda...bt i hav developed a bad habit...

writer: what is dat

colorful.90: whn m depressed or ovrjoyed...i seem to tell it to every1 dat asks me...its not since late...
i cry in front of dem...its jst ridicullous...i hv nevr bn lyk ds...all i used to share was wid my mum n sisters n nevr wid strangers! whr r u??

writer: i am here. i am listening

colorful.90: seeking for an answer?? its a good thing for me to share with a stranger...

writer: if ur problem is dat u cry, den i must say it is not a problem at all.........everyone cries

colorful.90: i kno...bt bad whn ppl turn them into laughables. i m so prone to it..

writer: try to control ur nerve in those situations.............

colorful.90: dats whr it lies...d matter is i cannt control my emotions!

writer: just remind of ur parents in those situations and how u would not let them down in any way....u will become a strong person, i can tell u dat.

colorful.90: hmmmm....thanx 4 dat...

writer: anytime:)

colorful.90: so y do u think u r an introvert?

writer: do u really wanna know

colorful.90: ya...

writer: because i fear myself

colorful.90: what?? bt y?? u dont trust urself??? lack of confidence??

writer: :) ha ha. nopes. u wont understand. leave it

colorful.90: no i will. tell me. plzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Sent at 12:36 AM on Monday

writer: ok ok. see people who write stories and other things have a good and a bad within themselves.....and the good has to suppress the evil, so that whenever the evil wants to come out, the good suppresses it making the bad person unavailable from the real world........so that the evil resides in the virtual world, wandering in the dark corners of the city, writing stories and other things, or may be seducing girls at times..... :P

colorful.90: okk..i guess i got u...smtyms u kno a complx wrks for me2 to keep me shut up... inferior do i feel...i really m..

writer: well, i am sure dere's something at which you are special

colorful.90: dont kno...its so deppressing whn i c d ppl doing so much n me doing nothing...not evn half d thing..! dey kno so damn much...

writer: do you dance?

colorful.90: i do...bt its all sympathy dat i gain...

writer: dancing makes a person special, no matter whoever she is. read Paulo Coelho's ''The witch of portobello"

colorful.90: its all d same from a distanc...come closer n u c wht it is...its nevr so easy...

writer: life itself is not easy dear, that's why when we actually have something we keep thinking how lucky we are.

colorful.90: u dont kno hw it is whn suddenly after 18yrs of ur life,u r askd to chang ur perception...to c d wrld in a different light...bt i dont think i am lucky...i wish i got luckier...if not luckier den y m i placed here among d aristocrats whn i belong to a typical middle class family?? who knos no culture...no art....only buks...engineers...doctors....i wish....i guess i m getting u bored..

writer: i still keep saying you are someone special :)

colorful.90: dat brings a smile...bt y do u think so??? jst bcoz i dance??

writer: :D not at all. okay. tell me. what can I do to make you feel special? may be write a story about you?

colorful.90: about me??? bt u do not kno me much i guess...
a secret for u in ds regard...well...i write too...bt not much...

writer: I know dat. not much of a secret. so anyway are u willing to give me the permssion to write abt u

colorful.90: okkk...fine...lets c what u hv 2 say bout me...so do u alwaz refer to real life characters dere??

writer: mostly persons those are/were attached to me

colorful.90: hmmmm....i saw u wrote abt a gal...u may b ignored her or or somthing...
kinda...u hav / had a galfrnd?

writer: am i supposed to answer that? :)

colorful.90: no. u r not bound to!!! only if u wish...

writer: okay. the ans is yes :D but dont take too srsly.

colorful.90: u hav!! kewl...

writer: not have, it's had.

colorful.90: okkk....hmmmm...so is it...fine...leave itwe r kinda emotional ppl.

writer: yess. right

colorful.90: so lets not tok abt it!! m n emotional fool...wabbout u??

writer: ermotional saint may be.......... :P

colorful.90: ookkk. u said u kno AB... ryt???

writer: yup

colorful.90: hmmmm....hw is he...btw?? i find him vry sweet...smtyms stupid! wt u think?

writer: he's a nice guy actually

colorful.90: u were in skul na???

writer: yes

colorful.90: u kno we had a big chaos...whn he had his last gf...u kno abt her?

writer: no way...................why would I care about anyone's gf? anyway what was it about ?

colorful.90: come on...i jst said it lyk dat....no leave it...dats fine...i shud not b bothering u abt sm1 else... sorry!

writer: no it's fine.
hey can I ask you one thing. it's personal actually

colorful.90: wht?? if i hav a boyfrnd?

writer: no. I wont ask dat anyway.

colorful.90: okkk...say...

writer: who named you Colorful? is it a too personal ques to ask?

colorful.90: i dont think so...bt u kno...its difficult to get thru u guys...u r fine at tyms...n den suddenly...u jst burst...it gets me confused! fine...all apart...dats my mum...who gifted d sam

writer: I guessed it could be your father. anyway it's a nice name. dat's why i m asking

colorful.90: my dad is not into literature n arts at all...n ds was an inspiration..so my mum gav it...tell me smthing......dd i irritate u or smthing?

writer: nopes........why do u think so?

colorful.90: jst felt so....d way u reacted whn i askd abt AB's gf......was pretty odd! was lyk a shock to me...so changed!

writer: i am never irritated by anything u say but the thing is i don't want to talk about people's gfs in here and relationship in big cities are nothing....i don't have faith in it....so whenever people keep talking about gfs and bfs and all, I stay away.

colorful.90: yeah...i kno...i m not evn asking u to do so...u kno it cud hav bn polite...at least its smthing xpected from u...i was telling u an incident....not wht she was lyk or hw she was lyk....i myself is not interested...y to bother u?? my fault actually...

writer: sorry, i shouldn't have acted that way

colorful.90: u dont kno my xpressions when reading my lines...bt i guess i do....so it rose...
fine...not a prob....anyway i have to go back to my lonely life.

writer: hey i am really sorry for acting that way. just let it go please.


