Saturday, December 29, 2007

Hand In My Pocket- Alanis

I'm broke but I'm happy,
I'm poor but I'm kind
I'm THIN but I'm healthy, yeah
I'm high but I'm grounded,
I'm sane but I'm overwhelmed
I'm lost but I'm hopeful, baby
What it all comes down to
Is that everything's gonna be fine, fine, fine
'Cause I've got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is giving a high five
................................
What it all comes down to
Is that I haven't got it all figured out just yet
'Cause I've got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is giving a peace sign

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Of Human Bondage

There is so much beauty and joy in not having to brush your teeth in under a minute. To just stand and enjoy the view from the balcony rather than your sleep-deprived face as it stares back at you from your bathroom mirror. Feeling the brush massage each and every one of your teeth whose existence you had never felt before. Pure, therapeutic bliss. Makes you feel like the king of the world. The only true owner of your precious time.

It was some time ago that I realized how my life had been taken hostage by two apparently harmless things – my cell phone and my bedroom clock. Back then, I really didn’t have any idea how to free myself from the shackles of these two modern marvels. Starting yesterday, however, I have made the conscious decision to assert myself. My cell phone is meant only for me to be able to talk to people I need (and vice versa), not to frighten me out of sleep in the afternoon when I catch forty winks. You can’t imagine how cranky that makes me for the rest of the day. As it is I can’t remember half the things I talk about after IST 22.00.

I have officially served my mobile a restraining order- not to come less than eight feet near me. That’s basically the distance between my bed where I spend my entire day (regardless of whether I’m awake or in dreamland) and the table where I’m gonna banish my cell to. Calls I will be answering promptly, but as far as messaging goes, no frantic messaging within 2 seconds of receiving one. I will be responding to all the junk in my inbox after intervals of half hour each. And definitely no fiddling with my cell while studying or while indulging in some much-needed “me-time”.

That takes care of one demon. Tackling the other seems to be a much bigger problem. Well, as long as I can brush my teeth away to glory twice a day, I’ll live with it. Maybe that ten minutes of control over my time is all I need to boost my confidence. Did you say optimistic ambiguity, eh? I prefer to call it one little step at a time.


P. S.
Just realized that while I was typing this entry in, my cell was a bare six inches away from me. Better add some clause and sub-clauses to that restraining order.

Monday, September 24, 2007

Tambourine Man

Then take me disappearin' through the smoke rings of my mind,
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves,
The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach,
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.


Robert Zimmerman, better known as Bob Dylan

My Weird Weekend

As Kolkata turns into Atlantis yet again, the island that was my home comp has finally decided to re-join the mainland thanks to the valiant efforts of my cable guy in fixing up my net connection.


Got a paper presentation on economics pending, have a residential seminar to attend this week. But first, have to convince my stats prof to allow me to submit his assignment a week late.
Hell, just two weeks ago I was wallowing in self-pity coz I didn’t have enough things to keep me occupied. Now I’m frantically trying to squeeze in Sunday lunch after math tuition, a photo exhibition after stats and a slab of dark Fluries’ chocolate before another gut-wrenching session on child-labour with my Head of the Department.


Always thought my life wasn’t exciting enough. Well, this Saturday was distinctly different.
The day started normally, only to spiral out of control towards the fag end. Right now it seems rather funny, even hilarious. But if truth be told, I was shit scared when it was actually happening.


Achieved a lot of firsts this weekend:

1) My first public assignment as the Assistant Head of Quizzing for Xavier’s Debating Society.
2) Calming down a guy I had never met before. I believe my first line after he seemed stable enough was, “ By the way, I’m Preyoshi”.
3) Daintily sipping lemon tea as befits a lady at CCD while a guy gets beaten up on the next couch.
4) Breakfasting on a cup of tea and two mints. Almost choking on something unpalatable.


