I didn't want to come back.
I swear I didn't.
And even if I did, I wanted work. Work which choked, strangled. Work which soothed, lullabied. Work which made one forget.
But then the wind came...
through the narrow galis, past the old pan shop with its rows of shining silver jars full of zarda, past the oil stained walls of 'Khirod Kachori Bhandar' which smelt of ghee and smoke all day, past the shorts wearing and mineral water drinking foreigners who were disappointed with the University because, unlike the rest of the city, it was 'green, clean, vast and quiet'. It blew through the old haveli where a rickety old man sat smoking a hookah on his even ricketier old khatiya. It ruffled the leaves of the pipal tree, making the inhabitant monkeys chatter even more loudly.

And it brought with it the incense, the flowers, the gobar, the innumerable cows, the earthen diyas, the ash-smeared jatadhari sadhus, the brass trinkets, the glass bangles, the tinkleof the bells, the busy chant of the purohits, the trade-cry of the hawkers, the ever present gurgle of the river, the Gangarati, the colours, the faith, the courage - the sheer energy of moving, speking, throbbing humanity.



And I breathed it in. All of it.
And laughed.
I am back now. And the facade is safely back in its place again.
I am smiling.
See me smile.

I crave :
chocolate.
nonchalance.
intricacy.
moderation.
peace.
tanginess.
driftwood.
conversations.
sleep.
time.
a goddamn life!!!!


And not necessarily in that order.

Been hearing a lot about love lately. And seeing it too.
About how people fall in it.
Fall out of it.
Tiptoe around it. Apprehensively.
Circle it like a hunter circling its prey. And poke it. Tempt it to show its true self. Urge it to come out of its shell.
With words.
With actions.
With silence.
With inaction.
Am loving it. And laughing.
And remembering my first love.
And suddenly, the lanky, bespectacled, rather dumb young man is transformed into an unreal vision of unfulfilled dreams. Of hundreds of could-have-beens, should-have-beens and would-have-beens combined.

I put my crumbling, old, dusty unrealities away. Lock them up in that intricate curved box that somehow always smells of moth balls and guavas and push it back under the farthest recesses of my bed.

Now I am back.

I wish people luck.

[M - Favourite English teacher from school.
P - Her son. A school senior.
We were talking about - M being partial towards me.
It was - A rainsoaked, gloomy Mahalaya morning.
I was - Bored. Stiff. With nothing else to do.]


P : Unhu unhu, biased teacher der motamot er kon daam nei.... motei cholbe na, cholbe na cholbe na[sloganer dhonge bolte hobe]...


Me : M ke biased bolo???? Sahos toh kom noy...Gantta khabe???


P : Nishchoi biased eksho-unoshottor bar biased.... aar gatta khabo na... khete bejaye baje.....


Me : M biased holey chaandtio sobuj cheese diye toiri. Ar gantta khawa na khawata tomar choice noy. Ota onekta castor oiler moto. Khetey baje...kintu khele akherey shorir sustho thake.


P : Castor oil ami motei khai na.... oshob na khelei shorir shushtho thake.... oguli sref shushtho shorik byasto korbar pontha.... btw, chand ta shobuj cheeze diye toiri hobar fundata bhalo..... eta quite possible....hotei pare....ar ganttata marbe ke ?? tuii ??


Me : Ami martei pari. Kintu tahole ekta moier dorkar hobe. Noile dhyanga dekhe kauke ekta jogar korey niye asbo khon. Ar chand moteo sobuj cheese diye toiri noy. Chandta asoley ek dola tulo..jar modhye buri bosey chorka katey. Eitukuo jano na???? Ar castor oil jodi na khao tahole gantta hochchhe neempata bata. Othoba chirotar jol. Dutoi boro baje khetey. Kintu shorirer pokkhe upokari.


P : Iyarki hochchhe??.... moi niye gatta marbar cheshta korle moi kede nebo.... chandta motei ek dola tulo noye.... tahole to brishtite bhije eituku hoye jeto.... ota ashole cheeze i.... tui thik janis na.... mohaloyar din shokal shokal rajyer baje jinisher naam bolchish kneo re ?? issh castor oil, chirotar jol, neempata bata... jottoshob, ontoto mukhshuddhir jonyo bhimnager shondesher kothatao bola uchit chilo...