(The guy keeps pleading afterwards, and the girl settles in her shell once again. She takes an oath not to share anything with a guy ever after in her life over the social profile. She deletes the guy from her friend list just after the conversation gets over. As for the guy, after a no. of pleadings he gets confused and decides to drop the matter. He doesn't find the girl online afterwards as she had already deleted him from her list. The guy keeps on waiting for her and after a long time forgets completely the fact that the conversation stated above ever happened.)


-June '10

Scatterd notes 2

A few things made me cry badly today. I don't know whether it is because I get too much sentimental sometimes or because unfortunate things tend to happen with my life pretty silently. I am tired of making people laugh with silly jokes and smooth talkings...sometimes I feel I really need a hug from a friend or family, someone who will hug me tight and say that everything will be alright. Feeling so low, mentally. So alone. Don't know what to do. Don't want to talk to friends I talk to everyday at the social sites. God! I really want someone right in front of me who will make me feel higher. I have stopped writing stories. Stopped studying. Don't know what to do. Gods from the lonely places, help me with something.



-May '10

‘Mediocre things’ like love

13th April, 2010. 12.45 pm in the noon


Five days after I had had the desktop, needless to say for the very first time in my life, my early introduction with the computer world being through the laptop given by the college (doesn’t mean it came as free though, the college charged as many as double its original value) here I sit at the same corner of my bed looking at the 18.5” PHILIPS LCD screen. Net is not working, as most of the time it does not. Too bad I have a doubt that the modem itself is in some kind of problem. No communication with friends is possible, given the internet issues, and my poor phone scheme. Life keeps waiting for thrill in the way of some excitement, and if they do not come, you’ll have to either wait for it, or keep reading ‘100 ways to impress a girl’, or may be stuffs like ‘In the wonderland of Indian managers’ or ‘Be the most effective manager in your business’ in the worse case.

It is the month of April. Hot, hot and more hots to come in the weather reports. Staying in New Alipur does have the specialty which no other place does. You get the weather reports from each and every person you come across in the colony. “We predict the weather, buddy”, as they all say. Anyway, no college for me now, at least for a week or so (Keeping in mind that I will have to sit for the unit test, just after that). But who the hell studies for a mere unit test! I would rather have a walk around the lake places twice a day (given the fact that someone urges me to sit down and study for the tests, otherwise it’s hard to go that far in this time of the year). But nevertheless, I make the walk once a day, settling the time in the evening.

Life is not as boring as it could be when you want to see someone, and she is not there for a stupid reason. Well, the ‘Mj-girl’ (the neighbour-colony girl turned into M-thing- Long story) sent me a message stating that she is taking a leave for 45 days or so for her final year exams. She also said that she had deposited applications for the leave.

“Don’t be unmindful while doing the classes. See you after the 28th,”as she added a big smiley in the text message.

Fuck. Who is going to be mindful to the lectures anyway? As if she knew, had she not been present, I would not be able to concentrate on anything. How do girls always know what’s going on?

Forget her, I said. She has a boyfriend, for God’s sake. And they are happy with each other (provided that either of them, or in the best case for me, both of them were not faking the kiss on the road). Set your priorities right, and act accordingly. MBA is the only thing you should have in your mind right now.

“Yes, of course I know that.” I muttered, and drew my mobile.

“What are you doing?” I asked myself.

But it was too late. I had already sent a text message to her saying I miss her. And the next moment, I regretted for doing that.

“You are a loose character like hell. Now I know why she left you.” Another ‘me’ told inside me.


I played with the mobile a bit, waiting to see if an answer came through message. It didn’t come, in fact. I got bored, went to the kitchen, searched for some snacks, and when I didn’t find any, got twice as bored as previous. I shouldn’t have sent the message. There’s nothing pitiful like when you text a person and they don’t answer back. I kept looking at the building on the opposite side of the road from where the Punjabi family went away a couple of months ago. People are not as bad when they are alone as they look in public. Well, I thought about Pallabi and turned my face away. There’s nothing one could do with a girl full of vanity from a beauty contest win, or may be an academic excellence, talented enough to write poems, Varanasi background or in the worst case (and I think this one is the main cause) of a foreign connection. Trust me, Boston sucks.


I saw her mother on the way back home one day. She was probably returning home from the ‘Arambag’s chicken’, with that grumpy face, spreading a feel of being agitated all the time. I felt like going to her and say, “Hello aunty, how are you?” Given the fact that whenever I called at her home, most of the time it was her mother who would receive the call first, and hand it over to her, I had an emotional attachment to her mother, or rather to her mother’s voice. Anyway, I am not going to make any more calls, so no chances of hearing those voices of mother and daughter.

