…of a lone person

December has always been a special month for me. Lonely, depressing, silent, making me fill with dejection…all true, still there is something in it that whenever I think about it, I find a boy of seventeen making a mark in his own way. It reminds me of the memories of ‘Good Night’, the first story ever written by me…and then the list went on.

In the last few days I discovered some hidden parts of me…and I used them to the fullest to help some of my friends. I helped them to face the HR interview, with my limited knowledge and whatever I studied about interview questions and took notes from Golpark library…also the ‘64 HR questions’ e-book. Life becomes cheerful when we start helping people without the expectation of a return.

My keyboard had problems. Ten switches stopped working altogether and I accompanied by Spal went to Chandni yesterday. Now I am using the old one, left alone for a long time…well it is giving its service truthfully, till now.

And yes, there are memories of two girls. It’s not possible that I write, and my writings skip the memories of them. No signs of 'Manjari girl'. Hope she’ll never come back. And I too have made my mind. Love is not for me. Let’s see if I can get into a B-school and then the MBA degree can be followed by the experience in a company for at least 3 years leading me into an FPM degree…helping me to write a book on marketing. Oh, yes I have plans in my mind, breaking the long term goal into short ones.

And then there was another person on which I wanted to write ‘Friday’. It’s better to maybe leave her alone. Sometimes she leaves me amazed with her profile pictures…that’s all I have left of her.

And then there are others’ setbacks in life which leaves me dejected too. My cousin brother’s marriage got cancelled with the girl they decided, just because of some stupid unknown reasons. And one of my Facebook-friend’s ex-boyfriend was going to marry someone else. Whenever I started thinking about my bad luck…I used to think these happenings and compared mine with them and realise how unlucky they were. Even I realised that M-girl's ex-boyfriend must be much more depressed than me…so I stopped mourning about people once again, and accepted the fact that I was a lone person, am and will be the same until and unless a miracle happens. Well, as a matter of fact I don’t want that miracle to come soon.


This year, finally, brought some mixed things in my life. Friends were there. Fun, doing projects for a marathon 12 hours, college, IMS, 'M-girl', CAT blues, a Durga Puja that I am and will be unable to describe to anybody else, a few good subjects (yes, unfortunately, I liked couple of IT subjects just because they had management subjects in it) like Management Information System, Software Engineering and Project Management and Financial Management etc. There was a memorable tour to Bokkhali with Sobitri, Mark and Dippo. There was Indiblogger, there was ‘Mad’, and other stories….and the list can go on.


And then there was a lesson that had to be learnt, came in a way that I didn’t expect it to.

People are not that bad, it’s just the decision of them towards us that makes us think that they are. Every person has his/her norms/limitations/rules to maintain…and their act is dependent on those rules. These rules change depending on people, and so when we judge those persons we must consider those regulations too.

I lost a friend the day I left her in a way telling her that I felt for her, and I know that I can’t get her back now. But I don’t regret her telling it.



Life is full of opportunities, and my objectives remain confined to getting into one of the better B-schools now. Hope somebody’s up there somewhere listening to me, or knows my real intent towards life…sometimes it’s really hard to understand the needs of a lone person.




- Dec '10

Mirror mirror on the wall

You see me? I see you.

Versatile, shy, ignorant, genius, beautiful.

What does the insomniac dream about?
Is that all Odissi dancer think about?

Busy me. Busy us. Flirting toy. Parallel ones.

I have seen God. She does not have a favorite child.

You know me? I know you.


-Dec '10

Hide-n-seek

Once I loved a girl who didn't have any feelings for me.

I kept reminding her that I exist, and she kept reminding me that I don't, for her.

Years passed. I became a writer.

We parted. For a lifetime. Unknowingly, out of her childish hide-n-seek game.


Every story has its own hidden meanings and morals.



-Dec '10

The last laugh

"You betrayed me." I said.

She laughed out loud. Violent, irresistible, non-stop. The very primitive emotions from her voice in-turn reached the core of my heart and broke it into pieces. It echoed from everywhere and mocked me naked.


She kept laughing. Eternity. And then it turned into a clumsy one. Gasping. Pain. Silence.


Revolver's heavy bullet has pierced the head between the two eyes.


-Nov '10

First time

Kisses in the moonlight. Hungry kisses.

Bodies fall upon each other. Moaning, panting. Locked within each other's, unable to talk. Fingers clung tight. Now dig deep.

Mysterious night. Dark is outside. Heavy drizzle. Lonely colony.

Mouths open. Tired limbs. Now breathe. Silence. Kisses. Eyes. Touching. Caressing. Smell. Together.

First time.



- Nov '10

Love

One fine morning, she went away without saying a word, and never came back.

I got dejected, waited for her, and then left the hope.


I went back to my ancient home, to my grandparents' place.

They were happy seeing me again after a long time...so I decided to stay for a few days.


Their eyesight was poor, as was their capability of hearing sounds. so they'd just keep talking about various things in life and I'd listen to them. sometimes I'd cry silently thinking about her while they'd keep talking.


One month passed.

And then I discovered love, again.

It was my love towards my grandparents which was left behind six years ago.



-Dec '10

Being harsh

Being harsh on someone you have loved is the toughest thing on earth.

You keep thinking about her, cry more often than not and desperately want her to come back.

It's complicated between two hard-hearted people.

I love her. Maybe she does too.

But we will never be together again.






-Dec '10

A li'l talk

A depressing life.

A fake caller, an approaching sem without preparation, GD-PI blues and a lonely life. That's what it's all about.

Got rid of the thoughts of reliving the past friendship. Sad.

Oh and by the way, about the 7th sem, I know absolutely nothing about it. Miracles needed.

Dark times ahead. Hope I find the light.


20.58 PM : I HAVE FOUND THE PROLOGUE AND EPILOGUE OF MY FIRST NOVEL 'FRIDAY'.


-Nov '10

A mysterious caller 2

I called the person back, who claimed herself to be Pallabi.

An old lady received the call.

"There's just me and my old father living here. Nobody else."

"Are you sure nobody called from here?"

"A gentleman is the owner of this phone. And no idea about any sms."

How can Pallabi sms me from there? How can any living person?




-Nov '10

How can anyone?

I looked at the Toyota Corolla waiting at the signal.

And then I looked inside.

They were a happy couple, guarded by dark window-glasses...may be talking about love.

And then I saw a person begging outside the corolla.

He has lost both of his hands, begging for money.