Me : Tumi ekta ja ta...chaand toh thake megher uporey...brishtitey bheje koi???Ar cheese diye toiri hole atodiney poche durgondho beroto na???Achchha...ar chirotar jol ityadi bolbo na.Amar gantta = Banchharamer chitrokut.Eibarey sonamukh kore kheye nao dekhi!!


P : Dhet!! Tor GK ta joghonyo.... cosmic rain er naam shuinishni naki.... tae abar shunechi ontorikkhe khuuuuuub thanda.... tai poche ni.... khik khik egulo dhorte pare ni.....ei iye mane chitrokut mishti ta amar pochondo noye, naamta bichitro.... khele gola kutkut o korte pare... ke kothaye boddo mishti.... gatta khawate hole dariker rabri ba nidenpokkhe mohonlaler gujiya.


Me : Chitrokut bejay bhalo khetey.Khati gheeye bhaja.Kintu tumi jokhon bolchho...tokhon...umm..Mithaier mishti doi cholbe???Ar mohashoy...ontorikkhey jotoi thanda hok...koti koti bochhor dhorey cheese na pochey bosey achhe...mamdobaji????


P : Hmmm eta cholte pare.... kintu chandta poche je jayeni sheta to ratre akashj dekheli bujhte parbi.... Btw, yarki hocche, ontorikkhe jinish poche ki kore shuni ??? atmosphere nei kichu nie mae niden pokkhe hawao nei, shekahen emni emni poche jabe.... hobe na hoye na...


Me : Goley jabe na???? UV rays achhe toh!!!


P : Gole jaye to.... kintu ghore bole choriye jaye na... just despersed hoye jaye.... proti ponerodin ontor ontor dekhbi chandta gole jete jete aar nei.... tarpor dini abar ek thala dampulir moton ektu ektu kore gode othe....


Me : Liquid ghorey kikore???Adhar koi???


P : Liquid kotha theke holo? semisolid ba plasma r moton bolte parsih.... ghurle ota ekta shape hold kore thake.... aar gravity ache bole chhitke beroye na....


(Sorry. But, couldn't be bothered to translate the entire thing into English.)

Bhubono miley jay surero rononey,
Gaanero bedonay jai je haraye.....

This is what we do till the wee hours of morning when sleep refuses to entertain.


Me: Tomar khobor ki?? (Whatsup???)

J: Aar amar khobor aar ki... (What can be my news)
Making love to a rugged man called life...the bastard that he is

Me: And life has not been treating me well too...sometimes I wonder...does he take bribes??? I would be more than happy to pay up then...

J:He is a nasty bastard.Wont accept bribe too. .And in any case I am bankrupt.How do I pay him?

Me: I don't know..does he accept chocolate icecreams????

J: Would he now?I dont think.
He prefers wine.
Not chocolate ice cream.
Wine is stronger,red like blood and makes his blood warmer,
his ruthlessness murkier.
He wouldn't accept it.
And if you do offer him wine...he'll just want your blood....
Salty like tears...

Me: Tears are cliched....
blood then, yes....
red and warm and thick...he might accept...
or lets say,
musty, old, yellowing, crumbling dreams????

J: Dreams?Well lets just say I have come face to face with them.
And I have learnt to accept that they closely resemble illusions....
Lets say they are as useless as garbage!
Dreams are just what we believe would be absence of tears.
Active and passive nourishment for him..life's madness and badness....dreams in the passive form and tears in the active
Or lets just say the negative and positive sides to it--
his hunger,his thirst,his wants,his desire...

Me:Illusions they are, yes,
But madness they are not..no
vividly coloured swirls perhaps...
or soft balls of nothingness...

J: Madness,illusion,dream--all are stringed.All are thirsty.All are crippled.And all are parasites.Sucking peace,love,empathy.

Me: Illusions...madness not...
unreal visions maybe...
a bit blurred at the edges..
crisp and crumbly to touch, musty to smell...

J: All blurred...all hazy..all insanely fuzzy.
One can never see through any of them ever.
Illusion is darkness and the copulating ground of madness.What is more unreal than darkness.....than believing something to be true when it is not? Isn't it but madness?
Insane desire to see what is not, to hear what is not...without light, without resonance we build world - a colourful and chirpy world.
Call it unreal.
I call it illusions..yes...
of a lunatic!

