Thoughts of Rain

road - II

2012-01-27T17:54:00.001+05:30

light a candle for me,
for i am lost,
past roads that i've walked
and oceans i crossed,
past sighing forests and leafy glades
and trees covered by frost.

say a prayer for me,
for i've gone astray,
looking for dreams in hopes,
for the colour of night in day,
for an empty vale and six feet under
where my heart lay.

sing me a song,
for i can no longer see,
and so i look around
for a lock to fit my key,
a hand to hold my own,
a voice to set me free.

write a letter to me,
for me to read aloud,
when the storm blows around me
and my heart is filled with doubt,
to calm the storm inside me,
so i no longer have to shout.

stranger roads we have walked
stranger paths remain still,
i search a fountain to drink
from till i've had my fill,
for summer showers and fields of flowers,
and a sunset beyond the hill.

lies lies lies

2012-01-04T18:20:00.000+05:30

take off that mask
let me see what's inside of you
are you as ugly as pretty as you are?

let me let you bask
in our afterglow right here
let me turn my face away and smirk in secret.

let me knock once, twice, thrice,
and wait for you to open the door
let me break down walls you don't even know are there.

we won't have a song together
no heartbreak no revenge
we're all just use and throw
and that's all that makes sense.

sit by the bed side
let me trace your curves of deceit
lie and lie mingles and we don't care.

see me out this time
of the door, mind body heart and soul
will you open up if i knock again?

your smile your lies
but you don't know
time after time
how i lie too
how i lie too.

p.s. - written as a song. no idea if i can put it to tune, though.

tell me

2012-01-04T18:07:00.001+05:30

tell me,
what are those butterflies in front of my eyes,
tell me is it my turn to die,
for they won't open
as hard as i may try.

tell me,
whose fingertips i feel when i hold my hand out,
tell me if anyone can hear me shout,
or does nobody care enough
to break these walls of doubt.

tell me,
whose silence it is that i hear,
when i put my hands to shut my ears,
or is it just my own voice
clammed shut with fear?

The Last Song - Chapter I

2011-12-07T01:16:00.001+05:30

This shall be the lastsong for the night.

Ryan’s voice did little to bring me back from the world Ihad lost myself in the moment I walked into the crowd. This was our last gig onthis tour, and my last gig with the band. Yeah, I know what the people presentwould think if they knew, is this goingto be the end of Scatterbrain, or will they recruit another guitarist and moveon? Well, to be honest, I didn’treally know. And I didn’t particularly care either. I just knew that this isthe last night, the last time.

It started a couple of weeks ago, somewhere within the firstfew days of our touring. I remembered the last tour, our first set of gigs. Icouldn’t wait to get on stage every night. This time, it was different. It wasnot as if I hated to get on stage or I hated to play music. Just that one fineday, I realized I was growing apathetic to this life. The theatrics, thescreaming fans, the women, the highs, the whole deal. It took a bit of time tosink in, but once it did, it was a thought which took root inside my head andjust wouldn’t let go. Night after night, on stage, in bed, through strangehighs, I tried to convince myself this was not so, but the mirror which hadalways been my harshest critic now gleefully turned my biggest detractor. Andnow it had come to this. I still loved my mates, so I thought it fair that I gothrough this whole tour before I leave. And tonight I had told them, rightbefore coming on stage.

You’re kidding, right?

Duuuude, you sure youknow what you’re talking about?

Hey, you can have asmuch time off as you want. But don’t go.

They were surprisingly supportive. Maybe they had noticed ittoo? But I made it clear that this was it. That I would be leaving by thenight’s train. That I needed a lot of time to figure this out, and they werewelcome to move on without me. No hard feelings.

And so on and so forth.

So, this was our last show together.

The implications of my actions hit me only when I walked onfor this show. I could see the tensed expressions on Ryan’s face. He alwaysworried too much. Gus looked sad. He had always been the softy. Only Bryan hadit right. He was energetic as ever behind the drums. We all wanted to make itour best gig ever. But my mind had started to wander by then. To the past. Tothe future. To every moment possible except now. Every place in the world buthere. My fingers moved across the frets with practiced ease. I evenoccasionally heard my own voice sing out, backing Ryan’s whiskey vocals. But itcouldn’t possibly have been me. I was there in the crowd, watching the band driftthrough the night’s playlist. One can’t possibly be at two places at once,right? The performance was tight, flawless. And all of them, knowing that thiswas it, were giving it that extra bit which probably made this a seminalperformance, but I wasn’t sure it was me there with the band. Just a strangerwho knew the right notes and the right moments to sing along.

The last song was our current trademark, a cover of one ofSolace’s best known tracks, just if. It was somewhat prophetic, since this waspart of the last record Solace had out before they split. And this had been thesong which had, in a very roundabout and obscure fashion, if I might say so,had brought us together.

If I could have justone more dream/ a last poem put to song/ I don’t care if I dunno what it means/but I don’t mind singing along.

This was how my favourite part of the song went. The guitarswent silent. The bass just played the skeleton notes first time around, andthen during the repeat pass, all the instruments would come in one by one tillat last the lead guitars would come and lead to a short but devastating solo.We regularly covered this song, and had even played an acoustic version of itone time when a lot of our gear got misplaced right before a show and all thatwe had left were a pair of acoustic guitars. This was one of those songs thatstart out humble. Like, while being written, nobody really expects it to dovery well. But somehow it ends up becoming one of those songs which definescareers. In this case, this ended up being Solace’s swansong. But as withswansongs, it ended there for Solace. And would end for us, too.

Shards of Tonight

2011-12-07T01:15:00.001+05:30

Last silhouette or first shadow
tonight has run out of words
and as hard as we try
teardrops raindrops never stop

heavy with sleep the trains roll on
leaking out shards of light
the people in it lost
resigned without a fight

the haze of speed the blur of rain
or of memories clouding the way
the floor stares back in silence
no one has nothing to say

skipping strings and slipping dreams
coloured in sad monochrome
hues of my very own shadow
the one who walks me home

in rain soaked neon drenched to the bone
firefly smiles from people we pass
new and improved happy on sale
but even this it won't last

lights out once you're out of sight
from now you're on your own
labelled you labelled i; never we
even as we all take the last train home.

nb. for there is only so long that you can keep all the words inside you.
less a poem more an amalgam of thoughts, images and ideas...

Sea Calling

2011-08-10T23:49:00.001+05:30

This isn't a song,
but the sea calling.
Lapping softly at my feet,
whispering in my ear.
Only in my dreams do i understand
what it means;
forgotten between waking up
and opening the curtains.

This isn't a smile
it's the light playing tricks.
I'm but a silhouette
you're not supposed to read me.
You can stand near or far;
hold out your hand or not.
Wait till the sun goes down
till silhouette becomes shadow.

I don't mind waking up alone.
Silhouette and shadow will walk
to the seashore,
stand and look at the sun
draw stars on the waves.
And my footprints won't be there for long,
but I don't mind walking on,
for I can hear the sea calling.

treesong

2011-06-30T20:32:00.000+05:30

The night
is a colour
a tint of grey
with careless splatterings of sepia
it is the sleet
biting into coherent thoughts
wearing their edges out
and making them
examples of conformance
any dissidence torn apart by the wind.

The wind
is a feeling
sharper than sight or touch
lashing out in all directions
it knows no light, knows no shadow
it knows only form
seeking it always to break it down
till there are no mountains
and all that once stood in the line of sight
are washed away by the rain.

The rain
is an alphabet
a song in each drop
a story in each trail
it leaves on your skin
it is rain that falls on your face
but it is sweat and tears and blood
that runs down your body to the concrete
and you leave muddy footprints on the ground
that are soaked up by invisible roots of forgotten trees.

The tree
is a silent song
that is heard by all and none
reaching out from the ground
and into the heavens, arms outstretched
it hears the stories of the wind
and hears the stories of the rain
an hears the stories of a million footsteps
we shall wither but new leaves shall grow
and the treesong will echo in the empty realms of thought.

Lost in the night

2011-06-30T20:30:00.000+05:30

        Lost in the night
        are the colours of the sky
        letting clouds pass by to unknown lands
        while we dream in grey.

        Lost in the night
        are ripples in the puddle
        the shimmer of a pale moon
        keeping watch over stray dreams.

        Lost in the night
        are curling wisps of smoke
        and the sharp smell of nicotine
        to go with thoughts of rain.

        Lost in the night
        are stray draughts of winds
        looking for the company
        of the wind chimes in my room.

        lost in the night
        are ten million shadows
        tired after the day's toil
        of being the other side of light.

        Lost in the night
        are use and throw smiles
        littered across the pavements
        and nobody to pick them up.

        Lost in the night
        is the feel of fingers entwined
        the last kiss on her doorstep
        and his walk back alone.

        Lost in the night
        are two minor chords
        words from a poem not written
        notes from a song not sung.

        Lost in the night
        are walls between you and me
        while we look at the same star
        and smile in fond memory.

        And the star seems closer
        than you and i are
        and you crumple our last moment
        and throw it out in the rain.

        And smiles we shared
        fall away like leaves in winter
        we walk, never looking back
        till we're lost in the night.

Paper Planes

2011-05-21T00:15:00.000+05:30

You thought i was lost
but i know it isn't so,
because you see, i hadn't
really decided where to go.

and where I started from
I let go of long ago.

You thought I was a crying
but i kno its not the case,
i just laughed so hard as to
have tears come down my face,

I laughed and laughed my head off,
and my stomach hurt for days.

You thought I was cold
but it isn't really true,
I just don't always know
what I'm supposed to do,

or things im supposed to say,
or how to open up to you.

You thought you saw me wander,
you thought you saw me cry,
but then you weren't looking
when I turned around to smile,

for I've found my silver lining
after walking all this while.

So I'll take these words right here
and make a paper plane,
let them blow into the air
and not tie them to a chain,

wish it sun, and fair winds,
and a sky without rain.

And in every drop of ink
I'll leave behind a song,
that will always sing with you
even when you get it wrong,

and help you find your place,
a place where you belong.

hariye jaoar gaan

2011-05-20T23:56:00.003+05:30

মনের ঘরের ঈশান কোণে

যদি না পাই দেখতে তোমায় ,

খুঁজে বেড়াব তেপান্তরের

মাঠে, মেঘের আনায়-কানায় |

যদি বা ছেড়ে হাথটা আমার

বৃষ্টি মাঝে যাও হারিয়ে,

হাটতে হাটতে চলে আসবো

যেথায়ে তুমি রও দাড়িয়ে |

জানতে যদি চাও কি ভাবে

শীত ভোরে মোর মন দুখিয়ে,

শিশির ভেজা ঘাসের মাঝে

অশ্রু বিন্দু রয়ে লুকিয়ে |

ট্রামলাইন এর এপার-ওপার

মন দুখানি ঠায় দাড়িয়ে,

চৌরাস্তার স্রোতের মাঝে

চলতে গিয়ে যায়ে হারিয়ে |

কফি-র ধোয়ায়ে ভোরের হাওযায়

হারিয়ে যাওয়া একটি সুর

মনে পরায়ে তোমার কথা,

থাকো বা তুমি যতই দূর |

সাঁঝের আলোয়ে ছাদে তুমি

দাড়ায়ে দুষ্টু-মিষ্টি হাসো,

যখন করি প্রশ্ন তোমায়ে,

তুমি কাকে ভালবাস?

হারিয়ে যাওয়া একটি গানে

হারিয়ে গেছে কত কথা,

স্বপ্ন মাঝে ছাড়া আমি

খুঁজে পাবো না কি সে তা?

and for those who understand but do not read bengali...

