Tree

Everyone has a “get away” spot. It is for those moments when you just need to shut your eyes and find peace, even if only for a second or two. The origin of the spot differs from person to person. Some prefer to take the help of their vivid imagination whereas others including myself prefer to rely on our memory. I shut my eyes and I see Nagar. The Narrow winding mountain road taking a bend right in front of the most magnificent stone and wood castle, a fine example of the sheer class of simplistic royalty. Built on the edge of a cliff, the rooms open into a common hanging balcony that faces the breath taking snow clad peaks. As enchanting as the entire experience was, one extraordinary evening just stayed with me.
There is no forgetting the bare tree right in front of the balcony. She was lean but strong, proud of her slim sensuous body. She was not ashamed. Instead, she displayed her nakedness with a sense of liberation only a free spirit can harbour. However, one evening it seemed like she was dressed to kill. She wore the perfect little black dress. She was seductive, the self satisfied air around her adding to her charms. It seemed like she wanted to light a fire with her presence, on that perfect chilly evening. I stood there, soaking in her aura. And then all of a sudden like the final act of a celebrated exotic dancer, her robe came off with a grand gesture; and away flew many beautiful black crows; I simply stood spellbound on the beautiful wooden corridor.

A Letter

Dear Friend (If that is what you are)

This is a letter to you, though it shall never reach you. Words define relationships but sometimes the nature of the relationship does not allow us to say them out loud. I shall never say these words to your face but I must say them nonetheless and hence I chose this medium of secrecy. Friends ask me what I feel for you now. I tell them I don’t know. My response is not entirely untrue but I can’t help but wonder whether it is the lack of knowledge that plagues me or my inability to comprehend what I do know. This is a sort of confusion that creates an uneasiness which though not as devastating as the feeling of helplessness at having lost a loved one, is slightly unnerving. The thought of you; or us, does not make me dizzy with joy as it once did when you were mine neither does it make my head reel in despair like it did when you walked away. It is different. I am not overwhelmed with pleasure or grief. This feeling is not in the least disturbing, instead it is calm. Any interaction with you does not overpower me as it used to. I happen to be experiencing a new found control over myself. It is not half as exciting as having found someone to love or as nerve racking as heartbreak but whatever it is, it’s new and that always leaves room for some confusion. “Is it over then?”, I ask myself but the old heart does not answer in the affirmative. Of course I still love you; how can I not? Every imperfection of yours’ is dear to me. However I find myself no longer bound to you. For the first time since the day I met you I am standing on my side of the street, unwilling to cross over at the slightest instance; my love not seeking to tend to you instead basking in the comfort of how I perceive it should be. Whatever I am, However I intend to be, it is all in the moment. Finally nothing is predetermined; I have no answers to any questions that might arise in the future. Standing at these crossroads I can only wish us well, whether our paths decide to intertwine or go their diverse ways.

Sincerely,
Friend (If that is what I am)

About a Love

“If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he, and I was I.”- Michel de Montaigne.

I read it somewhere. I did not know who Montaigne was. But he just made sense. Now I know who Montaigne was. And he still makes sense. I wish I could say the same for “him” though. I suppose I know “him” better now. But it makes no sense.

‘Love’ might just as well be another four letter word; but we all know it’s not. Atleast our ancestors could have spared us the trouble and approached it more scientifically than to just hand it over to the brooding artists and the starving poets as their Rumpelstiltskin. Love definitely did weave gold for them but look what it did to us mere mortals. How simple things would be if someone had taken the pain to define it, list in alphabetical order the symptoms, characteristics, preventive measures and cures. But clearly no empirical study was ever conducted. At this point of time I do not know what my ailment is – am I lovesick or am I simply sick of love? But either way, some amount of sickness remains. Since nobody possesses the degree to treat such a condition, and I can hardly trust the quacks on radio stations, televisions and in gypsy tents in the neighbourhood fairs, I have resorted to the next best option - Self medication. It is imperative to mention here that all the advice given by friends, relatives and well wishers have been paid adequate heed to. Nothing has worked so far. The knot in my throat has not loosened, the nausea is still intact and the queasy feeling in my guts is definitely not the result of irritable bowel movement. It is also at this crucial juncture that one falls prey to severe hypochondria and starts to imagine all the excruciatingly painful ways in which this could end. If I could, I would have definitely employed Allie Brosch to draw the images in my head. But the truth is I can’t afford her and I can’t draw; hence the rest must remain untold, left to imagination. Go crazy. You have my permission.