I guess there’s a first time for everything.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Long Walk

Today I got off three stops before my usual bus stoppage, the intention being to indulge in 30 minutes of excruciating pain. I have this little ritual, whenever I get off at Dhakuria, I always buy myself a small carton of Amul Masti buttermilk and walk home instead of taking a bus. Sadly, the buttermilk doesn’t add to my waistline, rather the walk takes away a little more out of my already non-existing weight. Well, the buttermilk was over in a little less than two minutes with more than four-fifths of the distance to my house still left to be trekked. And to top it all, I was left with an empty carton in my hand and there wasn’t a dustbin in sight. That’s what you get for taking the road less traveled. Inconvenient though it was, the responsible citizen in me decided to awaken from its slumber and refused point blank to throw the said excess baggage on the street, much to the chagrin of the hand carrying the carton. Well, I guess guilt is heavier than an empty paper container.
The reason why I love walking through this area, from Dhakuria through Jodhpur Park right all the way to my place near Usha Gate, is sheerly because of the sights around me. Jodhpur Park has the most amazing houses I’ve ever seen. And I don’t mean matchbox-sized apartments. I mean proper houses, the ones that seem right out of the March issue of Architecture Today or Home and Hearth. I love walking through this area, admiring the houses, selecting the one which I’d buy when I become a millionaire. Sometimes I even go to the extent of plotting how to evict the current residents so that I can move in. But even though these houses probably have more than one car in their respective garages, the entire stretch of the lane doesn’t have a single public dustbin.
So I was faced with a choice. Throw the carton on the road and carry on admiring the houses. Or take a less visually stimulating route and throw the freaking container.
So social service it was. I decided to walk through the government quarters in the hope of finding a dustbin.
These quarters have stood here ever since I can remember. And so have their residents. After all, where else in proper South Calcutta can you enjoy the luxury of a two-bedroom apartment, all for the monthly rent of Rs. 75?
It had been quite some time since I had walked down this road. As my eagle eyes searched in vain for a dustbin, I noticed that the area had changed drastically. In place of the old dilapidated houses next to the quarters, minuscule flats were coming up. Never knew till today why the sight of grey construction cement depresses me. I now think its because they mean that another old house has been relegated to the dusty pages of memory.
A little ahead, I came across a children’s park. From the distance, a bright red signboard proudly proclaimed “Bina Shishu Uddyan”. A closer look revealed a square field overgrown with shrubbery. There wasn’t a single child playing there, and all that remained of the swings were their supporting structure.
I guess you’ll agree that it was a pretty gloomy sight. But somehow that wasn’t what I felt. I’m not really sure that right now I would be able to describe what I actually felt back then. It’s like one of those rare moments of clarity, when everything seems clear and precise and this one thought rushing through your brain, floods away every other thought, memory and feeling till nothing else remains. But as soon that one moment passes by, so does that feeling. And racking your brain to recall just that one quite reflection leads only down a blind alley.
I reached home a little wet due to a light drizzle and a little late due to my ramblings. And yes, I had utterly failed in my attempt to find a dustbin. I intend to retrace my steps in the coming week. And this time I’ll make sure that I dispose off my drink container beforehand, lest it distracts me from my thought-provoking environs.



A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones
A time to gather stones together

Monday, September 10, 2007

Still Single

She is a thirty-something investment banker.
He is a forty-two year old corporate lawyer.

She reads business plans.
He recites Pablo Neruda.

She drinks beer, and doesn’t care where it comes from as long as it is chilled.
He not only drinks wine, but traces its vintage back to the type of manure used in the vineyard.

She grooves to boy-bands.
He prefers jazz.

She likes to watch chick-flicks.
He likes to watch silent-era Russian cinema.

She likes to party.
He likes to cook.