Mon er ghorer eeshan kon ey
jodi na pai dekhte tomaye,
khuje berabo tepantorer
maath ey, megh er anaye-kanaye.

jodi ba chhere haath ta aamar
brishti majhe jao hariye,
hanttey hanttey ashbo choley
jethaye tumi rowo dariye.

jaante jodi chao ki bhabe
sheet bhor e more mon dukhiye,
shishir bheja ghash er majhe
asru bindu roye lukiye.

tram line er epar-opar
mon du khani thaye dariye,
chowrasta'r srot er majhe
cholte giye jaye hariye.

coffee'r dhowaye bhor er hawae,
hariye jaowa ekti shur,
mon e poraye tomar kotha
thako ba tumi jotoi dur.

shaajher aloye chhad ey tumi
daraye dushtu-mishti hasho,
jokhon kori proshno tomaye
tumi kake bhalobasho?

hariye jaowa ekti gaan e,
hariye gechhe koto kotha,
shopno majhe chhara aami
khuje pabo na ki shey ta?

Won't be Summer

2011-03-30T16:11:00.001+05:30

It won't be summer without her,
without her voice; soft, lilting,
slow to speech
yet animated at times,
like clouds suddenly clearing.

It won't be summer without her,
without her smile; lost, thoughtful,
like the evening's first breeze
flitting by and by,
lifting even the gloomiest moments.

It won't be summer without her,
without her eyes; quiet, dreamy,
a rainbow of emotions, always
hard to understand,
yet making sense somewhere deep within.

She's a name in my phone,
She's someone I lost long ago,
She's the occasional dream
which will never come to be.
Yet its footsteps echo deep inside.

It won't be summer without her.

Image courtesy - 5 Centimeters per Second, by Makoto Shinkai

Remembering ahead

2011-03-27T23:21:00.001+05:30

One of my seniors from school, Debosmita authors a really awesome blog which I follow quite regularly. A lawyer by profession, she leads a rather hectic life. Recently she blogged about the things she wanted back from life which was thoughtfully as well as hilariously written.
My student life being in its very final phase, I thought that post was the sort of thing that put my life (which is about to change quite soon) in perspective. So let me just walk you through that post and tell you how close and far apart my life is from the one described there right now...

The time when I could hit on a guy without having to stress about whether he is older to me or not! (unlike the present times, when I have stopped even checking out men since they invariably turn out be younger or if older, then married)

For me, (successfully) hitting on an older girl would mean more financial security, amongst other things XD Anyway a guy has usually no issues hitting on younger girls, married or otherwise. Beyond a certain point, actually, the younger the better. Of course, I make no concessions as to how far or if at all the last couple of lines apply to me.

The only time when I would be late in reaching home would be either from a fest or from a night out! (unlike the present times, when I routinely reach home late from office or from a client meeting)

Well, this applies for everybody, doesn't it? It's about time that the powers that be, divine et cetera, do something about extending the length of day beyond the stipulated 24 hours.

The only work I would do on a Sunday would be a bit of spring-cleaning of my own room (unlike present times when I sometimes go to office or to the chamber of a senior counsel or work from home)

Well, I am rarely free on Sundays anyway. There are always chores to run or tuitions. That shall not change. Like, ever. The degree of busyness might change. Though in my line I don't expect it to be that bad.

The only stress in life would be whether I would be able to maintain my CGPA [Cumulative Grade Point Average] (unlike present times when I have to worry about keeping my job)

Being a worrywart by nature, I highly doubt I could be much worse than I am now. In any case, as long as I enjoy what I am doing, I do have some semblance of peace about myself.

The only financial trouble for me was to sustain myself on the meagre pocket money (unlike now when I have to earn well, spend and invest wisely and also do intelligent tax planning)

Being a statistician, I must say that this doesn't trouble me much. As a matter of fact, it is something I probably would look forward to.

The days when I was the queen of multitasking – juggling classes, swimming, internship and research projects together (unlike these days when I fail miserably to juggle even five assignments and three bosses at a time)

Five assignments and three bosses? What ARE you? Uma Thurman from My Super Ex Girlfriend? I fluctuate wildly in this respect. Sometimes I can study, text and practise guitar scales all at the same time. Sometimes I cannot chew and talk on the phone together. HMPH.

The days when I could make blanks calls from the landline to another landline and have fun (unlike the present days when mobile phone has robbed me of this opportunity)

We currently do not have a landline at home, but I intend to get one installed as soon as I can afford it. For aforementioned reasons.

The days when I wanted to buy all the books from the bookstore but did not have the money (unlike now when I have the money but not the time to read books)

The latter part of that statement, irrespective of what one might say, is an excuse. If one wants to read, if one is desperate enough, there is always a way. Thankfully, I am quite confident that my hyperactive conscience won't ever let me stop being a bookworm.

The days when I would be asked "What do you want to be when you grow up?" (unlike now when I am asked "When do you plan to settle down?")

This even I dread. I do. But then again, awesome chance to have some fun at the expense of relatives you are not very fond of.

The times when I would return from school and immediately call my best friend for chatting some more (unlike now when I am hard pressed to call my close friends even once a month)

Another thing I absolutely dread. It is already happening. I don't get to spend as much as much time in the company of my friends that I would want. Thankfully, being a texting junkie compensates somewhat for this, even if only by a miniscule bit.

The times when I would fret for days if a friend broke my trust (unlike now when I hardly trust anybody for them to break it)

I am unfortunately both the person within brackets and without.

The times when I used to dream about the future (unlike now, when I dream about the past)

Hopefully, as long as I can make two lines rhyme, as long as I remember what a minor chord and major chord is, as long as I can feel words with all my senses, I shall be both the person within brackets and the one outside...

Life around us is ever changing, and sometimes change IS the only constant (don't applaud, I didn't say this first). I may just be indulging in wishful thinking, but I do not intend to give up on the things I love may what come. Only time will tell...

n.b. - The original post, replete with wit and insight, can be found here. Thanks to the author for letting me use it.

Refrain

2011-03-13T01:50:00.000+05:30

There's this song in my head
and all its notes are blurred,
yet as the words in it fade,
it still strains to be heard.

In the dark it glows and flows,
like trails of rusty tears,
while its chorus forever sings
of all my deepest fears.

So many words I had to say,
but they don't fit anywhere;
some I kept some threw away,
some pushed in here and there.

Writhing, writhing, under my skin,
words with no tomorrow,
words of love, anger, and whim,
words of hope, joy and sorrow,

Words with teeth and words with knives,
words with the touch of a feather,
words which make or break your life
or keep you under the weather.

There's this song in my head,
verse, chorus and refrain,
look at all the changes I made,
yet the song remains the same.

n.b. This depressing poem was written during a sixteen minute metro ride between Garia and Hazra. I do not know what inspired it. But I think the song playing in the background might just have something to do with how this came out.

Gandu - The Loser

2011-03-06T09:04:00.002+05:30

For those who have no clue what this is all about, Gandu is a Bengali movie directed by Quashiq Mukherjee aka Q. It is 90 mins of B/W and a vocal jackhammer. It is already creating waves internationally, but don't expect an Indian release. Here's why :

The movie has already taken campuses by storm. All with just two trailers.

Music for the movie has been provided entirely by the city's own Five Little Indians, with Gandu himself doing the rapping.

Fucked up? Yes. Brilliant? Possibly.
Not everybody's cup of tea anyway.

2011-03-06T02:43:00.000+05:30

And there are voices in the night.
The wind.
The chimes.
The dogs barking.
The trees rustling. But I can't hear them unless I'm on the terrace.
The fan, running at full speed for the first time this year.
Fingers clattering away at the keyboard.

02:42.
Good night.

In defense of Saat Khoon Maaf

2011-03-04T21:55:00.002+05:30

There were seven.

The first one was a sneering major. Who had a moustache. It looked tailor made for his sneer. That probably did him in in the end. His chest hair and his impotency too, maybe, but for that I will give Susanna the benefit of doubt. And dude, there's a time and place for making out, even with your wife. Mere andar ka janwar toh jaag gaya hai is hardly something you say while hunting for a panther. Its not even corny. Its suicidal. No wonder she sent hiim to the asli janwar. Happy making out.

The next renames himself Jim, fine.He gets married and sings her a plagiarised song as a wedding gift while lying naked in the rain. He was lucky she didn't murder him when she found out about that. And he was GAY. Well, what other hunk sings in a boys choir? Eh? And the clothes he was wearing at the concerts. His getup looked like he was trying to be, in turn, Axl Rose on steroids or Hendrix on a steady regime of Garnier Men's Fairness Cream. Even that she tolerated. He starts doing heroin and cross dress (with skimpy clothes. G-A-Y). Runs around (semi) naked with (semi) naked girls playing laser tag (even Barney Stinson would be shocked) and not even act ashamed at being found out. Sigh. Even then she kept him alive. She tied him to the bed and tried to get him detoxed (under different circumstances, that could even have been sexy). No use. So she gave him his lover of choice, the girl with golden eyes. I'm surprised he lasted that long.

Then there was the poet by day and sadist abusive sex fiend by night. I won't say much about him, because he makes me sick. Anyone, one shouldn't knock about a psychopath murderer and expect to get away with it. He got a decent death, I say. Way more decent than he deserved, actually. They khodo-fied a grave and gaaro-ed him there, Too soft. It should have been more brutal.

Then was, umm, right, the Russian. Probably said the corniest line ever. A reply to mere paas gaari hai is under no circumstances mere paas ma hai. BLEH. He didn't do much though, just had another wife and child in another country. Ass, didn't you notice that your darrling was one wife too many already? R.I.P.

Ahhhh, the police officer. Some brilliant, brilliant work there. A decade long infatuation which finally came to fruition when he helped her not get convicted for murder of her last hubby dearest. That should have warned him. It didn't. He just allowed himself to be led. She thought she could discard him whenever, but she gave him too much 'sukh and santosh' that first night. God that had to be one of the craziest and moving (literally, not figuratively) scenes. Rather like an ad which used to come on TV, just more... real. And then he kept coming back for more. So she married him and OD'ed him. Guess on what. Anyway, that had to be her shortest tryst of marriage (one scene long), but then there was a lot of foreplay, I suppose :-D

Finally, the Bong doctor. Spoke Hindi with a Bengali accent, spoke English with a Bengali accent. Spoke Bengali with a Bengali accent. Absolutely authentic. Obsessed with mushrooms. It was only a matter of time that he got the girl (well, everyone knows that Bongs are irresistible). And then he tried to kill her for money. Actually the only one who actually tried to do so. So he went out with a bang. quite literally. Not how i would wanna die, actually. *shudder*

I shall not speak about the seventh one, since he was already dead and she drank his blood. I just think he got too much screen time. Just a silhouette would have been enough.

And finally there was the one who got away. Her khargosh, the one she later tried to seduce, the only one who loved her yet saw her for who she was. Lucky chap to be alive, honestly. I wonder, though, who got away from whom.

From Raagas to Rock - The Segued Sessions

2011-03-02T18:51:00.000+05:30

Sujato, Gourab and I met up a couple of days before Sujato was due to leave the city to make some music one last time. Sujato's friends Rituparna and Aurindam was also there to lend us their camera and vocal skills.
In terms of instrumentation, Gourab was lacking his mandolin, but instead had his flute. There were two electric guitars in the house and one acoustic to go with it. In short, enough to take down the house. I have exclusively played the electric in all the songs, and Sujato has played the acoustic in every other song where his vocal duties have allowed him some slack. Gourab has played the flute in the classical songs and an electric (he is NOT a guitarist btw, aka hear the man PLAY!) in everything else.
The songs that got documented are... (in chronological order)

The other songs which were also sung included Aankhon ke Saagar (Fuzon) and Aadat(Jal).
This session just showcases our diverse tastes in music, I suppose, and the way all three of us dislike stereotyping the music we listen to and play...

The Akshay Patra Indiblogger Meet : The Who When Where and What

2011-02-23T20:46:00.001+05:30

All pictures used here have been clicked by Kuntal Gupta. Thanks Kuntal for letting me use them to colour my post. You're da man.