Rather, I thought about other things. The fact that she made me look ridiculous by not answering to anything made me feel fuming at her at times. In fact in my mind I had imagined such situations where we meet and I make comments about her personal life in front of her friends which leave her in tears. I imagined further situations where we meet and she says hello, whereas I ignore her and keep walking, thus stating that I can live without her. And there were situations where I would talk about the flirting nature of her, or may be discuss about how proud she felt when she gulped down vodka as cocktail. Or should I tell her something about the pictures where she drew the wannabe boyfriend (the R-thing, I hate to take the name though.) close or held hands in public. Go to hell. Or even better, take a shortcut while going. I don’t need any of your dreams to live.

But all these things seem to fade away whenever I thought about the moments I stood beside her. I decided that some parts of my heart are still in love with her, or rather with the thoughts of her. So I let things be like that.

Now back to the M-thing. Time to elaborate.


One month ago, evening.


I, sort of struggled with my ankles as I reached the Rashbehari Avenue. How far someone has to travel to find a computer-table store? It may be a big city, but it also a city of worthless people, with things arranged at wrong places, at wrong time. I decided to suspend my intentions to find out signs of computer tables and headed towards the Chetla bridge.

I was irritated. These days, even the traffic police will lead you to the wrong avenues. I asked for ‘P.M.R. Road’ and the officer showed me the way towards a slum, which cannot be the address of the girl I was looking for. So tonight, I walked past the site where once I asked for the directions to an officer.

I headed for an electrical goods stall, where a man was standing along with the storekeeper.

“Excuse me; do you happen to know where the P.M.R. road is?” I asked, approaching the storekeeper.

He smiled, looking at the other person standing in front of him, and asked me to ask it to that person. This person seemed to be pretty energetic. “What is the number? Do you have any number with you? P.M.R. road is a long road to be exact.”

I hesitated. The fact that I was searching for a girl made my mind fill with a criminal sense.

I smiled.

“Well, my friend told me to wait near that place. Is there a number P or something?” I made my face look confused.

“Okay let’s see here, you can call your friend near the ground, you know, the ground for the occasions. Do you have his number with you? Make a call and call him near that place”

You messed with the gender, buddy. I thought.

“Sure. And thanks for helping” I performed a formal Colgate ad, and left the stall.

And then after running to and fro for an hour or so, I found the building out. The building is named as Mj apartments. I stopped near it, bought two chloro-mints from a nearby shop, and walked back home. I made a count for the time taken to get back from her home to that of mine as if I had to solve a time-distance problem. Forty five minutes. Amazing.

And then the neighbour-colony girl turned into Mj-girl in no time. Funny old world.


A shrill sound in my mobile brought me back from my memory-journey.


Present day, 1.15 pm in the noon.


“I have seen dreams to be far apart,
And I have lost things that were not of my possess.
People say that flowers always smile,
But I have seen flowers weep in loneliness.”


I read the four lines for the fifth time to make something out of it, but it proved to be futile.

What kind of a person answers a simple message like ‘I miss you, take care’ by something like that? Where the hell did the flowers come from? Am I supposed to decode it, in case something else has been coded inside these words? What kind of flowers is she talking about? Am I supposed to bring flowers for her next time I meet her? No, this is not possible, and I ruled out this possibility. What else could she mean? Is she having issues with her boyfriend? I cannot be so sure.

But once you are in a conversation with a girl, don’t stop it by yourself. I messaged her again.

“I certainly hope you are not among those flowers which you have seen crying. You have no reasons to be a pessimist. Keep smiling. And that way the world around you will be happy too.” I sent it within two minutes.

By doing this, I did two things right. One, I flirted in a harmless way calling her a flower. And two, I sort of energized her up, which in the tough times of exams, is badly needed.

After a few moments, another message comes to the inbox.

“Don’t take my words too seriously. Sometimes I go crazy and talk in a volatile way. Anyway, I will meet you on the 30th. I hope classes will be on that time. You take care too. Bye bye.”


Evening. On the same day.


“Is it really necessary, mom?” I demanded.

My mother made a face I hate the most. Why is it always me who has to escort her in every place? Can’t my father go with her to some of the places she wants to visit?

“Okay, I will go, but make it quick.”

My mother wanted to visit the Shiva temple. And it meant that I will not be able to take a walk around the southern avenues.

“Should we take the keys?”My mother asked.

“Whatever.”I checked my mobile as we came down.


On the way, I made a plan.


We left the temple soon, and I took her to the infamous Kabir road.

“What do you say about this place? Isn’t it quiet here?”

My mother kept looking at the houses, and then told that it was the place for only rich people.

As we walked, we approached Pallabi's house.

“What tree is this?” I asked. We were standing right in front of her house.

“I don’t know this one. But that one, at the far end is Rubber, surely.”

I expected the meeting in front of her house will be on tonight, but much to my luck (bad or good?) there were no one present at the booth. We walked as we came towards the main road.

“You come this far every day?”My mother asked.

“Why? Is it odd, or is it far enough for a boy of twenty-two to have a walk in the evenings?”

“Why do you always have to mention your age? I am your mother; I know how old you are.”