How can anyone dream about love when there are so many people in distress?


Nov '10

Unanswered

"Srijita calling..."

Two words and one image appeared in my mobile.

I astonished, left a deep sigh, threw the mobile on the bed and opened the window.

Forty days, in despair.

Last time I heard from her saying...

"I am sorry you feel this way about me but I can't reciprocate the same."

Tears rolled down my eyes.

why now?


Nov '10

A mysterious caller

One unknown number.

One missed call.

...and one new message.

"Hi, how are you? I miss you so much now-a-days. Got your number from one of my classmates. Pallabi."

"what? who are you again?"

"It's Pallabi. Don't you remember?"

How can she miss me now?

How can someone miss me who has died four years ago?



Nov '10

Crime

"I am afraid it is a murder." Officer said.

"I heard no sounds. We were sleeping."

He looked at me, and wanted a napkin.

"Sure." I gave him my own.

...and I regretted.

But it was too late.

The blood-stained napkin was the only proof of my wife's murder.



Nov '10

Suffering

I slapped myself so hard that blood came out of my ears.

After a couple of more I had to stop, because my nose and ears bled badly.

"This is where you belong." I muttered.


My tongue tasted salt. It was blood and tears.

I will have to wash them again.

Worthless

Most of the time I weep for someone, who is a no one.

My father calls me worthless, and mother - lazy.

Friends call me loser.

I have loved and lost and loved and lost.

I write stories and dream of one day to meet Ruskin Bond.


My dreams never got fulfilled.

...about chhatim flowers

I looked up and found thousands of chhatim flowers above my head.

I knelt down and picked up a couple of them.

They reminded me of her.


"I love chhatim flowers."

"...and I love you."


I had always believed that when people die, they turn into chhatim flowers.

And right then I was with her.

The waiting

The midnight train passes this station at 1.15 in the night.

...so I am waiting.

The graveyard at west produced sounds of barking of dogs all of a sudden.

And then it fell silent again.

The distant signal turned red now.

Time to face the truth...only to unite with her.

Stoned moments...

"Look at me" I said.

She felt shy, and started laughing.

"It's just a matter of a second." I held her shoulders.

She controlled her laugh, tied her lower lip with the upper and looked at me.


She laughed out again and then looked into my eyes.


Two moments were captured.




- Nov '10

Parting ways...

She looked at me, emotionless.

Her mascara-stained eyes were as usual dark, applying extra depth in her face and character.

It was a shame that I couldn't tell her that I was going away, anyway.

The crowd kept making their way around us hurriedly.

"Maybe I should just go..." She gave her last smile, with every thought of meeting me again, unknowingly parting for a lifetime.

Her cream colored 'Pongol' saree kept getting hazier and at last disappeared from my watery eyes.






Nov '10

A case of editing 2

Started editing once again.

Experimentation with gImP' and Picasa' for one hour gave me this... !!

Death was coming...

"Anyone speaks for him?" He shouted.

Silence. As I continued to shiver, down on my knees.

"No." A voice came in from behind. And then the rest joined.

I kept staring at the gun. The hall remained silent, dark and mysterious.

After he started the countdown, I closed my eyes.

Death was coming.




-Nov '10

Scattered notes 16

Started using IndiBlogger.

Downloading the whole Sherlock Holmes series.

Going to fill some of the B-school forms. Shortlisted 17 schools. Tough times ahead.


Life's tough.


Started learning how to write flash fiction, micro fiction and nano fiction... termed as droubble, drabble and dribble. I can easily quote the definitions of respective words from the Wikipedia but it would be quite boring... so sparing the reader from it.

Life is painful, dejected and lonely.

She still has the chance to come back. Hit the road hard, when you still have the light.

Lonely moments continue...2

Listened to a Bengali song sung by Rashid Khan...from 'Tara' (2010).

"Megh jome ache mono-kone
Tumi elena bole bristi o pore ni
Bishad hase anmone

Ami bose vabi, jonaki r sathe
Tara jole majhraate
Smriti gulo haase, sorot er kaash e
Elomelo nishwas e

kara jano ase, proti majhraate
Ochena laage mukh gulo
Ghum venge uthhe, mrittu ke bujhe
Ei jibon thomkalo

Tumi elena bole bristi o poreni
Bishad hase anmone
Megh jome ache mono-kone..."


How can I convince myself that we are not going to meet forever?

Miss her a lot. Badly. Both as a friend and a person who liked her a lot.

Don't know why I come back time and again here and mourn about people who didn't care about me. Maybe someday I'll be famous and those people will know about my feelings and regret their decisions.

What a bad imagination by the way.

Times are tough. And for once again, I am alone.

Welcome home. This is where you belong. This loneliness. It's your only companion. And eventually, it will kill you inside.

The last words told by her remained symbolic, and ironic, in a way.

"Maybe I should just go..."

She came in just like that, in a way that amazed me, in a way bringing a whole different view of this world to me...and when she went away, that part of the world went away with her.

People will come, and go. And yet we remember a few persons whom we want to forget strongly...but maybe the love for them doesn't want us to make their memories perish from our lives.

I still love that little mole at your right cheek. And the person who carried it.

Scattered notes 15

Took some time out after a long time and visited Golpark library, one of the places I have always considered as having the potential to calm our minds.

Fascinated about Holmes, Specially the character. What is behind those calm but sharp and promising eyes? In order to discover the character…read about him, or his works, I said. And I found myself taking the SD4 at 5 PM sharp.

At first read a book named ‘Interviewing for journalists’ written by Sally Adams with the help of Wynford Hycks. In order to overcome the fear from the HR and the interviewer, go deep down into their consciences, I thought. Read that for about forty-five mins.

And then came ‘The adventures of Sherlock Holmes’. I said hello to the two previously known stories I watched at Fox history, one of which is ‘The man with twisted lips’. I started reading ‘A scandal in Bohemia’ in utter excitement. Didn’t find anything that can give a ray of hope to my pre-conceived notions.

Came back home through Southern Avenue. By now you have known what does that supposed to mean.

I almost forgot to mention…we have a new neighbour. They have started living at one side of the building the Punjabi family had left. They have acquired the place before Durga Puja…but a few things distracted my eyes, and so the delay of reporting…must be forgiven by true followers.

I wear three rings by the way…as I was thinking this evening sitting in the Golpark library that I almost forget to write about myself sometimes. It’s a big world, and there are things that attract or distract our eyes so often, we tend to forget small things that are there to mention.