The Indiblogger meet had been announced almost a month earlier, and was to be held on the 20th of Feb. I had signed up for the meet pretty early, and it was heartening to see the number of potential attendees swell up as the day for the meet approached.

The Venue, right beside City Centre I

I am one of those people who have this bad habit of punctuality, and keeping up with it, I reached the venue a good 15 minutes before noon. I knew that the Five Little Indians were to play near the end of the day's proceedings, and I could hear them jamming from outside the auditorium as they set up their rig. I went in through what I suppose was the wrong entrance, thus having to hop, skip and jump over the wires and the apparatus strewn about, and hopefully not subjected to too many looks of consternation.

The Hall was mostly empty, with barely fifteen twenty people there other than the Indiblogger team, all decked up in their finery of Indiblogger Tees. I went and registered (it was fun watching the names and updates come up on the screen projected on the wall) and found myself a quiet corner to sit, not quite sure what to do or what was happening around me. I spent my time watching people come in, register, walk up to a huge marquee/banner thingy kept there by the IB team and spraypaint all over it. After a point of time even I couldn't resist the pull of graffiti.

IndiGraffiti in progress

Indiblogger's version of a Welcome Mat

A few minutes later walked in somebody who looked vaguely familiar. On a hunch I went up to speak to her, and it turned out that she WAS one of my seniors from school. Well, the familiar face of Debosmita immediately updated my status from lost puppy to at-peace-with-myself.

Within ten minutes or so, more and more people had started trickling in, and the band, by then done setting up their stuff, packed up their instruments and went off to do whatever it is bands do in when not playing music, thus leaving the auditorium in relative silence and people like me (who basically knew nobody and so were listening to the band jam with full attention) at a loss as to what came next. A lot of people seemed to know each other already and I could see clusters forming all round. By then the IB team had decided that they better get things rolling soon, so Anoop took the mic, called us to order, and steamrolled through the first three bits in their agenda in three minutes flat.

Then came the thirty seconds of fame, where all the bloggers were given half a minute (of Bengali Standard Time) to speak about themselves and their blogs, our names being displayed at random on the screen. Well, I shall (very tactfully) not go into any further details about this (mostly because I stumbled and bumbled through the whole thing). Let me sum it up by saying that there were a lot of laughs as the bloggers introduced themselves and everybody was treated to liberal doses of applause.

30 seconds of fame

Right after that, the The Akshay Patra Foundation was introduced to us, the main sponsors of the meet, and we were given a presentation and a talk about how the Foundation was doing a really amazing job with their mid day meal scheme in 8 states across the country. The final bit in that presentation was a (slightly long) recording of a speech given by Narayan Murthy, where he spoke at length about why the Foundations work was so important and their vision for the future.

The presentation in progress

Anyway, lets skip to the lunch bit. It was then that people actually got talking. Sumptuous quantities of good food helped, of course. A few of the Indiblogger people could be heard talking about how much they wanted to have proper Bengali food. The food court was quite palatial and snippets of conversation floated about everywhere along with the aroma of the food till we were shooed back into the auditorium where we found chart paper and sketch pens lying on all chairs. Rakesh and I deduced that they were (for some yet unfathomed reason) for hanging about our necks, though Animesh was sure his wouldn't go over his head. The IB team shortly confirmed my suspicions and told us to hang the charts behind our backs and go around and get commented on, the real world equivalent of blogging. in a way. This was really reminiscent of school, and for the next 30-40 mins there were yellow-yellow-dirty fellows (and the occasional person in white) walking about commenting and getting commented upon. It broke what little ice remained between the people present.

Live and let comment

We literally had to be forced back to our seats, and then a lottery was conducted with the charts to find lucky winners, though they weren't awarded any prizes as far as I could see. The meet was then entering its final phases and the bloggers divided themselves into groups and one spent time discussing the technical aspects of blogging on one hand while the other group discussed about blogging for social issues.

This was the tech discussion. That's me straining to hear what is being said.

A third group secretly separated themselves from the rest, and we, in the true spirit of Bangaliana sat around a round table and indulged in full fledged adda. I remember Kuntal, Rakesh, Aritry and Deborshi being there, and we were joined from time to time by Addy and Vineet who not only kept us entertained but also told us a lot about the whole Indiblogger experience. It was total unadulterated fun till Anoop told us to wind up, which included moving all chairs and tables to make way for the band.

Five Little Indians

FLI took the stage and stated outright that they don't do covers. They immediately launched into one searing song after another. The bass boomed, the drums shook up the whole auditorium, the guitarist might as well have had an extra pair of hands, and the vocalists complimented, harmonised, and to put it very bluntly, kicked absolute arse. All of us present moshed and sung along till we were hoarse.

Five Little Indians in full flow

6 o' clock and the performance over, we slowly made our way out, collecting our Indiblogger Tees, shaking hands and taking numbers and URLs.

The Indiblogger team had put a lot of effort into this meet, and it was picture perfect. All of us had an absolute blast, and I look forward to more such meets in the near future.

A different flavour of homecoming

2011-02-20T09:49:00.002+05:30

Raul scored against Valencia a few days back. Even at this age, he astounds me. He is not a magician like Messi or Ronaldo, but what he has already achieved is still worth an ovation. He is hardworking, and he does what he is supposed to do. Score. He has done so for Spain and Madrid year after year. And now he is doing it for Schalke. Way to go, Raul.

In Black and White

2011-02-20T09:44:00.001+05:30

And my mom was like, Kal TV te Roman Holiday diyeche. Dekhbo bhabchi.
I was a bit surprised, since I know my mom doesn't watch many english movies. And this movie was almost as old as her. So I asked her when she had seen it before.
Turns out it was one of the first movies my dad took my mom out on a date to.

For a favourite crazy doctor

2011-02-18T14:35:00.001+05:30

One of my best friends is getting married this sunday. And I'm quite pissed at myself at not being able to make it. way more pissed than she is at me, i think.

she was one of the people who turned me into a chocolate junkie. (should I be thanking her for that?)
she was the person who made me fall for western classical music, especially the cello.
she was the person who made me realise that mumbai isn't that bad a place to be, actually.

she's a charming and sparkling person by day and a chainsaw wielding, coffee drinking crazy doctor by night. awesome combination, i say.

so. this one's for you. :-)

Never Let me Go - The movie

2011-02-07T11:50:00.003+05:30

Based on the novel by Kazuo Ishiguro.
Directed by Mark Romanek.
Screenplay by Alex Garland.
IMDB Page

There are very few movies which live up to the book its based on. This one is one of them. Probably because the author was involved in the whole process, the movie captures almost everything that was in his book. For me, this is probably the best movie of 2010. Maybe because it does not seek much attention, it is not brash or loud. It is a very quiet movie, just like the book was. I have already written about the book and why I like it so much, so let me talk about how the movie turns out.

The screenplay is absolutely brilliant. Some elements from the book have been subtly altered, and some have been entirely left out, but it has been done so in a way such that the flow is never hampered. This is not easy to do, since the the movie goes back and forth like the book, narrated by Kathy H. The narration itself is quiet, but each word resonates ever so deeply.
Mark Romanek has done a great job with the cinematography. He has deftly given swathes of colour, warmth and emotion to a movie whose content and context is so bleak. The lights, the sounds, the loneliness, the words spoken and unspoken, everything adds to the atmosphere of the movie to make it a poignant watch.

And finally, the acting. Much as I like Keira Knightley, I have never thought much of her as an actor. But in this movie she excels. The role of Ruth, beautiful, sharp Ruth is divided between her and newcomer Ella Purnell, who plays a younger Ruth in Hailsham. Keira Knightley is a far cry from her usual glamorous self. This role asks for an edginess, the rawness of a person whose life falls apart bit by bit, and she is all Ruth is. Probably her best performance till date.

Andrew Garfield was also a new name to me. As the grown up Tommy who has managed to check his bouts of rage, and then to the Tommy in the final stages as life finally overcomes him. His happiness, his pain, his anger, his acceptance, Andrew Garfield has brought to life all the contrasts that are Tommy.

And finally, Carey Mulligan as Kathy. I had seen her just once before in a small role on TV which I had absolutely loved. And here, she steals the show. The director realises the full potential of the character and the actor playing it and focuses a lot on her. In many ways, that is strange since Kathy is the quietest in the trio. But the empathy and the sadness that one sees in her eyes all through, as well as her smile in lighter moments, she speaks volumes through her expressions. Her voice and her eyes, every word she says, that is what keeps this movie together, that is what makes it so beautiful.

This is the sort of movie which could have easily gone so wrong. But thankfully, it gets almost everything right.

Never Let Me Go - Kazuo Ishiguro

2011-02-07T11:08:00.003+05:30

It has been years since I first read this book. And I have kept coming back to it again, and again, and again. The story of three people walking a road which has been set for them by the world around them. This, however, is not a book of rebellion. It is one of acceptance. Narrated by Kathy H, the reader follows the lives of Kathy, Ruth and Tommy from their childhood days at Hailsham, a boarding school where all the students are 'special', and all of them have a fixed purpose in life. It is only slowly that Ishiguro reveals the nature of the world around them, their predestined fate and how each of them cope with it. From Hailsham we see them growing up as the author paints a beautiful portrait of their lives, so familiar yet so different. Once adults, life takes them separate ways, but the three friends remain tied together. Ruth, the donor slowly falling apart, giving up on life, the contrasts in her character getting highlighted all the time. Tommy, the donor who braves life in his own way, his rage subsiding as he slowly comes to terms with what is to be. And Kathy, the carer who walks with us in this story, her quiet and serenity somehow smoothing out even the harshest of edges by a bit.
Ishiguro continues in his tradition of writing books which have no clear climax, or shall we say, closure. The melancholia that is in the pages seeps into the reader. But he never uses that melancholia as the driving force. The vitality that is there in the book is also very real, very tangible.
In an interview the author had mentioned the difference between the book and the movie as modes of expression. The book, he claimed, need not give the reader much to go upon. He most certainly does not. He gives the bare necessities, and the rest is for the imagination of the reader to fill in. Let us just say that in this book, however might your brushstrokes be on his canvas, what remains at the end of the book is bound to be beautiful.

Chords and notes in half light

2011-02-07T00:13:00.001+05:30

One fine day, we decided to jam again.
Gourab, Sujato and me.
We convinced Gourab to pick up his mandolin again, which had been gathering dust for over a year. For some reason, it manages to accompany the acoustic guitar like very few instruments can.
an autumn evening outside. dimmed lights in the room. beads of perspiration with each strum, each note we played. the traffic outside. The slow whirring of the fan keeping rhythm.
The mandolin had rusty strings, sulky with disuse. one string had snapped, and Gourab had used a stopgap measure in the form of a guitar string for the evening.
4 chords were decided on, A-minor, C, G and E, and this is what it resulted in.
Somehow, i feel the composition has been able to capture the autumnal vibe. I wonder if you feel the same.

Road

2011-01-07T20:45:00.001+05:30

every road i have to walk

and every key that has no lock

and every door i've had to knock

on when evening comes.

and every night without a day

and every word i have to say

and every barn where i lay

when my legs feel numb

a summer night

a winter sky

thoughts of rain

a pale goodbye

and i dream in grey

grasping at a flitting thought

the horizon i have sought

the special place that i lost

with the rooster's call

on every corner of the road

past the pavement where i stood

the streetlights flicker like my mood

till the moment is past

the last time

that i smiled

the morning dew

our fates entwined

and i dream in grey

i am there i am here

till the day we disappear

we are not what we were

and my dream is a song

and my dream is a song.

.....

would have been much more comfortable with this poem song had i written it in some other season.

Image courtesy . Sayali

A-minor

2010-12-21T12:10:00.001+05:30

I am,
A tune on a minor scale,
with rhymes to buy from whoever will sell;
The occasional laughter in my dreams
and a life slowly coming apart at the seams.
A new old book with yellowed pages,
scribbles on the margins and frayed edges,
and a flower pressed inside for no one to find,
its scent still lingering in the nooks of my mind...