“Well, maybe it is time for me too to make up my mind for something as one of my cousins did when he wanted to marry a girl of his choice stating that he was twenty-four.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You want some fuchkas? There’s a stall just round the corner.” I showed her the way to the most delicious fuchkas of the city.


Night, half an hour after Kolkata lost the match against Chennai.


I changed the plot of my first novel ‘Friday’ several times and even so, it looked like immediately after the second chapter, the reader would start doubting the ability of the writer (in this case, which was going to be me) and stop reading it altogether. I became fed up.

I assessed the old plots and kept thinking where did I go wrong. Half an hour later, I found out ten reasons to be responsible.

PROBLEMS WITH PLOT NO. 1

First, a lady can’t handover her diaries before committing suicide; to a person she has never known in her life. This is one thing. Another thing is that, I am not good at writing interviews with people who are supposed to have known that lady, let alone be the thoughts of writing real ones.

PROBLEMS WITH PLOT NO. 2

It is more than certain that I can’t go on writing a novel based on a break-up, and show the main character as a vagrant, without any intention of presenting a real story. Well may be I can; but soon the reader will lose all sorts of interests from the novel, and it will turn into a disaster.

PROBLEMS WITH PLOT NO. 3

‘Friday’ cannot be simply the story about a lady or a man. It must be the story of a misunderstanding, and a day that everyone concerning the lady would like to forget. From that respect, my novel is so much fucked up.

PROBLEMS WITH PLOT NO. 4

I cannot present the name ‘Friday’ as a person who was very close to the main character, in this case which is Jipsa. Should I show ‘Friday’ as someone who liked her and wanted to be close to her, or was it someone who sought bad things of the world to happen with her. Once again I am in a dilemma.

PROBLEM 5

I don’t know much about the main character Jipsa.

PROBLEM 6

I have no idea how on earth she could commit suicide, or even think about it.

PROBLEM 7

I don’t have enough time to finish ‘Friday’ as a novel.

PROBLEM 8

My previous copy of ‘Friday’ was in my laptop, which was affected by viruses. And also the laptop was now severely broken. So both from the software and the hardware way, the documents inside the laptop were inaccessible.

PROBLEM 9

I don’t know any publisher, living or dead, who would like to publish my writing.

PROBLEM 10

I don’t have a girlfriend.


I scratched the last point in my imaginary notebook with the virtual pen I was taking notes. How on earth, I not having girlfriend can affect writing a novel? Well, of course there are possibilities that given the fact that I had one, she would have encouraged me enough to write at least couple of chapters more. And also I would have been more experienced to handle complex things. But that is mere a chance. And relationships cannot be built by the bricks of chances.

I sat up on the bed.


Sj came into my mind. What should I say to her when we meet again? Should I just smile and say nothing? I hope an ‘are you alright?’ or ‘how are you?’ will do. Keeping in mind the recent circumstances maybe I should further go on and say ‘how was your exam?’

All these things seem real complicated. I don’t want another smile, or another flirt. I am shameless, and I admit that way, I want someone more than a girlfriend and I search for her in each and every moment of my life. I know, a few went away, a few ignored, and the others were avoided (I am too afraid to give the percentage though).

I decided to say ‘hello’. To be a bit modest, I considered adding a smile.

And then I slept.


But before I end this writing, I must copy something from my diary of December, 2006 and put that in here. Given the fact that I am going to name this writing as ‘mediocre things like love’, I must put some of my first love experiences into it.


December, 2006


“Before shutting the windows I took the smell of the chhatims for the last time. Now it’s been a lonely, closed room with its only sound of ticking the clock. I switched on the table lamp and everything could be seen by that in the room. The half-open books and copies on my bed, the newspaper, the pillow, the half-ate biscuit packet and lastly, my diary. I put off my windcheater and comforter and did let them hang from the hooks. I took my diary, kept it on the table and sat on the chair.

“Another shock from a girl...” I muttered again. The only line I have written on the paper. I was about to write a love story but my pen can’t write a single line beyond it. Perhaps I would be the first ever to write a story by a single line. My story was about a boy who has fallen in love many times, but every time he has got refused or detached from the girl. His mind gets affected every time and the thoughts of happy past weaken his mind. And then how his girlfriend bring him back to his normal life and they fall in love with each other, but fail to tell it.

Right here my thoughts are not proceeding. Both the two think, the other one treats him/her as a friend only and a big doubt stands between them, whether they share love, or just friendship.

Actually this story is the reflection of my own opinion that a boy and a girl can never be just friends. One of their minds always thinks that the other one is surely in love with him/her. This strong faith resists the building of a relationship between a boy and a girl and that is the so-called ‘friendship’.

The doors opened, silently and suddenly, and my mother entered the room.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a sleepy and astonishing voice.

I was about to answer something but as soon as I saw that her eyes have fallen into my diary, I changed my mind and went straight ahead, “writing some answers on physics. Why?”

She turned back, and I left the deep breath. I knew about her poor eyesight without glasses, and got the best opportunity to lie.

“Who is Pallabi?”

“Who is Pallabi?” I questioned back to back.

The next moment was silent all along. But I was pretty quick in correcting myself and told, “My friend, why?”

“Why do you write her name so many times at your rough copies?” she threw the question leaving the room.