I walk around the lake places and Southern Avenue every evening… describe myself as ‘wandering and unmindful’, write stories about love, liking, relationships, people, crime and mystery. My writings have been published in Times of India twice, once back in 2007 and another this year 2010. I was one of those 47 persons whom Bob Roy, the chief editor of TOI referred as the youngest talents in writing in India in 2007.

And I have been refused by two girls, once long ago, and another seventeen days before.

I am a simple person at heart, but love complicated feelings and behaviour when it comes to real. And I hate liars and people who keep double standard.

I cry at tunes people have never listened or heard about. I weep while listening to shehnai and violin. The theme music from ‘In July’ makes me weep every time I listen to it. I have recorded it in my mobile so that I can cry in my lonely times and think about people who never understood me.

I don’t believe in friendship between a boy and a girl and rely on the premise that a boy and a girl can’t have 'friendship'. If I talk to a girl with some intensity and excitement that will mean I am interested in her…and it’s not just in a friendly way. And I expect the same.


My parents sent me to a hostel when I was 10 years old. Since then I have become tough at heart. I talk to my father very rarely, because we have several issues which contrary. But I respect his way of bringing me up to make a strong person…which I know I’ll never be, with the amount of emotion I shed over a certain given happening. I sleep, eat, study and do everything in our living room, because we live in one bedroom flat. And I haven’t had a personal bedroom in my life. I dream of a big home for myself.

My favourite writer is Ruskin Bond and I dream of one day to meet him. I would love to take a few pictures with him some day.

I am a person who loves trees and bushes and mountains and valleys that reach the horizon.

I want to visit Varanasi one day.


And I want people to understand me. The way I am.



It’s not the same person who laughs with you or cries silently when he is alone.






-Nov '10

biTTen by kiTTen !!

Appeared in CAT '10, D-day. Mixed feelings.

Mad

She is laughing.

She is laughing incessantly, in every excuse, in every topic we talk about. Her eyes are round and mouth is big. Her teeth are white and sharp and glistening in the neon light. Her long hair is resting at her back. Every time she talks about something, she finds it funny enough to laugh out loud…and her sharp canines are explored every time she opens her mouth. She is touching me time and again with her sharp, long nails. I am scared of her, and I hate to look at her face. And I become sure that my newlywed wife is either mad or a witch.

She tries to hold me close, hold me tight. She tries to play her hands over my body. She tries everything to make me happy, and aroused enough to make love with her. She slips her lower lip into the upper one of mine…she plays her tongue with mine for a couple of minutes. She draws my hands closer to her body. She wants to make love to me right then, but I push her away. She becomes sad…as I say that maybe we can do it after dinner. She shows her canines again.


We order chicken at dinner. She eats as if she was kept without food for a week. I keep looking at the way she finishes her whole dish. She orders another chicken and starts eating it. She finishes it in no time and looks at me. She finds me staring at her. She asks me why I am not eating anything, as I say I am not that hungry. She insists me to have the chicken telling me that it is something real tasty…I try to chew a few pieces, but fail to gulp it down. I try to gulp a couple of them with the water from the bottle. After half an hour, we come back to the room.

Immediately after we come back at the bedroom she pounces on me. She undresses me and makes herself naked too. I become aroused immediately, and throw her away on the floor. She falls on the floor and gasps in pain. I land on her and push her hands behind. We have sex on the floor. After the peak, I throw up on her arm. Her body becomes wet with my smelly puke. She cleans the floor and goes to the bathroom to take a shower. I follow her there and we have sex in the bathroom.

On the next day, she wakes me up. She throws her arms around me and says that the previous night was awesome, as I ignore her. I ignore her every time she talks about having sex again. I make a plan to slap her hard in my mind. But I control myself.

In the afternoon, we leave our room and walk towards the mountains. She keeps holding my arm all the time she walks with me. She keeps laughing and showing her canines time and again. While walking, we pass some of the most beautiful trees and flowers of the world according to her. I do not find anything special in them. I start hating everything she likes, and every topic on which she shows her canines. I start to hate her altogether.


We reach a small, deserted valley at the lap of the mountains. She draws me close, kisses me, full and passionate. She takes my mouth into hers. She starts using her tongue again in that dirty way. After a couple of minutes’ play I become aroused. She takes her clothes and mine off and starts kissing me in a violent way. We fall on each other. Within a few seconds, she bites my lips so hard that blood oozes out of it.

I push her away, instantly. I keep my palm on the lips and keep it in front of my eyes. My fingers and palm are stained with blood, as something wild happens inside me. I stand up, and look at her face, pale as white out of fear. I stand in front of her and slap her hard. One slap, full and passionate. She stands there, doesn’t fall unconscious at all, unlike my imagination. I understand she must be a tough woman to take on.


In the night. She comes close to me. She kisses me again and starts seducing me. I push her away but she says something that shivers me.

“I will eat you up”

A chill goes down my bones.

“First, I will eat your lips, then your tongue, then your face and then whole of you.”


I start shivering altogether and understand that this witch is going to kill me this night. I beg of her and tell her to let me go, as she starts laughing again. I understand what she is going to do. I beg for my life as she says it’s just a game and I am a toy in her hands. She strangles my throat with her hands, big and round. I try to overcome her powers with my strengths but I do not manage to gather any. I wait for death.

I understand she tries to undress me. I pray to her to kill me quickly, and also tell her that I am afraid of blood, so she may use something which doesn’t make things bloody. But soon I understand that her focus is not on killing me but to have sex with me. I take the advantage of her semi-consciousness and lie her flat. I take the advantage of her situation and do it violently. We have sex. And after half an hour we have sex again.

But the fact that she tried to kill me makes me restless. I slap her hard. She gasps in pain. I like the way she keeps moaning and panting while I torture her. I slap her again. She falls unconscious. I slap her couple of times more. Blood comes out of her ears and lips.


I undress her fully and try to have sex again. This time she doesn’t respond. In fact she is in no condition to make any. I shove her and try to bring her back from her unconscious state by every means but fail to do it. I become frustrated on myself and all my hatred and anger falls on that female creature. I become blinded with anger.

I keep slapping her face continuously until I see the bed become wet with the blood coming out of her body. The whole bed becomes red. And as I look at her face I can’t even recognize that this was the face that was planting kisses on mine a few hours ago.

I realise the fact that I made a crime and my criminal sense acts quickly. Police will soon catch me in the case of a family feud. I must act quickly now.