Stupefied you

How did we get here? All the faces around you ask the same question. But seriously, does anyone actually know. You still search for the answer. You are not willing to give up on it yet. A volley of questions hit you in the face. Over and over, same old, same old. You keep telling yourself you need to know; it is vital to know in order to forget. But memory is a wretched curse. It always has been.
You lie, chemically altered and snippets from various trips flash before your eyes. You wonder. You hit a replay button, day my day, moment by moment. What was the turning point; the beginning of the end? Is it still ending or is it a new beginning already? Going through the motions- people say that’s what it’s all about. But what happens when you keep going through someone else’s motions instead of your own? The strange lingering fear of there actually being no motion of your own at all; Just the horrid lull. No you, only a stupefied version of what you used to be.

No password. No truth.

The time is pretty usual, more than half the floor is sleeping. I should be working, but really, that is just an excuse to light another cigarette and stare into the night. This is my time. As always I dwell on the past, think of the possible (or improbable) future. It’s all pretty pointless, except it’s very important. Tonight I can’t help but think of that word document so carefully hidden in that old laptop, locked away in safety. I was prying I know, taking my baby steps towards absolute paranoia. But there it was, an honest disclosure by the one with the magical words; and there was no way of knowing what it actually said. Apart from learning improved ways of data protection, I also got the true taste of desperation. Yes, I was desperate to know. He had told me everything, he said, but then again that was what he told me. There was no reason to disbelieve, I suppose, and I didn’t. It was just that I had to know what he told himself. I did not realize it then, but that night it was not just the prose that I couldn’t read, I couldn’t reach.

just another thought

Days come and days go. Sometimes it’s sunny, sometimes it rains, sometimes it’s cold, sometimes hot and sultry; But mostly it’s just perspective. There are incidents, feelings, emotions that change our perspective, change the weather every day, every moment. But the strangest thing is that in retrospect, it all seems bright and happy. That is the unique aspect of negativity; new troubles nearly always dilute old ones that had seemed so heartbreaking in their prime that it didn’t seem like life could go on; but then it did. Sadly, that is not the only distinctive feature of sorrow. The more important trait therefore is the fact that it makes us forget the first one and thus never allows rational thought to take charge.

Life here is a lot like that. After a point of time, it’s mostly about getting through each day. Hence, the weather is mostly depressing. Lately, for us manic depressives, it has been humid and oppressive like something out there wants to stifle the life out of us, but to those who are happy, appreciating the oft outbursts of heavenly sprinklers has been keeping them busy. A close study of my own life and people around me has led me to firmly belief that it is not difficult to understand the pattern of life in our beloved university. It maintains a symbiotic balance. At all times the university can be evenly divided into ecstatic, blissful, moderately happy, indifferent, sad, very sad and suicidal people. But the interesting aspect is how the same 500 (I have failed to observe post graduate students) people manage to play musical chairs within these broadly classified groups.

It is unfair to say that there exists only a unilateral relationship between the state of being and the weather. There has been evidence to the contrary as well. The weather has had a most profound influence on our behavior and viewpoints. Take for example, the effect of the current weather situation on couples; the older complacent ones have been clashing, the ladies bickering and the men sulking. They can easily attribute it to the excess moisture content in the air. On the other hand, the newly bloomed romances are taking heart from the occasional downpour and blooming further. So the weather and we are clearly in a successful relationship based on the classic tenets of mutual peace and co existence. It has passed the test of time and endurance and has shown all signs of a healthy, stable marriage. So take heart, fellow sufferers because this is the only lingering liaison that is not under threat.

bus banter

okay. so my office is in a part of town about which i have no clue. so travel is an issue. yesterday i somehow managed to get back home by literally hanging off the rod for dear life. Add to that getting screamed at by a bunch of very pissing off women. In my defence... i didn' t even "give any pressure" (thats what one of them said, LOL). well, today i had to come to office on my own. I got up on the bus which was followed by a very embarrassing direction to the conductor from my maid asking him to drop me off at the correct bus stop. i ignored the ebarrassment and smartly chose a seat (i was the first person to get on, so i was spoilt for choice) and then something strange happened...i was asked to get up (that too very unceremoniusly) because that was apparantly a "gent's seat". well, well...the world is changing i guess. that was not all, something else happened, but this was nicer...this girl asked for my permission to sit on the empty seat next to me (yes, it was a public bus). At another time i would have just laughed within, but after yesterday's harrowing experience...what can i say, i was almost touched.