I was re-reading some of my old poems a while back, and there was E-minor, something I had written almost exactly two years back.This poem is different from that in almost all possible ways, but for me they are somehow related...

Image Courtesy - Place Promised in Our Early Days, by Makoto Shinkai

For No One

2010-12-16T20:25:00.002+05:30

Does it rain in your dream tonight,

or do you tread snow?

And if the road is there no more

would you know where to go?

Does the sunset shine on your eyes

or glow behind your back?

Will you touch roadside flowers,

fill the colours they lack?

Will you be my blurry sky

when it rains and rains

will you let me hold your hand

as we both go insane...

Does it hurt every time you smile

across tear stained glass?

Whenever you turn back and wave

at the days that have passed?

Image Courtesy - Voices of a Distant Star, by Makoto Shinkai.

Frayed Dreams

2010-12-16T20:22:00.002+05:30

and when it rains while i dream tonight

and my senses can feel only in gray,

will there be a pavement where footsteps echo,

or a breeze carrying words we don't say?

and when our laughter is but a memory

fading with each passing thought,

will there be anyone to walk with me

and look for what I've always sought?

and while the grass grows longer

around us where we stand,

if i open my fingers out against the wind

will i feel the touch of a hand?

our shadows they cross each other

but never quite seem eye to eye.

for we once forbade their smiles to touch,

though they still don't understand why...

Image courtesy - 5 Centimeters per Second, by Makoto Shinkai

make believe

2010-11-23T22:17:00.001+05:30

i walked in through your dreams
into your dreams
stepped right across your mind
and across the seams
tha hold your heart together
when you don't believe
if you put you and I together
what you get ain't we.

and why can't you see
that we ain't meant to be
won't you let me leave
let me listen to my own heart beat
and in a haze of grey
when there's nothing more to say
all that's left
is make believe...

i can write another song
if you like
but know that it will be
just another lie
can't you find your own way out
i don't have the time
coz you put you and I together
give me back the I

and if you put you and i together,
its still make believe....

tata/tada

2010-10-11T10:55:00.002+05:30

I shall be on hiatus till I get my life sorted out a bit. Right now, I have just too many things to juggle with. Hopefully I won't be away for long.
Cheers!

Dreams

2010-10-08T00:48:00.000+05:30

me likes flowers on the roadside,
me likes my smile reflected in my eyes.
me likes the wind billowing through my clothes,
and touching the water as the stream softly flows.

i like the sunshine on my neck,
i like the ripples as the air touches the lake.
i like to fly on the sky so high,
wishing the mundane world goodbye.

me wants to feel snowflakes on my tongue,
me wants to sing loud songs yet unsung.
me wants to lie down; count the stars
or smile to the sun as do the flowers.

i want to feel the touch of silence.
i want to believe in things that don't make sense.
i want to hold hands with my imaginary friend
and wish our good times never have to end.

we all have lives which are dreams,
pictures we want to paint on the frames
of our lives; looking forever for a moment
which could fill us with wonderment.

stop bugging me...me wants to dream awhile more...

MAGNETS AND MIRACLES (part II)

2010-10-04T01:00:00.000+05:30

I want to touch a song
of snow capped mountains,
of roads winding and long,
and crystal clear fountains.

I want to write a lay
that sings of a dreamy sunset,
walking hand in hand on a rainy day,
and of people i've never met.

I want to pen a poem
about really mundane things,
of bread baking in the oven
and mittens on cold winter evenings.

I want to be a picture
of fluffy white clouds
lazing in the skies of summer,
and of songs bereft of doubt.

I want to be a magician,
wreathe spells in blue ink on white paper
that will give this dream a reason
to go on and on and on forever....

reetam is a good boy! :-P

2010-10-03T13:10:00.000+05:30

Gourab Dutta : Toke shobshomoy emon bhalo manush bhalo manush lage keno bol to????
Reetam Majumder : aami bhalomanush bole, of course. DUH!

Last Train Home

2010-10-02T23:56:00.009+05:30

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 15; the fifteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

He slowly walked across the platform and sat down on the same bench as every day. The clouds seemed to follow him overhead. It started to drizzle, almost imperceptibly. The same time. Same bag with him. He sat there, waiting. Dusk would wrap her blanket around him in sometime.
Maybe she will come today...

1.
She woke up to raindrops on her face, stealing glances at her through the train window.
I must have dozed off.

Instinctively she reached inside the pages of the book on her lap. To reassure her that the letter was still there. That was her fragment of hope. Her hope to find what she was looking for.

Sylvia had grown up without a father. Her mother had never tried to hide anything from her, and as soon as Sylvia was old enough to understand, had explained why her dad was never around. We had a huge row, she had said. Your father was a good man, and we loved each other a lot. But someone got it into my head that there was another woman. I confronted him. He denied it. I didn't believe him back then. So he stormed out and never came back. And then the war came and everything was lost. I found out much later that I was wrong. But neither of us knew you were coming, back then. Not till a few weeks after. Maybe things would have been different then....

But her mother had never let her feel the absence of a father. She had not remarried. Her daughter had been her life from then on. Sylvia, she had named her. I have had the most amazing mother ever. And i miss you so much now, Mom.

2.
The station master had gotten used to the man sitting on the bench at the far end of the platform. He could see him if he looked out of his window. He remembered the first time he had seen him. And then, every day after that, day after day. It had been over a month now. He had tried asking him after the first couple of days why he came there every day. I am waiting for someone, that was his reply. The station master had been unable to get more out of him.

He came there every day a few minutes before the evening train arrived and sat down on the same bench. Right after the train left, so would he. Sometimes he would seem to look intently at one of the passengers, but it might have been his imagination. The station master knew him by name, of course. It was a small place. He had worked in the only hotel in town. Till back then, of course. Maybe it has got something to do with the incident there, the station master thought absently, getting back to his book.

3.
Dear Martha, the letter started...

It had arrived a few weeks after her mother's funeral, with the first rains of the season. It took her a few minutes to realise that the person writing the letter was her father. In an instant, the sound of the thunder and the rain and the windows banging against the frames had all ceased. There seemed to be a hushed silence in her world at that moment. Her heart had either stopped or was beating really, really fast; there was hardly any difference between the two at that moment. She had had to hold on to the banister for support before she could continue reading.

How can I ever apologise enough for leaving you? I was so angry when you did not believe me that night. Something came over me and in a drunken fit I went and conscripted myself. By the time I had come to my senses, the ship had set sail. And then when I returned, the house was gone. Since then, I have spent all these years looking for you. All this time. Believing that you were out there somewhere.
Carefully formed letters. Slightly halting. As if carrying a burden of guilt.

I still stand by what I said that night. You have been the only one in my life. I have spent so long trying to find you. And now I have. I may have failed you as a husband, but will you give me a chance to make amends now?
Her hands shook as she read the rest of the letter.

The next day, she wrote back.
My name is Sylvia. I am the daughter of Martha Robinson. I am really sorry to have to tell you this, but mother passed away last month. However,.....
She mentioned her phone number in the letter. A week after sending the letter, her father called. Both their voices were shaky. She felt strange at having found a parent right after losing one.

4.
Keith remembered the man perfectly. Somewhere in his sixties. There was a strange shine in his eyes, like a kid being taken to the carnival. He had checked in that evening. Didn't carry a lot of luggage. Just one bag. Can I make a phone call, he had come down and asked later on. Sure, Keith had replied back from behind the counter.
Sylvia, it's me.
Yes, I'm in a hotel for the night. Mayfair Lodge, I think the name is.
Yes, I'll be taking the early morning train. It is the only one which goes towards that direction, anyway.
Me too. You do not know how much I am looking forward to this. I will see you tomorrow. Good night.
Returning the telephone, he had remarked, that was my daughter. I shall be seeing her for the first time tomorrow.
Keith had looked duly curious. The old man had noticed that look and gone on to tell him the story of his life. Of the woman he had loved and lost, of the war, of coming back and looking for her year after year, never giving up hope. Of finding her, only to know that she had passed away. Of the daughter he never knew he had.
The two of them had talked late into the night. Talked about a million things.Two strangers brought together by a quirk of fate and tied together by the ticking clock for a few fragile chance moments. And then the old man had said good night and gone back up to his room, wishing tomorrow to come as soon as possible.

5.
They had spoken for hours. Conversation was a bit stilted in the beginning, but they had soon grown comfortable talking to one another. He called her again the next evening and told her that he would be coming down immediately if she was okay with it. Start the next day and reach on Sunday. Then he had called her on Saturday night from some town where he was staying in overnight. Said he would catch the early train next morning and reach the same evening.

And then he had disappeared. When he didn't come the next day, she assumed he might have missed his train. Days passed by and he still did not arrive. Or call. Or write. A million possibilities flashed through her head, none of them pleasant. But she was determined about one thing - she was not about to lose her father again.

She had only the name of the hotel his father had been staying in to go by. She did not even know which town it was in. It had never crossed her mind to ask him. It took her almost a month to find out where the hotel might have been. A town not far from her own, half a day's journey away. A little place called Alston, tucked away in the countryside. Only one train from there to where she lived. It all fitted. And so she was on her way to Alston, apprehension and hope fighting for space in her rapidly beating heart.

6.
Keith had dozed off at the counter. The burning smell that woke him up was overpowering. Everywhere he looked was thick with fumes. Shades of orange flickered all around him. He somehow made it out, groping in the darkness. Only the staff and the guests on the ground floor were able to get out before the building collapsed in a heap of leaping flames and cinders. Everyone on the first floor was lost in the fire. Nobody had any idea as to how it had started. But all he could think about was the man who would now never meet his daughter.

He had gone back amongst the debris the next day. Not much was left of the old man's room. He had still looked and looked till he found a tin box with a few of the man's possessions; a photograph of the man when he was young, holding hands with a pretty girl, the edges of the photo charred. A couple of letters, a few more photos, a silver pocket-watch. The box was itself charred and had become disfigured in the heat. He had kept it with him. Every single day after that, he went and waited at the station in the evening. Waiting for the man's daughter to come. Something told her she would. So he waited.

7.
She looked out of the window as the train slowed down. The sky was overcast, and it was still drizzling. There did not seem to be a soul in sight. Just a man sitting at the far end of the platform on a bench, watching the train coming in. She got off as the train came to a halt and walked towards the station master's office. The man on the bench slowly got up as well and started walking towards her...

He saw her get off the train. He knew it was her. She looked just like the young lady in the photograph. Dreamily, he stood up and walked towards her.

Sylvia?
Sylvia stopped dead on her tracks, and stared at the person standing in front of him. Thin and about her age, looking pale in the failing light, with blue eyes that were sad and distant. How does this man know my name? How did he know I would be here now?
You're Sylvia, aren't you? he asked again.
Yes? Who are you? Do I know you?
No, but I know a bit about you.
I don't understand.
I knew your father... for a little while.
He took the tin box out of the bag and held it out for her.
This was his. He would have wanted you to have this.
I don't understand. Where is my father? How do you know him? How did you know I was coming?

And then she noticed the box properly for the first time, blackened and distorted. She could still make out the Jacques Robinson etched on the cover. With shaking hands she took the box from him and opened the lid. Right on top was an old photograph of a woman she knew was her mother with a man who she realised must be her father.
I am sorry, the man broke in softly, but your father never made it past the night he spoke with you last. But he really, really wanted to meet you. You meant the world to him.

I... she looked at him, her brain refusing to form coherent thoughts. He looked right back into her eyes, and a deep sadness that had been there since the day of the fire passed through the miles separating the two of them and into her eyes. And she knew. The wind had suddenly picked up, as if realising the turmoil in her heart, their hearts. Words failed her as comprehension started to dawn, like a bitter pill being pushed down her throat. Her legs were no longer able to take the weight of the emotions heaving through her, and she sat down on the platform, a blank look on her face. Keith bent down and gently brought her back on her feet and started walking her towards the shed.