At first I make sure that she is dead. I take the scrapper out of the bathroom and take out its rod. I grab it strong in my hands and give a sudden thrash at the back of her head. Her legs start trembling…in a violent way. I wait for a couple of minutes and then tie the legs with a rope to the dressing table. And then I give a couple of more thrashing. Within a few minutes the bedroom falls silent and she is discovered in a pool of blood. Dead, indeed.

I keep the scrapper in its place at the bathroom, where we had sex a few days ago. And then I enter the bedroom again. This time though, my legs slip on the blood, dropped from her body to the floor, and I fall down.


When I fall, something roundish falls from the bed too. I higher my head, only to find her beheaded body resting on the bed. I look at the round thing, fallen from the bed, and gasp in astonishment.

Her eyes are round. Eyebrows are deep black. A few of her hair falls on her forehead. Her teeth are white, and the canines show themselves whenever possible. She is my wife, who was married to me last week, wanted to make her husband happy, who was out from a strange home a few years ago…


Her teeth are out, canines are visible and it’s clear she wants to laugh out loud at the very minor happenings in life.


She is laughing.







Oct '10

Good Night 2 – Along came night

“Good night? Ah! No, the hour is ill
Which severs those it should unite”



Midnight was the time.

As the December wind had stopped blowing, the farthest fraction of P. Avenue remained still, and dark. The lone neems and eucalyptuses fervoured by the night fog kept themselves mysterious. The old Ganges flowing nearby was all quiet. December fog also affected the same for a curtain of white clouding was seen on it. The deep dark water of the river remained stagnant till its deep, where traces of life found their way somewhere. And the pale moon continued to hover against those heavy clouds – the weather was not good, even there was a forecast of a heavy downpour - but nevertheless, the silence was on. The city was into their sleep, or somehow trying to do so.


A white owl moved from its nest of the far-off tree towards the only open window of a high-rise building, with its glistening off-white feathers in the moonlight. As it flew, its eyes continued to burn in the dark. It came closer, and then took a sharp turn from the window producing a sharp, shrill cry. And as the cold wind began to flow, the cry rode on it to be spread into the corners of the city. The night had been disturbed for the first time. Moreover, it shoved the boy sitting in the lone room for a while.


The cool breeze, blowing off the curtains of the room, tilting the branches of the trees nearby, vanished somewhere. The nature was revealing itself, vainly to the sleepy people of the city, save only the boy – shaken from a deep thought by the sudden shrill cry of the owl.

It was not new to him. For over four years, almost every night the silence has been broken by that very owl. The breeze takes the cry from Peary Avenue to his colony. He remains awake, and wonders, what would she be doing now.


He remembered about the night four years ago, when the owl cried for the first time. It was when he was writing his diary that night. It was one of those times when he wanted darkness, he wanted silence. The local bastiwallas, the chhatim tree in his neighbourhood, the condition of his bedroom – everything came out on that diary. And at the end of writing, he explored something for the first time in his life. He had made something extraordinary. It was his first story written when he was eighteen.


But four years have passed after that night, and he can see through his window…as every night, the moon had already covered half the distance of the sky. It was past midnight, nature showed him that.


People told him to follow omens. They got detached, he and that girl. But he followed omens. He tried to understand what does it really mean to follow our heart. What does it really mean to ask ourselves who we are, or what are we here for. He engaged himself in reading spiritual books and in search of his own, only by searching for her.

And the next four years he kept searching for her in every narrow lane, every high-rise building in the place she lived. The natural beauty of the lake place awoke his soul. It gave him an inner sight to see everything in our lives by another approach. Times came in his life when he found himself sitting in the lake place watching the evening trains to come in and pass by…the reflection of the neon light from the coupes in the water of the lake kept his eyes fixed in it, as he kept losing himself in the world of unknown, only to return to the memories of a girl he loved, and lost for no reason. The girl he was searching for over four years now.



The doors opened now, silently and suddenly, and his mother entered into the room.
She didn’t have any question. She looked at him and turned her face to the other side. One of the reasons for that was, she had observed some changes in the behaviour of her son, knowing fully that for the first time in his life he was trying to get something from the very core of his heart.


She took up the book resting on his table and a short folded paper fell from its position. She took it up, read it and looked at him.

“What is it?” she asked in a casual voice.

“An address.” He replied.

“Whose?” this time there was a curious note attached to the tone.

“You know her. She is Pallabi.”


And then the room fell silent. One thing was for sure about this silence, had it fallen some years ago, he could have told a few more things. But tonight, there he was, silent at each moment, but answering a thousand questions raising from his life. The omens had taken him to the Alchemist he was searching for, to the Zahir he was obsessed about. The kind of life he fancied to live.


The doors were shut. And the room was silent and dark again. But only this time, he was trying to get rid of those. Loneliness was no more his companion. Because just three feet away from him, it was his love resting in the form of an address. After four years he had found her. He could feel the presence of her, in his room, on the bed, beside him…


It’s true that one of her distant, old friends gave that address. But it’s not who, but how that matters. And for getting that address he had to approach and talk to hundreds of people who came across her, and at last he got what he was searching for. It showed him what does it really mean to follow our heart.



He stood up and went in front of the window. It was cold outside. Night had covered the whole colony under its sheet. The smell of the chhatim flowers kept coming from the neighbourhood in the silent dark night. And then he clenched the railings of the windows with his fingers and muttered something.


There wasn’t any sound out there. And he liked the way the words he muttered reached to his own ears. Because for the first time, he was saying that.



“I am coming Pallabi, for you.” He said.








- October '10

...Seven days

Jeremy Brett (1933-1995) who played Sherlock Holmes in Fox History Entertainment for the series 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes' has one more fan from now on. And that's me. Read about him. Was quite a character himself. Remains the best 'Sherlock Holmes' ever anyway.

I like 'Do nishaaniyan' and 'Call me dil' from 'Jhootha hi sahi'. AR Rahman touches heart.


"Kisi insaan ka kathhor dil hona kanoonan jurm nahi mana jata..." (Regards 'The Greek Interpreter' Sherlock Holmes' thoughtful comment about love)


Killing an emotion within your heart is painful. It's true no one knows my intent. I have faces and they change. But when people cry, they have only one face. Face of gloom, dejection and whatever sad things there are...