Me: Blurred and hazy are but intrinsic characters of illusions...of dreams....
And madness, woman???
What are dreams without madness??
Without that tangy taste of lunacy...
The jagged edges of unreal-unknown-hood???

J: When I say madness I don't mean the sweet twitter of whims and fancies and fascination.I mean the ruthless waves of obsession,pride,ego of a sadist as well as a masochist.It's eccentric, it's weird..and it's scary.It curls my blood.My feet turn cold.
Lunacy is different.It's sweet and it's also bittersweet.
Madness is frequently salty, randomly bitter.Dangerous!It is!
Unreals taste yummy with a pinch of crazyness.
Reality tastes well...INSIPID!

Books half-read/lying around unread -
1. A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
2. Life of Pi - Yann Martel
3. The Native Speaker - Chang-Rae Lee
4. The black Tower - PD James
5. 100 short stories - O.Henry
6. Kim - Rudyard Kipling
7. The Last Man - Mary Shelley
8. Three Men in a Boat - Jerome K. Jerome (yes..yes..I haven't read it yet...shameful...yes I know)
9. Sankalito Bhromonkahini - Shankar
10. Purba-Poshchim (dwitiyo khondo) - Sunil Ganguly
11. Rijuda Somogro (5th part) - Buddhadeb Basu

And I have to sit and read up stuff like 'Anglo Saxon Poetry' and 'Beowulf'.....

Dammit.
Life sucks.
Big time.

"Whenever I am sad, Himesh Reshmiyya and Rabindranath come and stand before me...I find such solace in both of them..."




For once in my life, I was speechless.

.....and suddenly....everything is so much sharper.......everything....it's like someone has retuned the old and rickety television set of a mind....even the lone raindrop which fell on my upturned face and trickled down..... almost unnoticed..... till my lips...seems colder, clearer and tinglier (pardon the awful choice of words) all of a sudden...

The above sentences don't make any sense....but then....nothing in my life makes much sense either... I think I have lost the power to differentiate between reality and make believe....and random conversations do not help.....


p.s. ignore this post..... am in a horribly incoherent mood today....

"Girls smoke only to maintain equality with the guys. They are only trying to imitate the guys by smoking."

"When a guy gives gaali, it is not good....but when a girl uses bad language, it is so bad...it is positively obscene. This is also an attempt by the girls to imitate us guys."

"I have selected a very nice topic for this year's debate. It goes something like 'Should girls smoke??'"

This...from a student of one of the premiere educational institutions in the city. He is almost 20...and also happens to be my best friend's boyfriend.

??????????????????????

Sigh.

Am in a lazy-sleepy-dreamy-grinny-eatluchialurdom-readpartofanovel-sleepagain-dreamagain-talkcrazy-dance-listentobismillahkhan-watchapursansar-haverandomconversationswithpersonewhosevoicesoundslikesandipray-walkintherainwearingshortssothatthelegsgetsplashed-spendhourssuckingaspoonfullachaar kind of a mood.

Nothing much happening in life really. Except for the fact that I am suddenly grinning all day and watching mushy movies. Don't know why. Don't want to know.

Except for that....nothing to do. Nothing to write about. (I can't believe two people actually wanted an update!!!! From me!!!!!!! Shniff...shniff..HK and A...me flattered...me honoured....)

So will post this all time favourite poem instead...


I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue

By Pablo Neruda

…and besides everything…watching F.R.I.E.N.D.S when you are depressed is a bad…bad… BAD idea…because it only succeeds in making you realize how utterly, totally cute and unattainable Matthew Perry really is.

Sigh.

….and everything said and done I can’t deny the fact that it is mouthwateringly delicious and breathtakingly beautiful to see 22 sweaty but gorgeous… gorgeous men with perfectly sculpted bodies (yes…I have to admit 99% of the soccer players are…to put it mildly….pure hunks) run around the field in their shorts…chasing a ball.

I don’t know any of the technical nitty gritties of the game (and according to certain people this makes me no better than the ‘next air-headed bimbo’), but still, I am making it a point to catch as many matches a possible….just to ogle and soak in the sheer beauty of it all.

Oooohhhh!! Be still, my heart!!

Been forced to play the role of an agony aunt till wee hours of the morning.

It has been almost 4 years now.

And he is still not over her.

And by the look of things....neither is she.