I closed my eyes and put my head on the hands. The night guards at the road whistled and I looked at the clock, 2.10. One can almost say good morning to me. I will never mind for telling that.”



A small epilogue.


Do you still remember what Sj had said?


“I have seen dreams to be far apart,
And I have lost things that were not of my possess.
People say that flowers always smile,
But I have seen flowers weep in loneliness.”

-April, '10

Disguised ignorance

I can think of only one word, and that is ignorance.

The week passed in a boring way.

2nd was S.Pal’s birthday. I didn’t go to the college. In the noon, I watched a film on Jim Corbett on Discovery channel, became amazed by the same, and that too, to an extent which made me go to the Golpark library and read a book written by him, named ‘The man-eaters of Kumaon’. And afterwards, ate two chicken pakoras at Golpark(Bedwin). Came back home walking through SA.

1st, 3rd, and 5th were Monday, Wednesday, and Friday respectively. Had classes. Still hate that.

Saw a boy and a girl eating something filthy out of a plastic bag on the other day at Garia staion. There is no escape from this poverty.

Now as I sit at the corner of my bed, and keep looking at my mobile and wait for a short ringing or something(don’t know what else could be), listening to newly released hindi film songs, I can hardly forget the words of the clairvoyant.


I feel I should copy something from my diary of 2009, 3rd August to be specific.

“I ignore her. I ignore her when I talk with my friends sitting beside me, or when I laugh with them. I ignore her when she looks at me casually, or pretending the casual way. I smile several times looking at people I've never talked to but I never look at her. She becomes frustrated. She turns back to me, starts to look at me in a way that makes me look at her. I say hello in a mocking way, as she doesn’t answer. Rather, she says something that stuns me.

“It seems you do not notice me at all in the class.” She says.”



Catastrophe.


Sis is going to come over to our place tomorrow. Lot’s to catch up with, at least for her. Neice is growing by each day. Activities too, in the way of a steep curve. Love to spend time, just by watching her.


14th is the V-day. Not an important day for me, though. I was just thinking about something else. If I could finish the writing ‘A few moments I stood beside her’, I would publish it on the very day. Will be a gift to her from me, irrespective of the fact that she will be hardly aware of the present, given the fact that I finish it in time.


It’s a bad habit. Doing so much chat in g-talk(another software that allows you to talk with friends online). Always feel like using smileys. Could be anything like :) or :(.They are cute, aren’t they?


Still waiting to find the right choice. God is smiling all the time. Is the omen ever going to come?


Dreamt about grandma. Called her today, and talked to. Reminded about the days I was in Midnapur. I miss both of my grandparents. Sometimes, situations arise when chahte hue bhi tum kisi ko dekh nehi sakte, or may be uske sathh baithh ke do bateein bhi nahi kar sakte.


Nothing else to say, really. Just wanted to write about the neighbour-colony girl. She will have her own preferences, of course. That is what I should accept now. This applies to both the girls, in fact.


Let's see if I can finish ‘A few moments…’ before 14th.

Love and Happiness

“Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, so shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth. Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself. He threshes you to make you naked. He sifts you to free you from your husks. He grinds you to whiteness. He kneads you until you are pliant; and then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast.”



Irrespective of all the arguments, I kept on visiting the avenues in a regular basis, and now the lake place and Shiva temple were added to my destination.

It’s not only just because it was the last time when we met at the lake places and near the Shiva temple, and as we walked together, remained silent for most of the time, and waved at each other while we parted at the front of her home, and never met again… but it is also because some happenings keep asking me the very basic questions of life, and in a way someone inside me kept telling me that the answers could be found at the place where I had left someone lonely, or may be it was the other way around.

And for some unknown reasons, Shiva temples across the various places started attracting me. I don’t know if it is because I got spiritual all of a sudden, or it is because I didn’t find peace anywhere else, started wandering at temples. In my imagination I kept moving in the narrow lanes of Varanasi, found myself staring vacantly to the unknown places she’s lived or sitting in steps of Ganges, and when the Sun goes down I kept sitting in the dark, listening to the old regular classical songs, marking the characteristics of Varanasi. The murmuring in the railway stations kept coming in my ear when I am left alone with nothing, and the stars come down to shine at the southern parts of the city where she’s now with everything, love, happiness, relationships…things one can live with in peace.


I keep standing in front of the figurine saying nothing. People start wondering looking at me. And then I murmur.

“…God, what is that you want of me?”


God smiles all the time. Is it just because people want to see him that way or he’s just like that… Knowing everything? He doesn’t talk. He doesn’t listen. But all you have to do is to throw him the question and he will direct the right path for you. And here is the secret. You yourself have to find out what is that he wants you to assign. After that, you are on your own. May be things are a bit confusing, but that’s the way they are.

And then I decide to seek for true love. I seek for happiness. Not for me, but I urge to God to show me the true love, and what is it called happiness. I want to know how it feels to be loved, or to be happy. God keeps smiling all the time; and I do not find the right path to choose.