I have hated this city for most of the time...but never got a chance to thank it for the beautiful moments it created for me out of nothing when I yearned for them so much. Thank you Kolkata...for the evenings you made a boy happy by making him walk with a girl, for creating innumerable occasions to make him smile with her, for the magical moments when he thought he could relive his dreams of love and for giving him the opportunity to have an evening out with the girl out of a whole book of rules and regulations. Life was not that good for anyone, and still you made everyone's day by keeping something good for everyone. And wherever I will be, I will always remember you.


Let's don't cry for the thousand of reasons and bad happenings of our lives...but let's celebrate that one single thing that brings smiles in our faces whenever we think about it. I know I have tears in my eyes while typing these lines, but may be these are tears of happiness, for all the happy memories I have with me, kept as treasure.

Scattered notes 14

THE REJECTION


"See, when I told you that I missed you, it's not just as a friend. I mean, I miss everything about you. Your smile, your voice, your eyes, the way you talk. Even the little mole at your right cheek...everything. And I can't stop thinking about you."


I sat on the bed, took my mobile at my right hand and then kept sitting there. I thought ten times before I pressed the 'send' button and threw the mobile away. I hate the way this world behaves anyway.

Whatever happens, I told to myself, just don't feel bad about it. You have acted boldly, you stayed honest with your feelings, you have showed her that you cared for her whenever you got a chance. So just relax now. If it's going to happen in the negative way, may be it wasn't destined to you at all.


After ten minutes, she felt sorry that I felt that way about her and added saying that she can't reciprocate the same.

I cursed the world at that point.


I switched on the computer, and started writing 'scattered notes 14'. I had already left a couple of sighs from the core of my heart.


Sometimes love is tested in strange ways. But love, again cannot happen from only one side...there must be another person to 'reciprocate'. And there are very few persons in the world who come out of their shells and free their minds. I remember some lines once one of my friends had said...

"A bell is not bell until someone rings it,
a song is not a song until someone sings it,
Love wasn't put in heart to stay,
for love isn't love until you give it away"

Wonderful, isn't it?


Don't be sorry. At first it will be hard for me to believe, and then I will wander away in dark places of the city, will blame my fate for everything, and as always will try to control tears in public.


But I will find ways of living. Remember a boy of nineteen once said..."Options are not finished, that's the main thing."


You know, I can't write anymore. Sometimes writers cry their heart out. And they don't type while crying.

Scattered notes 13

I woke up early this morning, at 5.30 AM, and went to the Shiva temple.

I am confused. Whether to make her know my feelings or not.

Tell her, I said.

Are you crazy? It's obvious that she wants to be just friends with you. No one asks a guy 'In a friendly way, I hope' when told that someone is missing her.

But you waited one and half years for this moment to come, that she'll be close to you and may be once again you could dream about love. Remember how you yourself wanted to stay away from her just because she had a boyfriend. Now is your chance, take it and use it to the fullest.

You got to be kidding me. I said. She doesn't feel anything special for you. Besides, you see yourself that she is no more interested in you. In fact she never was. She wanted you only when she needed you for something to fulfill. She doesn't possess any expression for you. Accept the truth.

But unless I tell her about my feelings it will never be known to her that I felt for her. Remember Pallabi's behavior with you just because you were too shy to act anything. I'll have to tell her and make her know my feelings, that I can't stop thinking about her, and I miss everything about her.

Whatever you think best. But know this, your journey will not end well. Even if she agrees, it is not going to last. We both know this.


Both the wisest and craziest person on earth is inside me. But the thing is that you can't really say who is who.

Scattered notes 12

"Someone is missing you..." That's the first line I wrote to her, this morning.

It took more than half an hour to have an answer.

"In a friendly way, I hope."


I got dejected again. "Ya, sure" I replied.

I guess I'll have to follow the words of Robert Frost...'Life goes on', and leave everything in the hands of fate. I don't know what's going to happen with us...so may be it is best to let our fate play everything and see where we end up.

I made a speech couple of minutes ago if she asks me why did I change the batch...I will come up with something like this..."I don't know why did I change the batch. Things are real complicated. All I know is that I miss you like hell, and please don't ask whether it's just in a friendly way because the answer is no."



By the way, I haven't mentioned it...Srijita loves Chhatim flowers, just like I do. I wish she wanted to see those writings where I wrote about Chhatim flowers...I wish someday she'll come to know about my love for her. Will she change her mindset if she knows I haven't loved anyone else but her in my whole life?

I know I'll have to forget you in the due course of time...and in the process of forgetting you, I'll remember and remind those days I passed with you, or thinking about you, because I can stop loving you, but I won't stop loving those days I loved you.


I know you'll not remember be, but know this, there will be one person who, given a chance always wanted to care for you for the rest of his life, and will pray that wherever you go, you become successful, happy and loved by a person who is worth you.

Scattered notes 11

I went out with Srijita this evening. She was wearing a sari, and looked fantastically beautiful.

I enjoyed the time with her. Wish we could have something more than just good friendship. And whatever happened between us previously, I'll forget them now and stop acting mad at her. My motive got fulfilled. I successfully killed the evil inside me. May be now I can bid her a happy good bye.

Still it will kill me inside. But I must accept it that way. Who said that life will be smooth anyway?

Her face is permanently painted in my heart now. More whole-night-weeping to come, buddy. Buckle up, big-time.


I am happy that she agreed to pass the evening with me, though. With the kind of rules and regulation a girl like her has to maintain on an everyday basis, I wonder why on earth a girl like her would say yes to an evening out plan.

I love you, and will always do.

Lonely moments continue...

Waiting eagerly for Srijita to come back and hoping to pass the rest of the Puja with her. Can't wait. Miss her a lot.

Pallabi updated a new display pic. Wao man !!

Meanwhile, started editing once again. Did a cover page for one of my stories. Attaching the same with the post.

Lonely moments...

She's in Andaman, and I miss her. Gawd ! I miss her...

'The night train' got published on the day of Mahalaya in Spellbound (TOI) as I have already mentioned. It's astonishing how some of us have to satisfy their lives with mere happiness of the seeing their stories getting published. Life's dull. And difficult, and cruel, and lonely. Staying companion-less while the whole world goes out with people is hard. And that too year after year.

I miss her. I miss the walk back home. I miss her smile. I miss her voice. I miss everything about her. I miss her.

Guess I am bewitched !!

The night train

It was past midnight when the train screeched to a halt at some unknown station.

Shruti woke up. Surprisingly, the compartment was empty. She peered outside the window...