But of-course....they will never admit that. Both of them.

Sigh.

Sometimes I wonder.....

...and apart from everything else...there were two elephants in the JU campus....yes..TWO..I kid you not...but as soon as I got onto one of them..(one of my old school friends was on the other one...)..the JU jheel magically (well..duh!!) turned into my school..surrounded by no less than acres and acres of yellow mustard fields...straight out of some Yash Chopra flick...(it looked weird though...a small, yellow building....within the mustard fields...too much yellow, I tell you..)....and I raced...ACTUALLY RACED....my elephant down those fields.(with my friend racing her elephant right beside me...of course)..the only problem being that as I had just come out of the department my ...(as in...I found the elephants and the friend waiting for me after I had come out of the examination hall..)....my jhola kept coming in my way...and I couldn't have a very comfortable ride...but on the flipside...there was a mahut somewhere I think...lurking in the background most probably...and while I was racing the elephant and trying to manage the irritating jhola at the same time...he kept offering me tiny cucumber sandwiches and patisaptas which looked simply delicious....

With dreams like these...any wonder why I love to sleep???

I had ‘batasas’ last night. At 1:30 a.m. Nice scrunchy, sickly sweet ‘gurer batasa’. While desperately trying to understand Coetzee.
Coetzee, ‘gurer batasa’, a splitting headache and watery eyes makes a very interesting combination. Inject some intense panic in it, and the combination turns positively lethal.
So I closed my book, switched on my computer and read The Sandman instead. I have been reading it a lot recently.
And nobody please ask me how my exams went today.
I made up stuff as I went along. Especially about Rushdie and "Haroun and the Sea of Stories".
And Hamlet Pow Pow Pow advised me to think of it as 'meta academics'.....because 'I made up a story about a story about a story'....
Wow!! Interesting thought....that.....

'Jeebono jokhon shukaye jay
Korunadharay eso,
Sokol madhuri lukaye jay
Geetosudharose eso.

Kormo jokhon probol-akar
Goroji uthiya dhake charidhaar
Hridoyoprante he neerobo nath,
Shanto chorone eso.

Aponare jobe koria kripon
Kone pore thake deenoheen mon,
Duyar khuliya he udaro nath,
Raj somarohe eso.

Basona jokhon bipul dhulay
Ondho koriya obodhe bhulaye,
Ohe pobitro, ohe onidro,
Rudro aloke eso.'

If I had to choose a single literary piece to help me get through the rest of my life, this would probably be it. You won't believe the amount of bad times I went through with this as my sole companion (Too bad I can't sing...or I would have hummed this all day long)
Thanks, buddy, for creating this....(you don't mind being called buddy...do you??)
Thanks....for being there.... with this....and numerous others.....always...... whenever I needed them/you....


Ektu deri hoye galo (this should have been done yesterday)...but never mind....
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, anyways.

Fourteen years of toil finally paid off today. I am happy....very much so....

But the effect was perhaps a tad bit marred by almost 50 squiggly, hyperactive kids (not ONE of them was more than 5 years old) ....NONE of whom would keep their make-up on even for 10 minutes at a stretch.... you won't believe the number of times I was confronted with tearful eyes and smudgy make-up and wails of 'Didi gooooooooo....o amar kajol dhebre dilo goooooooooooo'.

Wuuuuufffff....I will go and have a big bowl of chocolate ice cream now.....my batteries need some serious recharging....

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO..............ZE GOD....

Oh.....the woes of Dancing....

'Sen' is in deep trouble.
She has a show on the 7th.
And her knees are bloody and scraped and have turned black and blue from too much 'baghlei'. (That's a Manipuri term for going round and round on your knees...it is an integral part of the classical dance form)
Knee caps aren't helping. They hurt even more.
And though 'Sen' is possibly the worst dancer in the group...(she trips like a hundred times for each round of 'baghlei'she does...and is clumsy too...and can't go round in perfect circles as almost all the others manage to do..) she will have to put on a semblance of performance on the 7th....won't she???
So, does anybody have any tips on how to make black and blue and bloody knees heal in record time? (And while thinking please keep in mind that 'Sen' can't rest her knees completely till the 7th...she has rehearsals you see...)
'Sen' will be eternally grateful for a tip that works....and promises to feed the kind hearted soul as much chocolate fudge sundae as he/she desires....