Sometimes I feel I am wasting my time, walking to places each and every day, while wondering about the rest of the world. Thinking about a person you’ve known for five years and losing her in each and every moment of your life, and how does it really feel to be loved in a way when everything just seems to go against you, even the person you’ve fancied the most, doesn’t know about the love of yours towards her, and when you keep writing day after day about her or just stay at your home thinking what she would be doing now, walking to the places she has been, talking stuff she’s told with certain kind or manner, and deep into your heart you keep telling yourself, what could be the reason of her behavior…why had she said nothing to me…


I let my emotions take some break as I eye towards the crowd. I wait near the bus stop at Charu Avenue and watch people coming in and passing by. And then I found out something- a child of around three playing with cigar packets. The child is half naked. He is wearing a shirt, which is not distinguishable with any other dustbin clothes, muddy and dirty, must be the effect of frequent dust of the air mixed with the local tube well, where he’s taken to bathe, with all possibility. His body is filthy, smells like he hasn’t used a proper bathroom from the very birth of him. He is just another kid from the roads, untidy, unmindful, playing with cigar packets. As I hear some shouts towards him, and my eyes follow its source, I look toward a mid-aged man, with beard and mustache, with a defective leg, sitting in the corner of the path, selling cigars. I come up with the conclusion that this man could be the child’s father, selling cigars, making money while spending time with his child.


And then I astonished. It’s not only just because it is not always that you see a family at the road living their life, but also it’s the way that surprised me.

I found the child’s mother after half an hour, when she came from somewhere and started talking to the person with beard and mustache.

My search for happiness seemed to come to a catastrophe.

I decided to have my lunch at a nearby hotel so that I can come back to the bus stop once again and continue my experiment on these three persons on the road. One with a half-shirt, aging about three to four, ugliest creature on earth, another with a eternally unshaven beard and mustache, and the third with a mistaken beauty, with a total hundred percent chance of coming from a godforsaken slum. What a discovery!

The tiring noon ran over the long afternoon in turn leading to murky evening leaving me amazed at the bus stop that day. I kept all my imaginations about happiness miles apart that day just to watch this family, sitting happily at the footpath beside the bus stop. I saw the man yelling at his wife at least hundred times, and just after a few seconds, getting confused about some things and calling for her. I saw the half naked child, most of the time playing with stuff one can see at the footpath; cigar packets, old toothbrush, wearing clothes that remind one of old, rotten vegetables from the local markets. Hands and feet filled with dirt, and the whole body reflecting poverty of an eternity. I saw the man with beard and mustache, selling cigars and tobacco, shouting on his child and wife, sometimes talking to the child with soft voice, giving him company and entertaining him, married to a lady who is more than happy to stay away from her husband and her child, a mistaken beauty, showing-off her body.

I kept watching the family for the whole day, and when I decided to leave and reached home, the eternal question was still hovering around my mind. Are they happy?


At first I rule out the matter of sex. It can’t be about sex. A child, who is born from these kinds of persons coming from two completely different opinions and culture of life, can’t be just because of a mere sex. Is this because of love? Is this what I was looking for? I became confused once again.

I head towards the Shiva temple once again to find an answer. But the tiring visit to the temple proves to end up with nothing. I, unable to sort out anything, become dejected. In the midst of winter nights, I keep the window open and look towards the empty roads. Why is that sometimes we feel that we are very close to the answer, but yet don’t find it. The curtains of the windows of the room of the Punjabi family from the other side of the road remains still. And then I remember about the curtains of the windows of Pallabi’s room. I do not give it a second thought. She is now someone whom I can not think of. Now that I have to consider that she has better things to do in life and had to move on. I become unmindful. God keeps smiling all the time.

I kept on watching the family on the footpath each and every day. I would reach the bus stop half an hour early, and just sit there and watch, while waiting for the college bus. The people on the road would have their business, would come in, wait for the buses and go away but I would sit still, keep looking at the man with beard and mustache, at the half-naked child, and on a rare occasion, the mistaken beauty would show up and all the eyes of people waiting for the buses would search around her body.


And then one day on the same footpath, I see a couple.

They are blind, to be specific. The man holds a stick, followed by his wife, holding his hand. The lady wears a pair of black glasses. I watch them as they pass by. After all, how many times do we see a blind couple walking on the footpath without any help from others. I keep on looking at them as they head towards the nearby railway station. So they are going to catch a train! I imagined in my mind about the scene when they catch the train. I imagined how they able to live by their own. Being a blind person, it is not so easy to do things a normal person does, add to that you have someone you are living with, and she is also another blind person. This blind couple now astounded me.


But the bus that draws me to the college comes soon and I become busy in other things. Soon a unit test in college is rescheduled and it seems it would happen a few days before it was actually scheduled to. I hate it. One of the very few things I hate in the world is that when people keep talking about studies and when someone says he is doing an engineering degree. Trust me it is bad. Given a chance, I would rather do English honors. It’s pathetic to continue performing as an engineering student as well as keep watching people on the roads, read books and novels everyday, write stories and other things, and then sending them to different magazines, newspapers or somewhere else with a little hope to get them published. Well anyway, I live.


After a month or so I stand once again on the very bus stop, and I see the blind couple once again. I watch how they walk on the road with the help of each other. After then on, I watch them everyday on the road, as I see the cigar-selling family on the footpath. Now it seemed that I had something to think about love and happiness. I had now many more faces of love, relations and liking to think about. I thought about me and Pallabi(sorry that I had to use her name again), about the girl from the neighbor-colony and her boyfriend, about relations that do not exist, about the cigar selling family, and about the blind couple. It seemed that everyone around me was trying to write their own stories of love, happiness and relationships. So who is happy? And who are in love?