This is the story of Sunita and Karan. This is the story of Still Single. A play that made me laugh a lot, scared me a little and think a little too much.
Staged as part of the Hutch Odeon 2007, Still Single is about a successful career woman “ who is also successfully single”. I guess this is the point where I have to describe the plot to you. But sorry folks, this ain’t a review meant for the pages of some theatrical magazine. This piece is about how I found some more questions to add to the list of that eternal puzzle that had Freud baffled, “ What do women want? But since this just happens to be my blog, we’ll change that to, “What I want”.
It’s like this. Sometimes I know exactly what I want. But most of the times I don’t have a single clue. Just like Sunita, who becomes tired of Mr. Perfect just because he is "Oh-So-Perfect".
This is why chocolates are so much better. I know for certain that I absolutely love Bournville and that I absolutely hate Fruit N’ Nut. But when it comes to men I like them deep and dark, yet nutty at the same time. Can’t think of even Willie Wonka coming up with a combination like that, let alone the human gene pool. But then again, Johnnie Depp does kinda fits the bill, doesn’t he?
If my Orkut profile is to be trusted (which is a little risky given the heavy concentration of weirdoes per square inch of Orkutland), I look for just three qualities in my perfect match:

1. Must love dogs and must not be one.
2. Cooks, cleans and sings.
3. Just happens to look like Ralph Fiennes.

If you just happen to satisfy these criteria, feel free not to apply. They keep changing with the lunar cycle and my mood swings. I remember I had once put up something so insanely difficult to achieve in the same space that it had led an older guy friend to remark, “ Mamoni, jonmeyyo pabe na!” I admit that I was indeed asking for too much: “Mature, sensitive, a good listener”.
Point is, I am not really waiting for Prince Charming to sweep me off my feet. The wind does the needful every time I open my umbrella.

Sunday, September 9, 2007

The Me Bird

I am the Preyoshi Bird,
bird of a single feather,
a flier in the clear shadow
and obscure clarity,
my wings are unseen,
my ears resound
when I walk among the trees
or beneath the tombstones
like an unlucky umbrella
or a naked sword,
stretched like a bow
or round like a grape,
I fly on and on not knowing,
wounded in the dark night,
who is waiting for me,
who does not want my song,
who desires my death,
who will not know I'm arriving
and will not come to subdue me,
to bleed me, to twist me,
or to kiss my clothes,
torn by the shrieking wind.

That's why I come and go,
fly and don't fly but sing:
I am the furious bird
of the calm storm.


................................Sorry Pablo

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Rebirth


I feel so heavy, yet so light
I feel numb, yet strangely alive.
Drowning in emotions, yet washed ashore
A new feeling, but I’ve been here before.

Lost myself, but found what I was looking for.

Solitude

Not a leaf moves
Not a blade of grass shows its life
Time reveals its sleepy face
Only in the fading daylight.
In the sky, just a tiny speck
Though distant, yet never cold
Enough is her light to keep me company
Enough for my pen to move.
Lone star watching over me,
My silent glass muse,
Before morning calls my name
I write just for you tonight.

Monday, August 6, 2007

Bubbles burst
But hope floats.

Monday, July 30, 2007

Cogito Ergo Sum

I am not a grain of sand
At the mercy of your river wild
I am not a falling leaf
To be blown away by your raging storm
I am not the grieving earth
To be trampled upon by your conquering feet
I am not the bleeding hills
Carved hollow by the chisel in your hand
I resist, therefore I am.
Cogito, ergo sum.

I am the rolling waves
That crash upon your shores.
I am the unshed tears
That drown your weary soul
I am the silent melody
You cannot help but hum.
I am the deep, I am the dark
All your light can never hide.
I touch, therefore I am.
Cogito, ergo sum.

I am not the Mona Lisa
Meant to adorn your walls.
I am not a poem
To be praised by your lips.
I am not the garden rose,
That blooms just for you.
I am not yours to keep,
Neither to protect.
I feel, therefore I am.
Cogito, ergo sum.

Sunday, July 22, 2007

The Clock Strikes Twenty

17th July 2007. Today was the beginning of the end. The end of my teenage years, that is. I was on the phone today in the morning when suddenly I realized that today was officially my last day on planet earth as a teenager. By this tomorrow, I would be 20 years old. My mother marked this very special day by giving me a present she promised she’ll never ever give me again: A lollipop.