Dark was outside. Distances away forest began, a dense one. It was one of the forests of eastern Madhya Pradesh – through which the lines of the rail passed.

People try to sleep in darkness, when they are alone, but she does not. Rather she tries to hear strange sounds, if any are there. She tries to smell those things which are abstract, like the pages of old book, chhatim flowers, the wooden benches, the railings of windows...

Now someone entered into the coupe. Middle heighted man, and to her disgust, switched on the light.

He was a middle aged man, placing his bag under the seat.

“Turn off the light.” She said.

There was no answer. Rather, he turned to her and their eyes met. His was yellow, and had a painful look.

“Turn off the light.” She said again.

He sat on the bench slowly, but nevertheless taking his eyes apart from her, and smiled a little.

“Yes I will.” He said.

“Do it now.”

“Don’t you like it?”

She was about to answer something, but stopped. Months, years she has passed in darkness, but didn’t she like the light? Didn’t she want to join her friends coming out of her loneliness? Yes she did. But she feared to do, because she feared to remind...

And then he told something which shivered her.

“You are hurt, by some ways.”

She dumbed.

“May be any old liking, love or something like that, has hurt you a lot.”

“...what?” she said anyway.

“Here... I turn off the light.”


And the light was switched off.



The man lied down the bench, but she sat still. In the same darkness, the train ran at its highest speed.

She feared to remind, and he helped to do it again.



Reminding past is never easy. The words of the man, chhatim flowers, and dark night... took her to twenty years age... the day... a sharp, lightened afternoon saw her hesitant before a boy, and for the first time, she was lost in the world of colours, seasons and happiness. For the first time, she discovered love and liking in this world, and afterwards, an irresistible force called her again and again to the place he lived. Love – she found in the first hours of sunrise, in the red clouds of sunset, in the night dark sky standing alone on the roof. Flowers... songs... happy surroundings... if you have ever been in love, you will know – if there is something called God..., it is love.

And it was a Friday he committed suicide. Not much news she got, but some family problems..., with which he could not cope up with, killed him.

Since then, she is alone, inside darkness and silence... companionless... perhaps waiting for him.


. . .


As the first lights of morning reflected into the coupe, she didn’t find the man on the seat. Rather, bizarre feelings popped up her head when she remembered the man’s face very much alike with that of the boy she loved…died fifteen years ago.



(Published in Times Of India Spellbound competition 7th October 2010)

Scattered notes 10

“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! “


Life is messed up. Suddenly understood haven’t done anything right for the last one and half years. CAT is one month away. And I am sure I am going to screw the whole thing up, big time. Fuck man!

Now that a single thought or a single sound of her voice makes me dizzy about her, I can hardly concentrate on anything that is related to studies. Want to quote something I said myself a month or so ago.


“Sometimes even after putting everything we have into something, and getting something in return, we start thinking that we didn’t want this from God.”


Will have to eat my own words, anyway.

I hate this city. Hate it like I hate nothing. Want to go anyplace far away from here. I have given everything I had to this city…and then got nothing in return.


When we love someone, we love them warts and all. I admit she was not the best of persons…but she was quite good at heart. That’s the reason I liked her. But the thing is…people must have the common sense that you don’t bring other people between us. It’s horrible. It’s like destroying the world you two had created. It’s like everything you talked about, you laughed about, are no more private between you two. It’s ridiculous. Someone has to step away. In this case, this was obviously me. It had to be me. Feels really bad, you know…for someone who has liked her for over a year, and then when I had the chances to care for her, to show the love I had for her…everything was gone again. I respect my decision of changing the batch after CAT. It can’t go on like this.



I am more concerned about my future now. What if I don’t get a score worth a good b-school? Can’t think this is happening to me.

Scattered notes 9

Depressed. Dejected. Alone. Hating myself more than anything.

Learned a couple of things. The hard way. Harsh way. Difficult way of learning. It has always been like this.


Time to note a few things.

1. Never trust anybody. Not a single soul in the world. (Thanks to Chetan Bhagat. This one comes straight from his blog.)

2. Use people as your cards. Never ever forget these cards will decide whether you will succeed in life or not. In crunch and tense situations, these cards will help you. Cards change depending upon situations. Learn to identify cards depending on the circumstances.

3. Don’t get excited. Nothing’s personal.

4. No girls.

5. No means no.


Missing grandparents a lot. Missing my ancient home for the first time so much. Missing my school. Hostel friends. Missing the Eucalyptus tree I saw at Hardwar. Missing the wet blanket, and the dawn songs they played at Hardwar. Missing those few moments I passed standing beside Pallabi. Missing the first encounter with Srijita. Missing the waiting for her for over a year. Missing that walk back home. Missing everything that brought smiles in my face.


I have screwed my life all over again. Big time.

Scattered notes 8

A little sms drama. Sad, and irrespective of the fact that I knew that it was going to happen someday, this good bye thing, it’s really hard to believe (Alright now I must use the word ‘believe’ very carefully).



‘I see you’ve got Nil and forgotten me completely. Anyways good for you. At least you’ve got a new boyfriend.’

‘Who told you he’s my boyfriend? Don’t be silly. And I haven’t forgotten you…’

‘Nobody told me. I just figured it out. You’ve been talking to each other on the road as if I wasn’t there. You’ve been studying together. And he touches you as if he is one.’

‘I admit we were a little engrossed that day. I am sorry that I ignored you but nothing is going on between the two of us. Believe me.’

‘Anyway, doesn’t matter now. The thing is, I am not enjoying this threesome act. So I won’t be walking with you anymore.’

‘Ok. If that’s what you want.’

‘It’s not what I want. It’s how you make me want.’

‘What do you mean? What have I done wrong that you are so upset?’

‘Leave it. I must’ve been terribly wrong when I agreed to walk with you. Didn’t know, you could bring other guys in the middle too.’

‘What do you mean by other guys in the middle? What did you presume that walk to be?’

‘Don’t get too emotional. I just don’t want the ignorance. That’s all. May be an auto back home is better for me.’

‘Look I’m sorry about that day but I didn’t think you were feeling ignored considering that both you and Nil were laughing and having fun. May be I did or didn’t do something that I honestly don’t know is what…’

‘I said leave it. It’s cool. I’m not a fun-loving guy anyway. Btw I am almost done with your books. Will return them soon. ‘Eleven minutes’ was really good.’

‘Ok. Fine.’