I felt bad about how lives of some people around me were going on. I met a one legged old lady, a poor family having only one person as the source of income, and he too, lame. And last but not the least a blind couple, fighting with their lives. I saw a tiny girl cleaning cups of tea in a tea stall, and then cleaning the whole shop. I felt bad in my heart after seeing these things. How can a person fascinate about the love or happiness for his own sake after experiencing these happenings. I remember about the girl from the neighbor-colony and her boyfriend, and thought about the scene when they kissed each other in front of me. So kissing someone, or holding hands in public, is that how we know that we are in love? Is that how we want to be sure that we are in love? These thoughts make me deserted and dejected every time. I do not find peace anywhere. This is something which can not be solved only by sitting in my lone room, listening to Gajals and classicals, or trying to find answers in the memories of someone whom I don’t want to remember(see, at least I am trying not to take her name). For me, this goes far beyond finding the answers of mere some questions. But this is for the thirst of our soul. When the soul needs to find the answer of something, we travel the whole world, may it be for a simple question too. So I head towards the Southern Avenues once again.


The visit becomes futile once again. One thing I was beginning to understand now that possibly I was doing some mistakes. There should be something, that I should be aware of, but not finding it. It’s just getting close, but yet not close enough.


And then after a couple of days as I look through my window towards the room of the Punjabi family across the road and see the curtains flying in the air, I remember about Pallabi once again. But this time not about the curtains, but about the opinions of relationship she gave. And in this way, in a moment everything became like daylight to me.


“ ‘Love comes only from respect and nothing else.’ She said, as I stood amazed at a corner of our classroom staring at her.” This is from my diary of four years ago.


If love comes from respect, then it must lead to two other things. Attraction towards the person, and caring for the other person as well as showing responsibility to the person, showing that you care for her, and will be there when the other person needs you.

No one passed the norms that she used, not the girl from the neighbor-colony, not me, not she herself. And then the blind couple showed up from nowhere. Now I know what she would have said, had she been here with me.

“See, it’s actually them, who are in love. Don’t you think?” And she would give a sigh, as if everything in the world has been taken away from her.

Yes, I know. It’s not always an omen shows you which path to choose, but it’s also not always an omen shows you the answers of the questions going into your mind. It’s like an everyday happening that a blind couple turned up and showed me the meaning of love. And what about the family on the footpath, selling cigars and tobacco? Are they happy? You bet, they are. But what are those things that constitute happiness? Well, I am still searching for an answer.

It started nowhere and it ends nowhere.



And a certain ruler asked him, saying, 'Good Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?' And Jesus said unto him, 'Why callest thou me good? None is good, save one, that is God.' - Luke 18: 18-19

-Jan '10

Promise of an Interview

I convinced someone for giving me an interview at last, after a few talking and a good no. of pleadings (Though I feel he was pretty interested about it from the beginning). He is a man of honor, the finest boy one will find anywhere, and does have a talent. That’s the reason I chose him. Now as I type these words in the night before the day of interview, I feel free to express the stage which was setting up for writing something different.

I was away, for a couple of days from my home. And as usual, kept on thinking about the fate of love, liking, happiness and relationships that can or can not exist in the world we live. In the odd hours of noon, as I sat in the room I was allotted, I would keep looking at the distant horizon and whisper millions of things to myself. I thought about the girl from the neighborhood, I thought about Pallabi(I must admit I should stop taking her name in public). I thought about the novel, ‘From the Ghats of Varanasi’. And then I smiled at myself. I looked at my right hand and smiled again.


“I can write a novel right now.” I muttered.


I thought about Friday, where I had to use a good no. of interviews, and then I chose to write something new.

And here, as I stop my rubbish writing, trying to concentrate more about tomorrow, trying to think about what I should ask and how. The Gajals are on at a very mild volume in my laptop as always.


Nothing much to say really. I was convinced to myself that I will post only stories and story-like things to the blog, but changed the plans.

Love and happiness will end in a few no. of days. No sign of new ideas for this one though. Bad for me.

Appeared in a test a couple of days ago. Horrible. 100 questions in 150 mins.

Still confused.

Should I start seducing girls? I will make a good one.

Life still roams around the lake places and Southern Avenues. Hate it. This silence. It’s killing me.

Pain to a vagrant

“Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain. And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy; And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields. And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief. Much of your pain is self-chosen. It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self. Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility: For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen, And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.” – K.Gibran.


Wandering away, I find the Shiva temple out.

It is mid October, and the season of winter at Kolkata is just starting. The whole city appears in coats, pullovers and comforters in public. Everything is changed due to the effect of the chilly weather. Tea-stalls beside the roads always boast a healthy crowd around them, and one could watch the hot vapour coming out of the kettle every time it came out of the stove. It is a fascinating scene to me. In the evening when I get out of my home and have a walk around lake places, I would watch those kettles and the hot vapour coming out of their mouths. And on very rare occasions, I would have one of those cups of tea. I would just stop in front of the stall and the lady at the stall would place the tea in a container of earth. It is good; tea tastes the same, sometimes even better when you have it in a container made of earth than plastic. It is the same stall where once I had an argument over the smoking issue. The lady of the stall remembers me well for that reason. Sometimes we have to speak out just an opinion to be remembered.