It had started raining heavily, so he couldn't really tell if she was crying.
Or maybe she is, he thought, looking up at the skies breaking down on them.

---
Thank you Sayali for helping me write this out and not give up midway.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Credits
Image - Alston Station by Wandering Soul
Courtesy - www.deviantart.com via www.blogaton.in

a kingly conversation

2010-09-28T17:25:00.008+05:30

i am your king. hello. hello?
learn to pay attention.
or i'll have you beheaded.
oh, did you take me seriously?
i was just kidding.
don't look so glum now.
....
i dont like that smirk either.
what?
you think its easy being a king?
you WHAT?
you think its fun?!
FUN!?!
it is not, trust me.
why, you ask?
ohkkay...

i have
an endless number of queens to please
whose tantrums, requests never cease.
i would always prefer to be in battle
than hear them incessantly rattle
on about each others' flaws,
with me perpetually at a loss
as to what to say or where to run,
oh! I should have married just one
and been happy with a single queen.
kingship ain't as fun as it seems.

you see my point?
want to hear some more?
no, no. don't you stop me now....

every single night and day,
mad uncles and cousins i keep at bay,
who always plot to murder me
in most interesting ways, you see.
but they never seem to realise
that the very moment this king dies,
whoever comes next would hardly be
any different from poor old me.
their heads will also finally roll,
kingship always takes its toll.

whew.
see? being a king,
i'm normally expected to speak in rhymes.
oh. really?
you really think so?
the bards can rhyme them on their own?
even if i speak normally, like this?
wow!
i never would have known.
thank you very much.
do drop by my castle sometime.
i don't get too many guests.
yes, its right around the corner.
yes, this is my stop.
i would be getting off now.
nice to meet you...
yes, goodbye now...

Posted for the Monday Poetry Potluck.

if nobody speaks of remarkable things - jon mcgregor

2010-09-26T10:22:00.004+05:30

"A quiet sunday afternoon, the last day of smmer. In his room at No 18, a nervous young man is storing his things: a small clay figure, covert photographs of his neighbours, pieces of urban junk. Two doors down, a blonde girl is packing her possessions, uncertain of where she's going next. Across the road, a mother and father are sneaking away to the bedroom and locking the door; a houseful of young people are emerging from their night before; a man is painting the window-frames of his house. There is cricket, a barbecue, music, voices drifting from open windows - it had seemed such an ordinary afternoon on an ordinary street.

But this is an extraordinary day, like any other. A day crammed full of the unspoken, of love stories, unacknowledged grievances, unwitnessed triumphs, and, as the day falls to a close, a terrible moment of tragedy.

Later, the blonde girl will remember this day again and again; and when a chance meeting causes her to look through the young man's box of personal archives, she will wonder at the photographs of all these people she knew nothing about. And she will ask herself how she never noticed the the boy from No 18 was in love with her.

With heart-stopping clarity, the lives of a city street are brought indelibly before the reader, taken on focus like Polaroids on the page."

I was taken in by the time I had read the first paragraph; 'The city, it sings...'.

I will draw a comparison with one of my favourite authors here, Kazuo Ishiguro. In many ways this book is the opposite of an Ishiguro novel. Ishiguro's prose is taut, flawless. Jon Mcgregor does not seem to care much for capitalisation, separation of direct speech from the indirect, or for punctuation where it is sometimes expected. Ishiguro has the protagonist narrating the whole story. Jon lets the protagonist narrate the present, while he intersperses the narration with his own background of the past, a narrator who does not want to give away all he knows, and slowly eases the reader into the story; very similar to the way Haruko Murakami narrates in After Dark.

In some other ways, though, the author shares a lot with Ishiguro. Both authors can make you feel the wind on your face, the rain dripping from your hair and down your back. Both can make words come alive, not with flamboyant gestures but with a quiet assurance. Both have an undercurrent of deep melancholia which makes a beautiful contrast to the not so few smiling bits in the stories.

If Ishiguro writes poetry, Jon Mcgregor has written beautiful lyrics to the city's music in his book. It has been a while since I've read something this beautiful, this poignant. This book is absolutely gorgeous in a very quiet, understated way. If you can find it, read it. It will haunt you.....

'I look at my room, at the table with the flowers and the pot of tea, the two cups, I think how nice two cups on a table can look.'

'And there's a smell in the air, swelling and rolling, a smell like metal scraped clean of rust, a hard cleanness, the air tight with it, sprung, an electric tingle winding from the ground to the sky, a smell that unfurls in the back of the mouth, dense, clammy, a smell without a name but easy to recognise and everyone in the street knows it, besides the children, everyone is smelling the air and looking upwards, saying or thinking it smells like rain.'

'He says, if nobody speaks of remarkable things, how can they be called remarkable?'

(and) to meet again.

2010-08-17T14:03:00.000+05:30

and to meet
through rose tinted glass
throwing emotions into blur edged vision.

and to meet
in the verses of a song
just to sing one last chorus.

and to meet
to touch fingertips
and wonder why we're really here.

and to meet
to see the shape of your smile
and lose ourselves in synesthetic joy.

and to meet
to exchange dreams
and make promises of cameos.

and to meet
when the sea touches the clouds
and the spray and the drizzle kiss each other.

and to meet
to feel alive again
and leave the world in monochrome standstill.

near or far
night or day
here we are
just to say
this last verse of summer sky,
sitting and watching the embers fly.

n.b. this is kind of the the continuation of To meet again, which i wrote while in pune the last time. met a few people this time whom i don't know when i'l me meeting next. months, possibly years. this poem is stunted compared to the earlier one, and i dont like it half as much. still... mata ashite.

Interlude (Leave all the days behind)

2010-08-09T11:30:00.002+05:30

as always, booze somehow prevents me from sleeping very long. i was up at 830, and out at 9. pranjal was returning to his room and he dropped me off at the Corporation. i took a bus from there, which thankfully did not take long. i was at kondhwa by 11. tired as i was, i lazed around for a couple of hours, and then had lunch and took a long awaited afternoon nap which lasted for almost three hours. manyu came down at 6-ish. we chatted for quite a while about how our lives were going. a while later we went down to meet shiv at his place. it was a fun meeting, as usual, involving a lo of banter between the three of us. amit came down around 8, and we had 5 minutes where manyu and shiv did a good job of switching roles and confusing amit. it was a fun thing to do. anyway, turned out later that amit and manyu had a lot more common friends than any one of us might have guessed. we spent almost an hour chatting. around 9 we went out and up to corinthians in shiv's car, where we found ourselves a nice cost round table (with 4 chairs) and sat and talked people, places, tv shows, music and the standard types of bleh stuff that guys discuss. it was a lovely evening. we came down at almost 10. amit left with his bike, while manyu joined us for dinner. there was a nice hour then and just after when manyu, my aunt, gunja and me were sitting and chatting about school... after they went off to sleep manyu and i were discussing music and watching videos right till 3 in the morning. i was awake for an hour after he left, browsing around the internet....

Interlude (last summer)

2010-08-08T17:35:00.001+05:30

a day like no other usually starts pretty similar to a day like any other. Not that i'm saying this day was anything out of the ordinary, but only if you put it into context, comparing it with the days preceding it and the day i look forward to. I managed to sleep till 9 in the morning. lazed around most of the morning. headed to daniel's place around 1130...was there for almost three hours, watching anime and doing timepass. headed for fc road to meet sayali just after 3. i had gone to this ice cream parlour last time which had opened in place of CCB called orchid fresh. went there again and both of us gorged ourselves on ice cream. it was nice meeting her like this after so long and talking for hours. we were there till almost 5, after which she took me to this shop called Voice of Paper, tucked niftily away beside the Oakwood hotel on Bhandarkar road. the place was absolutely awesome. only in Pondy have i seed this variety of paper goods, and the prices were really reasonable too. we looked around for quite a while and i bought 2 photo frames and she one. anyway, i called sagnik after that who was in our old room. went there, picked him up and came back again to that shop to take care of my residual cravings. i bought two more frames, this time A4 sized.
we took an auto from there and headed back to subhro's flat, stopping to stuff ourselves on Dabeli on the way. i was there only then onwards. subhro returned after a half day from work just after midnight, and we had the second round of my birthday treat, complete with RS, tandoori chicken and snacks. we were at it from say 1230 for almost three hours. we finally slept off way past 4 in the morning....

Interlude (waiting for the world to change)

2010-08-07T11:59:00.001+05:30

Headed out in the morning. Went to abc to buy dvd flaps, and then to venus to buy a screen guard for my cell and for a lovely, lovely pair of vacuum earphones. Then went to vedant's place and spent a relaxing couple of hours trading stuff and discussing anime, music, movies, games, books and this and that. When it left it was raining and was windy too. More like darjeeling weather, actually. Came back, took a li'l nap, and went to daniel's place for dinner. Was there for almost three hours . His mom cooks the most awesome biriyani. I always target it when i come to pune. This time she outdid herself, absolutely. Anyway, he dropped me off around 11. Was up till 3 watching anime after that...

Interlude (on a day like today)

2010-08-06T09:16:00.002+05:30

It was my birthday yesterday. Which means that even though i'd gone to sleep at almost half past three, poor old me was taking calls from 630 in the morning. Anyway, its something i've gotten used to. The taking calls, replying to messages and to people wishing me on facebook went on all day, all evening, right till 1145 in the night i think, when puja called. Anyway, i didn't do much in the morning. Lazed around, mostly, watching anime and taking calls. This went on till afternoon, when 1. I had lunch 2. The power went, and 3. Kapil called and told me to come over. I was at his place from 130, i think. We watched anime and sitcoms and talked shop and discussed stuff till amit came by around 430. Then it was the three of us till we went and escorted daniel, and shanky came by at half past seven. The evening had the easy familiarity of friends used to the company of each other. Vedant was the last addition, and was a bit late in joining us. It was brilliant fun all the time. Reading manga, watching funny stuff on the net, discussing absolutely random stuff. Anyway, after some deliberation, we ordered our dinner, which was delivered within half an hour and consisted of chicken, chicken, everywhere. We greedily dug in while watching top gear, and achmed the terrorist. The fun continued once we had finished off our dinners, and it was only after 11 that the party broke. Vedant headed home and the rest of us headed for ice cream. Dan left right from there, and the rest of us were there, chatting for a while till we returned to kapil's place a couple of mins before midnight. We all wished shanky once the clock struck, and then the two of us headed out, he dropping me off before heading back himself. I got back a quarter of an hour past midnight, spent an hour with the spoils of the day (anime, movies and sitcoms) and was asleep, tired and happy, sometime after 1.
So sum it all up, a brilliant, brilliant day with my brilliant, brilliant friends...

Interlude (across the universe)

2010-08-05T03:12:00.002+05:30

Overslept on the bus. Had to take an auto back to my old room as a result. Pranjal wasn't in. Packed in all my old cassettes. 70+ of them. Also an old album which i'd thought to be missing. Headed to subhro's flat from there. Nice place he's got. Freshened up and then left to meet sheetal. Got dragged all the way to kp burger king. Ordered more than i could eat. Even though i was famished. We chatted about this and that. The pointless chats which take up oh so long and leave you with a surprisingly full feeling inside. Heh. We left just after nine. Dunno when i'l be seeing her next. But she remains one of my favourite people. Headed back to my room where i was picked up by mona da. Returned to subhro's flat around 10. Cooked chicken for dinner, and then had it while watching The Rock and attending calls and replying to texts. Watched favourite bits of gto after that. I'l be sleeping off now, because i'l have to be attending calls from 6 in the morning, i think. Subhro shall continue with gto. Looking forward to tomorrow. Hoping everything goes smoothly and according to plan...