Hindi Connection

Coming back to internships again, my present joke of a work experience is rather odd. Everybody talks to me in Hindi...even the "very bengali" bangalis who just cannot. it was only yesterday, i kept answering all of the receptionist's queries in bengali when infact every question was asked to me in Hindi. I know she is a bong, i have made it amply clear that i am a bong...then why the need for hindi?? this is a very interesting phenomenon that plagues a lot of us bengalis actually...the want to talk in another language to make the discourse sound official. it happened this other time when my father was talking to a traffic policemen. Neither spoke in remotely correct hindi, but nonetheless they did speak in hindi. Since i didn't have anything to do today (read had but chose not to) i kept thinking about the whole hindi connection. very very baffling indeed.

Sach Ka Samna

There is a reason why some wise guy once said- "ignorance is bliss". As we sat, semi stoned, semi exhausted in that excitingly cheap (only speaking of the tariff) hotel room in Pushkar, our eyes glued to the dangerously controversial, delightfully wicked new show on tv, Sach ka Samna (That later raised quite a stir) we were hungry...again. But this time it was hunger for scandal. Thus the lie detector was lit (literally lit; if you know what i mean) and as mystifying smoke started to cloud our minds, people warmed up more and more to the idea till one of us volunteered to be put to test. For people who don't think this is a big deal, i've got to say this was no silly game of truth or dare where you derive food for juicy gossip out of reluctant friends. This was dark. and deep. You can say " what happens in pushkar stays in pushkar" but we all knew that this li'l thing that we were all contemptuously laughing at could actually make or break relationships, change equations and twist stereotypes but human follies never did heed reason and that somehow is the strange wonder of life. It all happened; secrets were out, moments of stunned silence, laughter, shock, venom, nervous giggles and most importantly the TRUTH- silently revelling in devilish delight. Yet amidst the drama, shock and disbelief- something changed for the better. No. this is not a preachy, soppy post about friendship and how friends accept eachother and all that bullshit. Its about a bunch of people who are open to human follies, yearn for scandal, enjoy gossip, express emotions and finally move on and get over it - eat pizza, share a joint and enjoy the rest of the trip;each in their own leisurely way.
p.s.- The show was great. too much fun. waiting for season 2. :)

Duniya ke is bheer mein sabse peeche hum khade...

1) when something bad happens to you in the very first class of the first day of a semester.
2) when you end calling up your ex-boyfriend 20 million times even after a month of being unceremoniously dumped by him.
3) when you go on a banana boat ride inspite of not knowing how to swim.
4) when you leave a camera worth 23,000 rupees in your hostel room and go home for a two and a half month vacation genuinely believing that it shall remain just where you left it.
5) when you go to an ATM just before going for dinner and leaving town and realise that your ATM card is not there in that pocket of your wallet where it usually was happy to be.

These are my top 5 reasons(not in any order of ranking) to claim the ' THE STUPIDEST COLLEGE GOING LOSER ON EARTH' award. In case fellow members of the 'LOOJAAR' club think they stand a better chance i shall be awaiting their inputs.

This is a self pity blog post. And its OK sometimes. And i don't give two hoots about what you think of me.

REGAL AND VERY MUCH LEGAL

today was supposed to be a usual day at courtroom no. 8 of the Calcutta High Court where the sole form of entertainment is Hon'ble Justice Sanjib Banerjee's numerous ways of screwing the advocates left, right and centre. so as u have already guessed, today was different. right after i entered the court room debo pointed out this aged advocate with a formidable and very regal sideburns. and that was it. from that point onwards i started noticing sideburns and trust me there are quite a few very interesting ones. initially i thought men had the dominating position in this very competitive field of style but...my,my...i was quite surprised. i must confess i have never seen anything like that. in general i am quite sympathetic towards women with um...to put it blatantly... a li'l more facial hair than one would wish for (for obvious reasons), but this time it looked like it was wished for. absolutely. at the end of the day i learnt that when it is the question of a regal-legal combo, one is confronted with quite a battle of the sexes.