Whew! Never knew that seven years can zip right past you like a Porsche-driving celebrity being chased by the paparazzi. If the theory of relativity is to be believed, that means I quite enjoyed the most volatile years of ones life. And I just ain’t talking about zits that appear over night.

I remember being really excited about turning 13 years old. Finally I’d get the chance of watching a movie without G or PG certification. It was also at my 13th birthday party that I first had a real conversation with a classmate I had hardly spoken to previously. We have been best friends ever since that day.

My last was also special in a more markedly teenagish way. I couldn’t stop giggling (since I’m too tanned to blush) on receiving a present from a guy I had a crush on at that point of time. Thankfully another glimpse of Ralph Fiennes in The English Patient made further developments in that direction out of the question.

So what does being twenty really feel like? Will I turn into a totally different person tomorrow as soon as the morning sun announces the demise of my teen year?
Nah…..I really don’t think so.
Can’t really imagine a single extra digit changing the things I love, the things I hate and the things I’m still in the process of discovering. For starters, I don’t think I’ll exclaim any softly every time I see a squirrel (Oh ma! Cho Cweet!). And I’ll still steal ice from the refrigerator every time I can sneak past mum. The all-important decision of what to wear to college is still gonna be confusing as I stand in front of my wardrobe each morning. In spite of my cupboard overflowing I still don’t have anything to wear. Macro-economics might still be mind boggling, but that’s one thing I do want to change about life on the other side of twenty. And my faith in the One I trust isn’t gonna change any time soon.

Im hoping some confusions will clear themselves out. But I guess new questions will always arise. Hey, I managed to survive twenty years. Haven’t done too bad a job till now, even though my mum claims it was mostly her and lady luck. Well this time, I hope to not just survive, but thrive.

As a friend said, I can pass off as a school-kid for at least seven more years. I’m not really sure whether he meant it as a compliment, but I guess it means that I still have my entire teenage waiting before me. I just hope its gonna be minus the zits this time.

Angel

What do you keep looking for, child?
What is it that you seek,
But never seem to find?
Why does the answer always elude you,
When it stares you in the eye?
You longed for the stars, now they are yours
Yet you still see only mud.
Will you ever know what you really need,
And not just what you want?

You said you needed shelter
Protection from the beating rain
A pair of arms to hold you close
And never let go again.
But when those arms wrap you tight
You want to run away.
They lock you in, you cannot breathe,
----- Is that what you wanna say?

You let him in
You tell him things
You feel his soothing touch.
But when the spark becomes the fire,
Child, you think too much.

Before he’s the first to leave,
You catch the train to the coast.
You hold him close, before letting go
Then you cut him where it hurts the most.

You’ll never be anyone’s angel, child.
Just wings aren’t enough to carry you home.
If you want to fly, you have to trust the wind
And really, truly want to soar.

Friday, June 29, 2007

8 Questions

If I have the courage to tell you that you’re wrong
Would you have the courage to listen?
If I tear your heart to pieces with my steel claws
Would you have enough heart left to forgive?
If I tell you to leave me alone
Would you be stubborn enough to still be there?
If I fall down and say that I cant get back up again
Instead of picking me up, would you let me do it on my own?

If I give you possession over my body, my mind, my soul
Would you be my master, or give me your spirit too?
If I promise to give anything and everything
Would you take all you want, or just what you need?
If I tell you all my secrets, reveal my deepest thoughts
Instead of cringing at them, would you hide them in your core?
If I ask whether you feel moved by what stirs me
Would you try to have faith, even if you don’t believe?

These questions you’ve never faced
Neither have they ever been asked.
When they finally are,
Don’t answer them with words.