Interlude (half the world away)

2010-08-04T13:29:00.002+05:30

The problem with two days, one night train journeys as opposed to two nights and one day is that whereas you can get through the latter with the help of one reasonably thick book, you need atleast two books for the former. As a consequence, i've already finished off two of the three books that i had, and even though i left then c/o lando and borrowed trainspotting instead, they might not be enough for the rest of the trip.
But for all the cons of my train being half a day late, i got to see some breathtaking scenery, the sort of landscape that i rarely associate with this state. Mile after mile of fields and meadows and hills, green, utter green, brooks and streams and rapids running wherever their imagination takes them. Hills crowned by clouds and fog, and the train pushed past curtains of rain lashing out at everything, biting my skin whenever it could reach me. Awe inspiring. Once i reached lando's place, i relaxed and waited for him to return. He's put on a bit of weight. We drank beers and listened to oasis. Then we went out to eat and drank more and then called up auto and bitan. I got pretty drunk. Haven't been this drunk in ages.
As a consequence, i slept off by midnight and was up at 5, after which i couldn't sleep at all. Lazed around all morning, watching anime, listening to music and making calls. Headed out at noon, and here i am now, relaxing in a bus heading for pune and secretly hoping it rains on the way and i get to see this place the way i like it best...

The wrong world

2010-07-28T23:41:00.004+05:30

At precisely eight fifteen tonight

the world shall start to go wrong,

and all the dreams that we might have shared,

shall be stained by each sad song.

But you could hide in my secret poem,

skip across the words that rhyme,

find in you another you,

who'll finally get it right this time.

The last walk that we took

the day it was raining upside down,

the sky might still have been up above

but the clouds they were on the ground.

Then the day that i stood

atop the city's highest rise,

but in vain i tried and tried and tried,

on tiptoes to touch the skies.

For there was a moon shaped hole in the night,

but the moon shone through from a puddle;

i touched the edge, sent ripples across,

and the moonlight flickered ever so subtle.

This is a world where things are wrong

or right if we call it so;

for its you and i and in our heads

who else will ever know?

shrapnel

2010-05-02T21:29:00.000+05:30

and i can see how
the shrapnel of our emotions
changes the world around us.

and bits get damaged
as reality caves in at times
to the delusions we choose.

we filter out the
synesthetic sounds of dreams
and are left with mere b/w.

we become robots
to music that is not music
which has kept us spellbound.

the colours within
isolated from the ones without
live on in enforced loneliness.

the voices fadeaway
and the lyrics get lost in a haze
and you're suddenly so far away...

n.b. i'm not sad. i'm not depressed....as such. dunno why i wrote this all of a sudden. maybe because its raining outside...and there was always someone who was like the rain in my life...

James Blunt on Topgear

2010-05-01T22:13:00.004+05:30

James Blunt as the guest in Topgear. 2nd December 07. Absolutely hilarious.

kites and thunderstorms

2010-04-18T23:49:00.007+05:30

we can see familiar faces
through the smile shaped holes in our dreams,
flitting in and out of sleep,
surrounded by whispered voices and moonbeams.

the skies indulge us in our little flights of fancy
like kites against cotton candy clouds;
soaring high above the din of chemical emotions,
singing its own songs bereft of doubt.

stranger faces in the neon glow
tread pavements of a million brilliant hues
as songs leak onto the pavement
from haunts still churning out 12-bar blues.

indifferent stories pass each other by on the streets,
exchange pleasantries or avoid each other,
each being a kaleidoscope of infinite possibilities;
bur rarely does anyone seem to bother.

silent waters lap softly by the feet
of friends together on a chilly winter evening,
watching the city's bridges shine,
while softly of forgotten carnivals they sing.

the city stands quietly by a corner, silently watching
its people colour their canvases.
each dab changes the city and us; yet never do we notice;
we just paint away our days.....

n.b. a lot of things went into these few lines. sankar's chowringhee, old bengali films, satyajit ray, anjan dutta, and some very personal experiences. we may love our city; some of us may even hate it. but it's impossible to remain indifferent to it, isn't it?

this poem is under consideration for Thursday-Poets-Rally-Week-29-sept-23-29. hope you like it :)

runaway world

2010-04-16T23:51:00.000+05:30

do you remember the last time
that you dreamt a dream which was just a dream
and not a goal you had to accomplish?
when feelings could be spoken aloud
without having them dissected and looked into
for hidden meanings? when your biggest worry in life
was the homework you forgot to do?
there's a world lost inside us, hidden away from
prying eyes. ours included. we make ourselves forget
so that we may become adults, say the proper things
and learn to nod our heads knowingly on cue.
while we keep forgetting to smile with our eyes.
we surround ourselves with emotional tripwires,
yet forget to laugh just because it feels right to;
try to lead our lives like drawn out guitar solos,
technically perfect yet lacking, and forget that
three chords are enough to write a beautiful song.
and we replace letters with texts, smiles with smileys,
walking together with hanging out...

need our lives always strive to be a page turner?
books with a comfortable pace are nice too, i daresay.
like our favourite fairytale. or a song with a lilt.
or like the accidental tunes that we whistle.
its easy to walk on by as life keeps happening,
next time you're in a hurry, try slowing down
for a change...and in the fleeting moments of dusk,
maybe, just maybe, you'll come to realise
that life can be so much more than a mad rush
towards the finish line....
it could be a half smile, or a lingering glance.
or raindrops against your skin...

Back to Pune [Day 7 - Pune/Mumbai]

2010-03-14T22:10:00.006+05:30

~12th Mar~
Didn't get to sleep much at night. was up at 630 with a headache and residual sleep. Nevertheless, considering the headaches i am getting used to, this was nothing. the downloads i had put on last night were well underway, and pranjal was hgetting ready for office. i went out and got a cuppa from Shubham. it was overcast and slightly chiily too; more like august than march. headed into college and roamed about for the better part of the next hour in the place which still has three years worth of memories safely tucked away in corners. got back to my room around 730 and lazed around for the next couple of hours. dumped and arranged stuff on my HDD, watched naruto and avatar, burnt deepti's DVD, made a couple of calls. Spoke to sheetal. she'd just gotten off a night shift and sounded adorably sleepy. seems her mom was in town, and she wouldn't be free in the evening. pity, since i WAS rather looking forward to seeing her again. oh well, i suppose i'l catch up later. prateek came by around 11. we chatted and lazed around in general. the naruto konoha gakuen den was a hit with him as well, as it had been with kapil and shanky the previous evening. deepti came down to fc road just after noon. prateek came down with me to meet her. she was waiting in the car, right by college. she had to take a looong detour to get a parking space which was barely 100m away from where her car originally was. heh. while taking my evening stroll yesterday i had chanced across an ice cream/kulfi parlour right next to where CCB used to be. i took deeps and prateek there. the place was nice and comfy and had an ambiance similar to CCB. prateek, whose normal state of being was reserved, seemed to have no such issues with deepti. her disarming ways had brought out the funny and talkative side of my best friend. the three of us talked and talked and talked. on bleach, avatar, our respective fields of study...and, of course, the shit i had gotten myself into. people still seemed to disbelieve me over it, and though both of them knew i'd never lie to them, deeps said she still half expected to start laughing any moment and tell her its all a big joke. well, i suppose that during the course of the ensuing conversation, she got used to it being part of reality. we were at orchid fresh for over an hour...me and two of my bestest friends, chatting away over chocolate...what more can a person want from life? time just flew by. finally, reluctantly, we had to break up. prateek took an auto back to college. deepti left after making me promise that i won't fuck up any more. it was 2 by then, and i headed back to the room to finish packing. subhro and kundu returned shortly before 3, and kundu said he'll be dropping me off to the station. it started dripping as we left, and started pouring within moments of me entering the station. the weather kind of reflected how i felt inside, i guess....
slept during most of the journey. got off at thane and took a local heading towards bhupen's place. he was supposed to be out till late. anyway, i was insanely tired and was asleep by 9. woke up at 11 for dinner. bhupen returned shortly afterward. apparently, he had downed 16 cans of fosters, a tequila and a whiskey. he looked rather composed, given all that. he even asked me, 'am i making sense?'; and was very happy when i told him he was. he was. he WAS talking a bit more than usual and was slightly disoriented, but otherwise OK. we discussed my results (his reactions and views on the matter were the most interesting by far, but i suppose alcohol had a part to play in that). we talked music as he played songs off his ipod, his crappy job, the arse of a boss that he has, life, books, and his upcoming holiday. both of us had slept off by 1230.

didn't sleep very well. was up at 430 and out by 5. sitting at dadar station and writing this, waiting for my train to arrive. these ten days have been like a slender bend, one that you rarely notice initially, but further down the line, you tend to look back and realise how much this bend has influenced where you've ended up and where you're headed. i've been screwing up royally for almost 2 years now. the person writing these lines is not the person who left pune in 08, unfortunately. though i did get ot see flashes of him over the last few days. he walked on marine drive, went for lunch the following morning, walked the entire length of fc road, played guitar all night, hung around at aundh, played cs after ages, had ice cream.....the glimpses were enough to make me realise where i'd been going wrong all this while. i refuse to fuck up any more. and heaven help whoever stands in my way.

i just realised that pune had managed to work its charms on me. so, surprisingly, has mumbai. never expected this to happen. maybe its got something to do with the fact that kol has become more of four empty walls now, its colour gone. my past in this city will always remain my haven, my wonderwall, but in present the city has nothing but shattered memories for me. till i can lay these ghosts to rest, i need to get out. and mumbai/pune happens to be filled with some of my favourite people now. kol will always remain home, but pune has given me so much without making any fuss over it, without asking for anything in return. this is something i've come to realise only in the last few days. i'm even prepared to give mumbai a chance...for if sheetal and archan da say there's something to this city, there must be...
i dunno when i'l be back. dunno how many people would wait till i do. but i DO intend to return....and maybe, just maybe, i will be bit closer to calling it home as well...

Back to Pune [Day 6 - Pune]

2010-03-12T11:10:00.004+05:30

slept for maybe 5 hours at night. was up and about by 930. spent the whole morning in the usual routine of this place. ate, lazed around, read poirot and burned dvds for manyu and deepti. went out in between and returned nikhil's guitar. deepti and devi came by after lunch. i've never had a chance to interact with devi before. it was a fun one hour. i was surprised to find out that devi watched bleach. both sisters were in their element, and time just flew by and suddenly it was 330 and they had to leave. i left soon after. got off the bus a couple of stops earlier and walked the lingth of FC road and JM road, just for the heck of it...it felt nostalgic passing by the familiar shops....
kapil came later in the evening, and then shanky and amit.....we watched naruto (YESSS!!) and did timepass in general. after shanky left (he had all night classes at frameboxx) amit and i decided to go aundh side. on the way we decided to watch a movie at night and stopped by e-square, but nothing was available. kapil trusted me with another stint on his scooty, and we reached his home way past 9....stayed there quite a while, copying stuff...i managed to land blackadder and fringe. blackadder is hugh laurie AND rowan atkinson. saw a bit of it later. its absolutely hilarious. we left his place after 1030 and headed to daniel's....poor guy has been busy with an obscene amount of workload, but he came down and we chatted outside his home for for almost half an hour. the topics mainly veered around anime and a couple of movies. bleach and kenichi were hot favourites. it was past 11 when we started from there. kapil went back home and amit dropped me off to my room. kundu got me dinner (everything was long closed by then). chatted with subhro and kundu awhile. kundu got a bit senti...they left after 1230...was feeling dead by then. throat was in pretty bad shape since i was out that long...slept off almost immediately.

to meet again

2010-03-12T10:57:00.003+05:30

to meet again
under sunnier skies
and the wind billowing through our clothes.

to meet again
in a crowd of strangers
two strangers, yet strangers no more.

to meet again
under a yellow umbrella
even as all we feel comes pouring down.

to meet again
on some seashore, again,
and hear our voices echoed in the waves.

to meet again
beneath the tree around the bend
amidst rustling leaves and light and shade.

to meet again
beneath morpheus's veil
and in blissful ignorance walk together.

to meet again
when things make sense no more
and laugh all our fears away into the night.

you, whom i've
never known
never seen
yet felt
somewhere deep within.
tell me, honestly...
at what speed must i live,
to be able to see you again?