My destination remains the Shiva temple.


Men light up candle. Hold it in one hand and guard it with another. And the light from the candle lightens their face, in a way lightening the path of their lives. A man, who doesn’t have a candle, seeks from others. He seeks the light, he seeks the truth, and he seeks life. He seeks life in various forms- love, liking, relationships, happiness, friendship, money, recognition, and appraisal. A man, who doesn’t get light, gets distracted and dejected in the path of life; creates mistakes, known as crime. A man devoid of money becomes poor, turns into a thief in the eyes of the cruel society. But there remains another kind of a person, who instead of keeping the candle to him, gives away to help others. And my search remains confined to those people.


It is the same place, where once we had met in the times of Durga Puja. But I do not get back for mere a lady. My search remains confined to the answers of the questions of a soul. And also how our fates can intervene into our lives. Also why I do feel an attachment to the places which make me unhappy, to a place where neither I was born, nor I’ve ever been to. Why people in the world feel attachment to things they’ve never seen or known.

They told to trust the physician inside.


Much of our pains are self chosen. It is the medicine that burns our heart; it burns our soul to the extreme sufferings of the world. And by doing this, our soul becomes pure, ready to be delivered as the sacred feast of the God. The words of Gibran hover around my head and heart.


I see her on the way and step away. We are in a position when we can’t talk to each other anymore. I fake it. I fake every time I smile. I fake every time someone relates her to me. I write entries like ‘A time to move on’, ‘I am a free man’ but I get stuck somewhere each and every time. I quit.


I see this lady. She is not a beggar. But she is not any less than that. She has lost one of her legs; she would sit at the Charu Avenue, and sometimes beg for food (especially at the evening). She is old, and her face is wrinkled. She often talks with herself and that’s the reason people call her mad. She is perfectly alone in her world. She is living because of the pity these slum people show for her. I fear the day they will stop seeing her, she’ll die. But once again, it seems that neither her life has brought any charm to any person in the world, nor her death is going to bring any mourn to any one. Everyone in the world overlooks her. Oh, just when I speak these lines I remind of a girl whom I see sometimes helping her by giving bread. She is a nice looking girl, does have a pair of eyes which, when fixed to you, asks thousands of questions at your heart. She is nicely poised, well dressed and lonely. When we meet in the road, we look at each other, but do not talk at all. Once I saw her giving bread to the lady and I felt gratified to her and kept looking at her. She must have read that look in my eyes, and after that we kind of fond of each other. Yes, I haven’t seen her for over a month or two, but am hoping to see her soon.



I wake up in the midnight at the calling of someone shouting outside at the road. It’s a cold night. And it is unusual for someone to be at the road at this time. As I try to see from the balcony, I find the old lady at the road shouting.

I astonish. And then I hear the cry.


She is crying out loud. And all those gibberish words trying to make a point that she is feeling cold. It is terribly cold night outside. And she has literally nothing to wear at all.

My heart trembles. It does not tremble feeling the situation she is in, but because I hear the words she is using to show her circumstance.


“O baba go. O baba go. O baba go.”


Tell me, have you ever heard a beggar crying out loud from your bed in a winter night, you being covered by blankets, you have a fascinating bed, pillow, sheets covering you. And the person crying her heart out for covering, may be food and heat. Oh you will never hear it, will you? You might well use a word or two which will describe the state of the person, or you may curse the person a while, and fall asleep once again. Tell me anytime, if you have the courage to stand beside the lady that night, give her some food or shelter.


Well you have certainly seen the world, haven’t you? Yes there are worse, and you’ve seen them. Yes, it always happens this way.


I become deserted. It’s not just because nobody understands. But no one cares too. Some times I do feel that the words Pallabi had said were actually true. People in big cities do not have the time at all. Malls, multiplexes, the life itself has taken away all the caring for others. Oh, I have mentioned her once again. (Now that I must admit I have to try and forget her.)
My hatred for people ceased completely. Is this what people call maturity?


One day, when walking at the Charu Avenue, I hear the old lady murmuring to herself, and I overhear.

She took three names. And I still remember those names as I speak of these happenings.

“Nattu bhai, Radha mami, Moni mama…”


So she had relationships, at some point in her life. And probably more often than not, she recalls those times of happiness of her life. What a catastrophe it has been, to her life. Someone who had familiars once doesn’t have one at all. Devoid of one leg, no home; must be tough for her. My eyes become vacant when I think of these. I remember once I said to myself, in the world we live, we can not fancy about love and liking at all. There are sufferings, there is poverty, and there are diseases which leave people with a desire to die.


I admire Oscar Wilde for writing those lines, which I feel free to recall here.


“Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!”


Fantastically stated. Now this is why they say that much of our pains are self chosen.


Isn’t it obvious? I prefer not to elaborate.


The truth is that, each moment we live, is a pain to our life. And each and every moment we live, leads us to the ultimate pain and truth of life. Death. This is just the way a no one thinks about some shadowy corners of life. This is the story of a vagrant trying to find answers of the questions of his life. Trying to find what pain is.


Once I thanked someone by saying “…but this is because she simply is.”


May be sorrow, gloom and pain are just like that. They are beyond men, women, old, lonely persons, dying, distressed, and poor.


May be they simply are.

Dec '09