Blog And Tackle

I finally did it. Always thought I could keep myself away, but I guess The guy up there, one guy down here and another little person (?) in here had something else in mind. I did it. On the twenty-eighth day of the sixth month in the year of our Lord two thousand and seven, I created my own blog.
I have been writing ever since I can remember. Don’t really know whether I write good shit, bad shit or just plain old bullshit, but the truth is, I write. All the stationery shops near Gariahat and now the LincShoppe at Camac Street will surely give me an unblemished character certificate if I ever need one. Wonder what it would say…. “ Ms.Ganguly is a truly noble soul who knows the value of words (probably that’s why she uses so many). She has extremely good taste when it comes to fine stationery (and cheap ones too) and is our most regular patron, averaging a diary a month.”
Good thing they never knew how BIG my handwriting actually is. And I guess neither will the readers of this blog thanks to a truly visionary precaution taken by Bill Gates. Microsoft Word only has font size till 72.
So what was it that had been keeping me away from all the glitz and the glamour of Bloggywood? Why had I banished myself from the fair kingdom of Blogland? The reason my friends, was that I was scared. Terrified, petrified, horrified. Of what? Of the paparazzi. Not the paparazzi that chase you around clicking photographs that sell for a million dollars. But the paparazzi that leaf through your family photo album and see those intimate, priceless snaps you never show anyone. Just today I was reading an article in a magazine, which was accompanied by a naked baby photo of the author’s son. Cute, eh? Well, twenty years down the line the kid might not think so. You bet that’s not the photo he’d want to frame and display in his living room for all the guests to come and admire. (“…and that is how I was making headlines even as a one year old baby.”)
So what was blowing in the wind today that made me change my mind? Nothing much, but it was blowing a gale. And I was stuck inside a cyber-cafĂ© (my home net connection being fried thanks to the lightning) without an umbrella. So I started chatting with a friend using Yahoo Messenger (Don’t worry. This economics student ain’t doing advertisement campaigns for either Microsoft or Yahoo. But that’s only because they ain’t paying me as yet.). This guy thinks a lot and writes a lot, and doesn’t do a bad job of either. Pesters me a lot to read my stuff and his as well (Sorry buddy! Just kidding!). I was going through his blog when suddenly I decided, “What the hell! Let me just create an account. Just that I have an account doesn’t mean I have to actually post stuff.”
So I did it. The URL I initially wanted wasn’t available. Guess I’m not that much of an original and creative thinker as I pride myself to be. So in the end it was my matribhasha that came to my rescue. Never really did well in Bangla in school, always managed to just scrape through. In the 10th standard we had this one poem in our textbook. “Duronto Asha” by Rabindranath Tagore. “High Hopes” should be the translated title, if I’m not totally wrong. There was this one stanza in there, which I could never forget (except when I had to write an answer on it).



“ Thakite nari khudro kone aamro bon chaye
Supto hoye Lupto hoye
Gupto grihobashe”.




(I cannot stay in my little corner in the shade of the mango orchard
I can’t stay asleep Neither extinct
Nor hidden indoors. )


My skills as a translator are open to criticism. Any help regarding the same will be extremely appreciated.
As a kid, these lines inspired me to no end. I’d write them down anywhere and everywhere. These lines gave me a lot of strength when I needed it. Over the years, as newer things began to inspire me, they were relegated to the deeper regions of my brain. But somehow today when I couldn’t come up with something original enough, something personal enough, I remembered this poem. Duronto Asha felt really personal and a true reflection of what is going through my mind at this point in time and space.
After creating the blog, I sent a message to my friend, telling him about my adventures and giving him the URL. He promptly called back saying,“Hope you will actually post something on your blog”. Well buddy, this one’s for you.
The one question I ask a lot to people has to be “ What are you thinking?”. Or as they hear it, “ Whatuthinkin?”. A very simple question. But not always simple answers. I ask that very frequently. Some complain that I don’t answer that myself as often.
I can’t promise that now that I have my own blog, all this will change. Neither would I want to promise that. I can’t even promise that I’ll write the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Half-truths and whole lies shall creep in unintentionally and maybe intentionally as well. But I shall write. I will speak my mind when I want to. And I will shut up and listen when I want to.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Why Write?

Just a queer feeling
Just another random thought
Too prosaic to be written down
Too divine to be left untouched.