The love, the lizard, the lady and the last laugh...

the love= DI Open

the lizard= the audacious, indomitable, resolute little creature who refused to pay any heed to my humble request. it stayed put right where it was, vibrating on the glass as the taxi chugged along, staring back at me with sheer insolence and almost gloating at all the adoration being showered upon it by priyanka and annesha. yes there was a lizard in the taxi and noone apart from me showed any signs of resentment (and that is what the world has come to!).

the lady= that would be me (yes, u can laugh all u want...). but in this case i was definitely the damsel in distress.

the last laugh= the one that came from the heavens above( literally in the form of thunder). and it was a very evil laugh indeed. the one that is made famous by the scheming villain when he is successful in keeping the lady away from the love of her life.

but the end as usual is not very dismal and as long as there is hope, there shall be more chances, more "loves" and definitely more last laughs...and this time, i'l be the one laughing...and the conspiring cosmos shall watch and sign...

law school and its mysteries...

i thought the worst question in the world was - "why do you want to study law?".
and i also thought that i am done with this question after one semester in law school.
and yes i definitely am
but now, arose another question...
a worse one... much worse...
"are you related to Bipasha Basu?"
and if anybody wants to know why this is worse...then obviously they haven't seen me...
disclaimer: the title has nothing to do with the post. it was just a whim. a mere fancy.

here i go again

people reading my blog are sure to think that i am some psychotic female who has an obsession for foreigners eating in indian restaurants...and i must admit it has become quite a past time...
today i saw three men eating naan and kababs...it reminded me of the last time i had chicken tetrazzini with dinner rolls...and i laughed( u may not find it funny). i laughed all the same.

A Fairytale Ending...

fairytales never failed to leave an impression on my mind and i think i can safely generalise it for everyone who has been introduced to this magic very early on. the one most striking and one can say symbolic aspect of fairytales is the ending- "...and so they lived happily ever after". often accused of running away from reality ( which i must admit is true), as i tried one last time to think of an excuse, a defence, an argument in my favour...i hit jackpot- fairytales...that was the reason of all my woes. i read to much, i read to many...i wept with the ugly duckling, i flew on the flying trunk, i lost my dainty glass slipper, i pushed the witch into the oven, i ate the 'porridge that was just right', i bit the poisoned apple and i pricked my finger and finally i fell asleep...for a 100 years (or so i'd like to believe) but whatever be the case i always lived happily ever after.
A fairytale ending is not an ending nemore but merely a beginning for everyone...it is a vision, an utopian illusion with which we start our journey and over time rationality starts to take over, practicality interferes and pragmatism disillusions...
Call me a loser, an escapist, a foolish romantic, a fantasist, a lethargic arse...but i shall continue to live ever so happily ever after...

saunff da saga

i was eating out with my parents that night. went to an old favourite of mine called mirch masala. i had been craving for cheese naan, murgh methi malai and hot gulab jamun with chocolate ice cream for a long time. so there i was, too busy concentrating on my food to notice anything else but somehow this one did not manage to escape my eye. no i am not talking of eye candy but just a very minor incident that stayed with me. There was this 'firang' couple sitting at the table opposite to ours ( europian i think) and at that very moment their bill had arrived along with the customary bowl of mouri/saunff with mishri (indian version of mouth fresheners) . yes i am writing about an unimportant, insignificant, inconsequential bowl of saunff. it is something that i am so used to that i suppose i have always taken it for granted. but that incident forced me to spare a thought for a poor little bowl of saunff. i had never before in my life seen anybody stare so suspiciously at a bowl of saunff . i tried to imagine what was going through the couple's mind but just failed to come up with any plausible explanation as to how a bowl full of saunff could instigate such apprehension. maybe indian cuisine with all its abundant mirch and masalas was playing excruciating games with their tender dispositions and that had prompted such a reaction but i shall never really know for sure. As for saunff it shall continue to please customers after a good dinner and also enjoy occassional paper napkin outings(if u kno wat i mean)

we came, we saw and we waited...

indian standard time - bad
west bengal standard time- worse
It was debo and me, sitting there, amidst a few social workers who munched on jhalmuri and cracked extremely bad jokes. we were waiting to be delegated some work...and a long wait it was. As we sat there on the dusty sofa, i was confused( as usual) and was wondering what to do, how to behave, whether to laugh politely or to take the liberty to grimace at the poor display of sense of humour that surrounded me. My thoughts suddenly disrupted ( due to the arrival of two bowls of jhalmuri for us), i turned to talk to debo. Seeing the hassled look on his face i ventured to ask him what was wrong. he whispered- "my butt is aching!". Although people might find this complain rather strange but everyone acquainted with debo are aware of the sorry fact that unlike everyone else he is unfortunately not blessed with an arse per say, so if he sits in the same posture for a long time, his bony bottom tends to revolt.
After giving him a sympathetic pat on his arm, i returned to my thoughts. i realised that having nothing to do, absolutely no intellectual or physical exertion(except for munching on jhal muri), especially with lunch long overdue was quite frustrating. I concluded that waiting with repressed hunger and odd "butt pains" can be really tiresome especially when there is no way out but to sit like demure, soft spoken students representing their alma mater.