And then it ended. A fresh air that came through the railings of IMS went away leaving bitter truths of life. I could’ve argued some more. But no one can compete with the word ‘presume’, I presume.

My hatred for the city has grown to the fullest. Want to leave it so badly. Talked to an old friend from N’pur today. He’s studying at Pondicherry. So badly need to get away.

What’s so special about this city? At the end of the day, it gives you experiences about everything but leaves you with nothing.

After so many years, once again I second Pallabi.


ps: She spelled the word 'presume' wrong way. And she lied that day when Nil asked her whether she gets above 30 in English. I have seen her marks. She hasn't even touched 30 a single time in English. What a shame, buddy. Have fun both you English and Maths teachers. I am off.

Scattered notes 7

28th September, 2010, 16.10 PM in the afternoon before going to the IMS.


Bad mood. Going to return ‘Eleven minutes’ and ‘The fifth mountain’ to Srijita today, unread. Just want to close any kind of interaction with her, so the fact that I couldn’t finish the books doesn’t matter to me now. Feeling sorry for the books, that I couldn’t give the amount of respect I should’ve to them…but anyway, I’ll read them in future with greater care, borrowing from someone else. You know, sometimes I just sit on my bed and keep thinking…how fast the world around us changes. And how fast the people around us, including us of course, change opinion about someone. It’s really something weird.


Oh and for the record, she has stopped all kinds of interaction with me too.

I was just thinking about the fact that what kind of a person tells you that she misses you and on the next week can forget you, or rather why next week, may not even talk to you when she sees you within a couple of days. What kind of a person buys chocolate (worth 30 Rs.) to a guy she has known only two hours ago, and lets him touch her within a week or so.

Just reminds me of the moral character showed by Pallabi, when Navojyoti touched her…’stay within your limits’ she had said. Putting aside all that vanity and grumpy face and everything, at least I will remember her for saying those words.

And in the midst of all these, thousands of ants have attacked my bed and computer table. Boy o boy, am I pissed off!


21.45 PM in the evening after the IMS got over.

She didn’t come. That’s the reason I am getting two more days to finish the books. At least the ‘Eleven minutes’ one.

Debopam insists to go back to her. But the thing is, it’s impossible for me now. I’ve lived enough in dejection. It’s time to get out of it.

Scattered notes 6

Read two states once again. Add to that eleven minutes taken from Srijita. Can’t control myself from calling her and telling all those stuff like ‘I don’t want to play this just-friends game with you anymore. That guy touches you whenever he likes, and I can’t let others touch you like that. Why the hell you had to bring that guy in the middle? Can’t you see how much I feel for you? I fell in love with you from the very moment I saw you. It’s different that I chose to stay away from you because you already had a boyfriend. But then once again, one day you told me about the break-up and I really thought I would be able to get you back. And after a month or so, you bring another guy in the middle. Bloody every time I look at your face, I feel like kissing you, and you keep asking whether I have a girlfriend. You girls will never know guys’ emotion.’


But alas!! This speech is not happening.

The fact that she asked Nil to help with her studies taunted me, and in a way I got hurt the most in my life. She could have asked me to study with her. And the fact that she asked for his name a couple of times before leaves me with the suspicion that may be she is in love with him. And anyway, I am going to leave West Bengal within a couple of months, and as the ‘book’ said, I hope it will not really matter after five years. And anyway, if she does have something for me, she will come back. If she doesn’t, then maybe it was never meant for me.


I’ll have to be harsh in the upcoming days. May be even harsher than Pallabi was on me. It’s not easy. Being rude on the person you have loved is always difficult. But who said life will be easy? And anyway, I will have to search for my career first. Let’s see where my destiny leads me.

Things are really tough. I weep more often. I feel like I have a stone at my heart. I hope CAT doesn’t get affected for this.



Pallabi r katha mone porche. Amar school… clairvoyant ke je kono vabe vul proman korte chai. But sei firmness and moral character ki adou amar ache? Pleasure er jonne character e daag lagte dite raaji noi. I hope ei decision ta na change hoye jai. Really confused. Kauke Jodi pashe paoa jeto…

Scattered notes 5

I stood in front of the Golpark Library and waited for the auto to come. Rainy evening could not stop the traffic at Golpark from being at a high level. And in the midst of all those cars, buses, taxis I kept standing looking at the horizon while waiting for the auto to come. The sky was clear, and didn’t reflect the fact that it was raining just a while ago. I looked at the lamppost standing nearby and thought about the place where Srijita and I used to stop and talk for an extra half hour. And then as usual I started controlling tears in public.


I looked at the tree that was standing right at front of us. It was a literally vast, fully grown tree. Crows and other birds took shelter in it and I could count how many were there at the tree. I looked at the sky, where it was dusk. I looked at the busy Golpark which was lying dead just like another place, and then I thought of something else.


I was hurt like I never was. But I decided that life doesn’t end here. There must be many more things that are waiting for me, many of which might bring some good things with them. I must move on irrespective of my feelings for her.


While writing these lines, I ask myself, “Do you still remember what you said to yourself once about love?”

Yes. I answer. I said that there are many more things in the world that are more important than love. And in the world we live, where we have diseases that can make a person want death in each and every moment they live, where there are persons who do not have anything to eat at all, in a world where tears go in vain, there is no place for love, at least not for me.

“Then follow what you said to yourself. Remember you prayed for your father saying that you won’t want even a single more thing in the world, which included Pallabi.”

I fell silent.


Guess I’ll have to make myself busy writing stories and other things, reading books or walking in the dark.

Someday, maybe…I will prove the clairvoyant wrong.

I asked myself, “Why me?”

“May be no one else could play it, that’s why…”

“Does it do any good?”

“You didn’t think of your characters while writing them, did you? May be its just the payback time.”


And then I decided to play the character.

I did not want to leave the play in-between. Some part of my heart was telling me something like, “there is still one lesson to learn from it…and let it be taught. Whoever is making you play it has something good for you at the end. If you trust my words from the core of your heart, you would understand what I meant this day.”


I kept silent. I knew that I was going to weep once again for the whole night. And I hated myself for writing a story like ‘The blood triangle’ without actually understanding the emotions involved in a triangle love story.


I am a tragic writer. And I myself am paying the price of it.


I decide to give the climax a few changes of my own. For once again I will have to walk in dark, write stories that are meaningless, and wonder about things in the world.


The Eucalyptus leaf was there alright. May be my destiny is guiding me in a way that is harsh, difficult and shocking.