Back to Pune [Day 5 - Pune]

2010-03-11T11:32:00.004+05:30

~10th Mar~
This was a day of words. Woke up rather early by normal standards, and since my throat was better than the last couple of days, indulged myself by staying in bed for almost an hour, drifting in and out of wakefulness. even then, was out by 930. met deepti and a couple of her friends at the law college road ccd. they had just been gotten off class. lazed around and chatted over insignificant stuff....identity crises, various teashops and cafes and dhabas all over the country, how ccd and barista are capitalist by nature, music we all prefer, how women should not be trusted with self propelling vehicles. anyway, that all done, we decided to push towards kondhwa. returned to my room, packed and left with deepti. stopped for coffee in between...reached around 130...
my aunt's place is one of my favourite places on earth. i get good food, good company, am pampered quite a bit, and there are so many books, and the weather is usually lovely too...its tooo good. i spent the afternoon idling around, raeding agatha christie and listening to music. then went over to nikhil's place and got his guitar. guy plays really, really well. not only is his technique on a totally different level, his playing has a beautiful feel about it which is still lacking in me. met up with shiv. we(he) talked and talked and talked. about his company, his college, his life, manyu and how he needs to lose weight, me and how i need to bulk up et al. headed back for dinner...
played the guitar post dinner. it had been a while, but it felt really nice. manyu came by after midnight. we were up talking through the night. we listened to some music on the comp, but most of the time we spent in the balcony, talking about insignificant matters and equally significant ones....strumming once in a while...discussing life, love, expectations, plans...all that we rarely talk about...he left almost at 4. slept off within 10 minutes of him leaving.
this was a talkative day. heh.

Back to Pune [Day 3 - Pune]

2010-03-09T18:57:00.007+05:30

~8th Mar~
Woke up to find Pranjal diligently studying for his exam. throat still neck deep in shit (no pun/allegory intended). Got a call from Deepti...ran off to meet her at ILS during the little time she had between classes. Walked back the distance till my room...via bhandarkar road, and then took the shortcut beside hdfc and into my college from the back entrance. college was more or late empty then, though it was 9 in the morning...exam season is on its way, so all i saw were students studying all around. took a peek inside my department, but found it devoid of life. got back to my room, and started making dinner plans. lazed around the whole morning in the room only. copied dvds, chatted with people online, finalised plans, and then took a li'l nap, since i was still slightly hung over from the last night. woke up at 1230 as Pranjal left for his exam and headed for lunch and then to amit's house. did timepass there and then prateek came over and joined us. i convinced him that it was a good idea to come to dinner with us and then stay over at amit's and return to college the next morning. didn't take much effort. prateek and i left after a while coz amit had some work. we strolled back to our room, then went to buy dvds (for him) and headed back to amit's place after kapil called and said he was on his way. we all played doom3d by turns. amit had turned hyper again, like last time...bleh. we headed for baner around 8. dan joined us outside sarjaa, where we were planning to have dinner. spent quite a while in there...it was the first time prateek had been part of a pune anime meet proper (last time, that's 2008, he'd joined us for dark knight at e-square). he was in his spirits that evening. we talked about most things geek...anime, manga, hentai, games over all consoles, websites, food, and how kapil had put on weight leaving me the thinnest in the group...hehe.
post a sumptuous dinner, we headed out to look for an ice-cream shop(which was closed), but thankfully found another where we all got ourselves cornettos. since prateek and i were down with rebellious throats, we decided to share a single cone. dan headed back towards home...amit asked kapil to ride his bike in his stead, since he wasn't feeling upto it. which put me in charge of commandeering kapil's scooty, much to the apprehension of all and sundry present there (including daniel). but i looked like the epitome of confidence (i haven't ridden a self propelling two wheeler since i left pune in 2008). i just told kapil 'bhaga mat...dont want the speed to get to my head, then i'l start rideing like a maniac'. he gladly obliged. the best moment came when i sided beside his bike, both of us riding at around 60kph, and asked...'kapil, left brake peechhe ke tyre ke liye hi hai na?'. their reactions were...interesting, to say the least. specially prateek's, who was visibly shaken. anyway, we made it back to amit's without incident. vibhav called, and we all took turns speaking with him...prateek stayed back at amit's place (they apparently stayed up till 2 talking, talking, talking, or so they claim). kapil headed home and i back to my room....stayed up past 1, though i was really tired. was copying dvds....went to sleep with my usual bedmate, my throatache...

Back to Pune [Day 2 - Mumbai/Pune]

2010-03-08T08:10:00.004+05:30

~7th Mar~
woke up with a sore throat, a slight headache and a long day ahead of me. bhupen and i left together at 9. he went to office, me to meet nitesh. rahul had warned me that central line trains would be irregular...i got to dadar and walked to nitesh's room. turns out he returned from office around 9 the previous night, and had been drinking since then with his roommates. he hadn't slept and looked more unkempt than usual. his flat was a nightmare. clothes, dirty plates, booze bottles and glasses strewn around everywhere. the exact opposite of where i had stayed the last day. we chatted a while and then left for phoenix mall at parel. while sitting there i realised that i hadn't been able to speak to vandy in a month and i had no clue as to where exactly the reception was. i kept on making call after call, trying to trace her, but to no avail. anyway, archan da came by after a while and nitesh had to leave. we went and had lunch and then spent time roaming around phoenix, discussing kolkata and mumbai, mostly, and who was up to what. it was strange to see someone like archan da, who had spent 5 years in pune, speak so affectionately about mumbai. but i guess I'd have been slightly weirded out if he hadn't. by this time I'd almost decided that i would be starting late for pune, since I'd most probably not make it to the reception. just for the sake of it, i tried vandy's number one last time, and she answered....took directions from her and headed back to dadar. took the train to kanjurmarg, picked up my stuff, and then found out that trains were not running towards vashi. so i headed to thane, and caught a bus to pune.
reached pune around 8....headed straight to my room, changed, and took an auto to the reception hall...it was way inside khadki..real pain in the arse, but worth the effort....got back around 11....pranjal called and told me to come to barcode. found subhro, kundu, shautam, pranjal, and another colleague happily boozing away. having nothing better to do, i joined in with demolishing the RS they were having. we finally left at midnight and returned to our room...i was as usual dead tired by then. we still stayed up for a while more. pranjal had drank quite a bit, and he had his last semester exam the next day. duh. we sent him off to sleep, and subhro and i were up chatting till 1, i think....it had been a long, long, long and hectic day. spread over two cities and a load of acquaintances from the various bends of my life. the trip seems to be going as planned. hope it stays that way....

Back to Pune [Day1 - Mumbai]

2010-03-07T01:00:00.002+05:30

~6th March~
the only bit of unwanted luggage that I'm carrying on this trip, it seems, is a persistent throat ache and a hacking cough, and it doesn't seem interested in forsaking my company anytime soon. pity. i reached mumbai early morning. got off at dadar, successfully negotiated the station which has confounded me in the past and headed for kanjurmarg, where bhupen stays. reached around 630, i suppose. within a few hours and a couple of phone calls later, i realised that most of the people i wanted to meet were busy till evening. as a last resort i called rahul....he was at the doc's but he told me to come down to nahur. having nothing better to do all day except read, i went along with rahul (who has a lot more white strands on his head than before...guess marriage can do that to a person) to their new home under construction at belapur...spent a couple of hours there chatting with him, after which he dropped me off at vashi. called up sheetal from there, who'd just returned from her shift. she told me to let her know a while before i reached BT. i got on the train, put on an alarm and happily dozed off, all the time under the impression that the train will definitely pass dadar, and that would be when i call her and wake her up. well, fresh from my nap, i still found station after station bearing unfamiliar names. after a while, becoming almost sure something was wrong i had gotten on to the wrong train, i went near the gate to check the route map. imagine my surprise to find that the vashi-BT line is completely different (as in no dadar), and i was roughly three minutes away from BT. i called sheetal up. told her that i'd made a calculation mistake and was at BT already. she said she'll take 'some time' to get ready, and told me to come to colaba causeway in 20mins. knowing her for the better part of 3 years now, i was well aware that punctuality was not one of her stronger suites. so i found myself with quite a bit of time to kill. i was feeling rather thirsty by then. i went up to one of the railway snack stall at the station and ordered a lassi (i had had a throat ache all that time), and downed it in 30 seconds flat. still thirsty, i ordered a chocolate milkshake. downed it and realised i was STILL insatiably thirsty. had ANOTHER milkshake. felt slightly better after that, but my throat had started acting up again. anyway, i headed out of the station and took a taxi to the causeway. found out on the way that she had already reached, which made me really happy...it'd be the first time she was early. heh. i got off at the causeway, and then spent the next ten minutes trying to locate each other. finally did, and then we headed off to barista. sheetal had grown thin....but she said that she still weighed the same...so unless she'd grown more muscular over the last year and a half, it wasn't really possible. she had a point, but then again, i still maintain that she's grown thinner since i last saw her. not that it made her any less stunning, though. anyway, i convinced her she owed me two treats, one for getting a job and another as payment for all that much anime i was giving her, and that she was lucky i was prepared to club those two treats into one. she seemed convinced, but barely. was very happy to find out that her viao was NOT pink (it was silver), but the bag was red and gold (officially, though it seemed more like deep pink and yellow to my eyes). over a variety of goodies (tea, coffee, sandwiches, and...chocolates, obviously) we caught up on books, music, anime, work and life in general. sheetal being the most sparkling person I've ever known, time just whizzed by. but THEN...she was unable to finish her chocolate, much to my glee. said she felt sick with too much of it. i told her a few more gory chocolate stories till she was prepared to forfeit and let me finish off the rest. it was funny...she is one of the three chocolate goddesses in my life (chocolate goddess- one who either loves chocolate, or treats me regularly to it, or both), and she herself had mentally OD'ed on it. anyway, that episode done, we headed towards marine drive. mumbai by now had already started growing on me. the cool evening breeze and the lights in the horizon made me like this city a bit more. we sat there and talked and talked and talked about almost anything and everything we had in common and some that we probably didn't. and then it was time for her to go...i headed back to the station and back to kanjur, having spent the day with two people i barely got a chance to know but two people I'm really fond of anyway. rahul and sheetal...I'd met the former the last time in may 08, and the latter in july 08...but it seemed like almost no time had passed since then and now. it didn't take any effort to pick off where our last conversations had ended. two entirely different people who have next to nothing in common with each other. but both are equally strange in their own ways, infinitely admirable, sparkling with life every single second...and both people i wished i knew a bit better. it had turned out to be a lovely, lovely day.
was really tired when i got back to bhupen's. took a bath, went out and got some food. he took a beer while we waited, and i foolishly took a peg of vodka. not a very good idea when one is as tired as i was. was on the verge of dozing off on the street as we headed back to his room. anyway, had dinner, chatted with him a bit more...and when things finally started getting spirally around me, faded away into the blissful oblivion of sleep...

carousel

2010-02-21T01:48:00.001+05:30

was going through my old mails...the days when forwards flooded my inbox.... saw something random there which suddenly made a lot of sense. 'its the friends you can call at 4AM who matter.' the 24x7 lives we lead now has made that statement slightly redundant nowadays, but it still strikes a chord. so.

i keep getting a feeling that somewhere, somehow, time is running out...and there's always so much left unsaid. so many moments, so many shared memories. photo freeze moments, and some tear jerkers too. moments lost in the untidy cupboards of our minds...in some drawer we rarely open. so.

like the time a friend blasted me for not being able to get over a girl. and the time we played on opposite teams, baying for blood, but were best mates the moment the final whistle rung. like the time i would call them up for no reason in particular during exams. the official reason would be doubt clearing, but actually, all i needed was the reassurance that i fight not alone. like walking back in the rain. like filling up slambooks and signing t-shirts. like the flush of joy to see a long lost friend suddenly on facebook. like all those times we posed for the same cameras. like all the times we bitched and cribbed and yet enjoyed every moment of it. like bunked tuitions. and roaming around park street.likes cassettes lent out and borrowed. like the most pointless of conversations. like the centershocks we tried our best to make our teachers take. like our favourite classes. and our least favourite ones. like so many other bits which you can see best at the corner of your eyes. so.

flux is the only constant we have left. people change. circumstances change. and the world around us changes too. but those promises, those words, those smiles and hugs and shared memories...they can never change. such is the beauty of life. so.

these lines hold nothing i've not said before. just that so many things have been playing in my head recently. the city i love so much has suddenly become four empty walls, the colour my friends gave it with their presence gone without them. there's an awful lot of space, but i can hardly breathe.things not making much sense all of a sudden. maybe writing this will make winter fade away slowly and not take me along. so.

will spring ever come, i wonder....

coda (?)