Someday, maybe I will prove the clairvoyant wrong.






Sept '10

...once I was in love

"Everything has a first time in life."


Immediately after we came at the Rashbehari crossing, as we stopped near the famous lamppost for continuing our chat for an extra half an hour, she took out a packet of biscuits from her bag and handed it to me.

I gave it back to her. She looked confused and looked at me.

“You tear the packet…I have filth at my hands.” I said.

“Why is it like always I have to do the dirty jobs?” she laughed out merrily.


I looked deep into her eyes. She was looking straight at my eyes. It was quite a long time I was seeing a girl from this distance, and with this affection. I thought I was in love. Love. For the first time in my life. In real.

I looked around the Rashbehari crossing. People were in their own business hurrying to and fro. And then I thought of something I should’ve said at the very moment I saw her for the first time.


“It’s the first time I am sharing a biscuit with a girl and that too at a place like this.” I said.

“Well, everything has a first time in life.”

And then I got the chance of telling her the most important thing I wanted to say to her.


“You know you have made the first line for my next story.” I said.

“Wao.” She said. “So what kind of story is this?”

“Whatever it is, you are the female lead, of course. And if you want I can make it as a two hero story.”

She started out laughing merrily. God I loved her that point of time.

“Or do you like it to be a three hero one?”

“Come on, one is enough.” She smiled.

We talked about several things. She asked me about my studies…I asked her about her personal life. She told me she doesn’t hang out with people: like friends or boyfriends. I become frustrated. I ask whether she possesses any social site profile, like Facebook, Orkut or Gtalk, and she says she doesn’t. I ask her about how she passes time at home, and she says she does it by painting, dancing and studying. I feel pity for her boring life and make her know about it.

“I know. My life is really boring and monotonous.” She answers.


The crowded Rashbehari crossing ignores both of us. But we become immersed in our own talking and sharing of each other. She tells me about her family problems. I listen to them and make some comments as she responds. My love for her increases with each and every thing she shares with me. I feel like I should touch her every moment she tells me something sad about her but I fear she might take it the other way. I feel like I should hold her in my arms but I fear the crowd might see us in the wrong way. I cross my hands, keep them at my chest and keep listening to her, looking straight into her eyes.


She promises to call me afterwards. She says she has a tariff that provides her make a call at one twentieth of a rupee. I become amazed.


On the way back home I swear to myself that I must forget my terrible past and start a serious relationship with her. It’s clear that she likes me, of course. All I have to do is show her that I really care for her. Given the premise that she doesn’t have a boyfriend anymore, I can really be someone more than just friend to her.


For the next twenty days or so we keep walking all the way from Gariahat to Rashbehari while returning from the institution. We share various things from our lives, both good and bad things. I try to cheer her up each and every time she falls silent thinking that it could salve the bad relationship she was trying to come out of. I make entries in my blog saying that I pity her life and go on saying that even if she proposes me now I will deny her just because she is not a girlfriend matter. But soon I fall in love with her.

And then one day she finds another boy from the institution. She asks him publicly that she wants math tuition from him, in lieu of which she is willing to teach him English. That day I find the guy walking with us all the way to the crossing. I become sad and desolate, as I find her talking to that guy all the time while walking. She buys both of us chocolates. She asks me whether I am angry because she didn’t talk to me at all and I say no. We part from the crossing without saying a single more word.


I walk back home. The fact that the guy followed us all the way made me fuming on her. Why on earth she had to take the guy with herself? For god’s sake it was the day I decided to give her the flower from Lake Market. I become dejected, at the same time the loneliest person on earth.


I keep weeping throughout the whole night. Is this how you treat a person who takes care of you? How can you forget those moments when you needed me and I was right there, beside you? I cursed God for making me look ridiculous when I thought about those poems I wrote for her. I cried, cried and kept on crying. And then I slept for a couple of hours.

I woke up early in the morning and got ready. I was going to visit the Shiva temple after a long time. And after half an hour as I reached the temple and stood in front of the figurine, tears rolled down my eyes. It happened with Pallabi. Now it has happened with her too.

I question myself time and again that why did it happen with me. May be I am the one who could take it all. I saw the last words of the clairvoyant were coming true. So it would be wise for me to let things go. I came back home, sat in front of computer and hurried to finish the copy I was writing. So as I finish the entry here I have no longer the burden to carry at my back of writing something about her. And as for myself, yes, I am single after the incident happened to me last night.


...or may be it's the start of something good in my life.




You don’t understand love, do you?

Well, it has something to do with the attraction for a person, holding hands in public, kissing in the dark, and caring for the person you are linked with. It also includes physical relationship. And people say if you cannot satisfy the other person with your affection level, the love between you decreases. Some say it comes from respect, but that’s arguable.

And there is pain. And longing for the person. And even after a long time they are gone, believing that they will come back at some point in your life.



-Sept '10

...now that I hate being alone and neglected

It was good I was single
Now that I wish to get too much
From a person who doesn't respond...
It's not so easy, is it?
It's good that I confess a lot
Because there are a thousand who don't
And get away with everything.
I hate R'ship.



Sept '10

Scattered notes 4

In the last couple of days, my opinions about her changed a lot. It’s not only just because whenever someone starts neglecting me, I feel sort of an irresistible attraction towards that person, but it is also because stopping to mourn about a person who never understood the feeling I had for her, or may be neglecting each and every possibility of a relationship with a much simpler boy was out of her dictionary really helped me sort out my priorities.

In the context of this, and given the fact that I said something about feeling distracted from her…gives me the perfect scenario for an apology, if only the forgiving is possible for her. I was in love with you from the very first day I saw you, and I should’ve been saying this from the day we were together…I love you. I know you are not perfect, I know I am not perfect too. People have limitations, shortcomings. There are certain situations where misunderstandings are natural. But the thing is that I don’t want to lose you from my life. If possible, do come back. Looking forward to you.


By the way you look exceptionally wonderful when you keep your hair untied.



-Sept '10

Scattered notes 3

She's not that type of person whom you can love....she's not gonna go out, hang around or watch movies, she's conservative, orthodox, stubborn, but simple minded and believes in long relationships...problem is that I don't want to go into serious relationship with her. Now that I have started feeling sort of distracted from her. And I really feel sorry for that.

Sometimes even after putting everything we have into something and getting something in return, we start thinking that we didn't want this from God.

How can a person love two girls in his lifetime ??


- Sept '10

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