2010-02-14T21:35:00.005+05:30

i'l always be a question looking for an answer...actually its the other way round. i'm more of answers, looking for the right questions to define me. i'm a mix of emotions most of the time, a medley of resonating notes at the best of times and a mess at the worst. more often than not, this particular symphony has too many wrong notes. ones which shouldn't be there...but i do believe that without those wrong notes, it would probably lose a large bit of its individuality. but even with all the dissonant bits of my life, there are refrains and reprises and interludes which come by when i'm least expecting them to, and make sense in some strange and inexplicable way and leave me with wafts of a spring breeze and those floaty things you see in front of your eyes when you look towards the sun and shut your eyes really tight but which disappear right away if you look AT them; you have to look away for them to reappear. it makes me really nostalgic at times, though i can't figure out the source of this nostalgia. strange.

life is a joke. always. sometimes we get to laugh along, sometimes the joke's on us and it isn't all that funny. i am the sort of fool who laughs along even when the joke's on me, and it has been that way for a very long time. because when everything around us goes topsy-turvy, laughing is one of the few things that still make sense. so.

its suddenly really dark, and the soft breeze which touches me from time to time is probably just a figment of my imagination. every single day it gets a bit harder to see through this all permeating mist around me.

might be taking a break from life as i've known it, as i've made it out to be for me for a while. a hiatus has been on the cards for quite sometime now, and all i need to figure out during the course of the coming week is the magnitude and the duration of it, the terms and conditions and the small print. i seemed to have hit another roadblock, and till i can get past/over/through it, i think its better to slow down and untie these knots one by one instead of wildly flailing my arms and ending up in a more twisted situation than i am right now. and i, of course, also need to decide on a P.O.A should this roadblock become impassable. its gonna be oh-so-complicated from here onwards.

i can barely see beyond tonight. and definitely can't see beyond this week. i do know something for certain, though. by the time the week is by, i would know whether i've been unknowingly writing on the last page of this diary, or whether there are more blank pages after this. its unwelcome information either way, but is necessary, nevertheless.

waiting with bated breath and an unhealthy cocktail of fatalism/resignation to see how this plays out...

Lost, found and still looking for part II

2010-02-08T18:33:00.005+05:30

as i was saying, in no particular order of preference, i want -
~ a dog
~ a fender squier
~ a dell studio
~ to never have to window shop for books.
~ be a chocolate magnate.
~ a mont-blanc ink pen.
~ to not flunk my exams or get a KT (that should actually have been at the top).
~ chocolates.
~ to be able to sleep late into mornings.
~ to be better at cricket.
~ to be a kid and have tetuler achaar while walking home from school.
~ the complete works of J.R.R Tolkien.
~ to have enough cash to be able to buy F1 (no, i'm NOT talking about racing. those who are supposed to know what i'm alluding to, will know right away).
~ clothes to dry sooner during monsoons.
~ to find time to go swimming on summer mornings.
~ more chocolates.
~ to chat up some random pretty girl, just for the heck of it.
~ to walk along the beach at Pondy and feel the spray against my face.

this list is a bit more...mainstream, shall we say? heh.

lost, found and still looking for...

2010-02-06T22:51:00.003+05:30

most people have a list of what they want from life. some are conscious of the fact, some are not. when i tried to come up with mine, it turned out kind of funny...heh heh heh...judge for yourselves.

i want(in no specific order)-
1. manageable hair.
2. to not ruin my ears irrespective of how much music i listen to.
3. more good books at the library.
4. a tattoo.
5. an irish accent.
6. to be able to rhyme sentences with less difficulty.
7. to keep my weight below 70kg.
8. to grow slightly taller (an inch or so should do).
9. to be able to attempt a question paper...all of it.
10.to not make too many grammatical mistakes.
11.to ride inside Bumblebee.
12.to believe in something that cannot be explained.
13.to sing better.
14.a job.
15.a swanky sports car, preferably a porsche 911 turbo.
16.to be able to play the violin.
17.to attend my favourite bands' gigs.
18.more kurtas.
19.a pair of blackberry trousers.
20.to hold hands with my imaginary friend.
21.to be a kid in school once more.
22.to take long walks in the rain without catching a cold.
23.fewer wars. (please?)
24.to spend more time with the people who mean the most to me.
25.to get locked up inside BCL one night.
26.to visit ireland, japan and germany (in that order of preference).
27.to not go bald later in life, preferably.
28.to be able to say meaningful things without sounding cliched.
29.to be in a kickass band, someday.
30.to sleep.

more would be coming as i think up of them...

~and winter takes leave.

2010-01-28T19:38:00.008+05:30

winter is an odd season in many of ways.... its silent. summer, monsoon, spring, autumn... they're boisterous. winter comes slowly. you hold autumn's hand... and then suddenly its not autumn any more... its winter. autumn is never a season proper out here anyway; though spring is, or at least was till a couple of years ago... anyway, autumn is just a fleeting touch before the the biting wind drives home the point. and then you learn to live with winter all over again, with its mood swings, its beauty and its cruelty....

...and then you wake up one morning and see the sun shining a bit brighter than usual. and the wind bites a little less. the breeze against your face feels nice. and you can hold that elusive patch of sunlight between your fingers once more. slowly, unknowingly, when you were least expecting it, right at that moment when you were looking in the other direction, winter walked away.

i've been noticing winter leave every year for quite sometime now. learnt not to look away this time of the year. always remembered that last touch as winter's hands let go of mine. i never get along well with winter. its the season i like the least. but somehow right before i start rejoicing at the coming of spring, for one tiny moment before winter lets go...when i feel our fingers brush for one last time, i feel an indescribable melancholy inside...which is strange, since no other season makes me feel this way.

wish there would be somebody to explain exactly what this feeling is...

but i know this one thing. if i ever walk away... this is how it'll be. when nobody's expecting it. when everybody is busy looking away. no goodbye is sometimes the best goodbye.

nostalgic bits of randomness

2010-01-25T01:57:00.001+05:30

Have you ever stopped to stare at roadside flowers? run around on dewy grass on early spring mornings? enjoyed the musty smell of frayed pages of old books? smiled back at strangers? Ever felt like walking back home in the rain? stopped whatever you were doing to listen to your favourite song on the radio? become teary eyed during mushy scenes in movies? Ever called up long lost friends for no apparent reason? wanted to believe in something that cannot be explained? ever loved? been loved? ever lain spread eagled on the terrace, counting the wishes amidst the phosphorescent sea of a million stars overhead, wondering whether yours was somewhere among those waves too?

see,i told you you know me..

because....

2009-12-10T23:08:00.006+05:30

things have been going wrong with me for quite a while now...i think right since early 08, and when my purse got pick pocketed in a very crowded metro yesterday evening around 8, i had finally had enough. i somehow got back to kalyani, told my mother the news (who of course wasn't happy, but wasn't half as furious as she deserved to be, either), blocked my ATM card, and then started ruing my loss. i didn't care much for the money which was there (which was quite a lot, incidentally). i was ruing the loss of some items with a rather large amount of sentimental value. they included :
1. my old hdfc atm card. the account is now defunct but i used to hold it jointly with dad.
2. lots of business cards, some from pune, mumbai, chennai and delhi, most irreplaceable.
3. my 2nd year ID card from FC.
4. All of Mother's blessings and quite a few of Sri Aurobindo's messages, which i had received in class XII, and during my two pondy trips.
5. a really tattered piece of paper, in which my friend sarathy had outlined the routemap and the howto for getting to pondy from pune. way back in 05.
6. the original cover of samya's hybrid theory cassette.
7. a torn Rs. 5 note which dates back to class 12, and an incident involving samya and me.

all these had absolutely zero value, monetarily. but they was irreplaceable. there was also my ID card of Kalyani and my BCL card. which now brings us to today's events.

Sometime after 1 in the afternoon today, i get a call from BCL. They ask me whether I have lost my card, and I reply yes, fearing the worst. The news which comes after that surprises me. They say that the card has been found by someone who had then called them up, and would i please contact the person? and they pass on his number. heart quivering, i call the number up. The person who picks up says that he's found my purse on the dumdum railway tracks, and that it had no money in it save a torn 5 rupee note. he adds that i can come down to dumdum station around 4 and collect it. which i did.

nothing but the cash was taken. not even either of my ATM cards, the functional AND the dysfunctional...this was way beyond anything i might have hoped for. i had given the purse up for lost...and all its contents...which included some with real deep ties to my school and college life. but i found it....

which gives me a glimmer of hope. maybe all is not lost. this is one of the few positive things to have happened to me in a long, long time...and maybe i can build on this. keep making my own luck like i used to before.

maybe, just maybe...lets see....

The Calligrapher - Edward Docx

2009-12-10T22:18:00.004+05:30

My letters looked beautiful, no doubt, but writing when you're upset is like writing when you're drunk: it feels great at the time (profound, even) and yet when you read it back in the morning - my God. Even at the most sober of times, words are hardly to be trusted - put two or three of them together and they immediately start revolting, conspiring unintended meanings here, fermenting duplicitous nuances there, and firing off in the wrong directions as and when they please. Of course, what I would really have liked to do was write her something so true, so moving, so elegant, so witty, so insightful, so fin, so direct and so oblique that she could not help but surrender - a poem, perhaps, or a whole cycle entitled 'Songs and Sonnets'. In the end, though, I found that I could not rely on words at all beyond carrying out the most basic tasks. So I settled for three lines - the postscript from my first effort.....

I picked this book up from the British Library in the same manner (and for the same reasons) that i've usually found books and music since class 11...because it looked interesting and i was always ready for experimentation. the book looked alluring (for not just the cover) since it was woven around a collection of poems by John Donne. But it has turned out to be way better than anything I expected from it.

I shall not go into the details of the story. Or the story at all, for that matter. I shall instead focus on how the book goes about seducing (the best word I came across after careful thought) the reader. Spoken from the male protagonist's point of view, the book is witty, candid, thoughtful, dark and heartwarming at the same times. Throughout the narrative, the author keeps on making spot-on observations on life, love, relationships, London, and the universe in general. The storyline is thoughtfully conceived, well woven and flawlessly executed. It never lacks pace, and has its tastefully sprinkled share of twists and turns. and then there is the one which hits you, which would have been the most brilliant climax possible, but the author is still holding something up his sleeve. you (specially if you're well versed with your o'henry and saki) expect it, anticipate it for page after page....and the author carefully sidesteps your efforts to out think him. and then when you're least expexting it. WHAM! the book finishes off with a grand flourish, leaving you gasping for your breath.

i gobbled this book up (ok, that's not new)...and it was some of the most wicked (in a most complimentary sense) storytelling i've seen in quite a while. get it if you can, and read it.

out of _, out of ?

2009-12-08T09:43:00.004+05:30

distance makes the heart grow fonder, they say....
works for me.
but it also makes the heart look elsewhere...seen it happen once too many times...

but there'll always be home, and friends. the wonderwall.
and there'll always be.
the roadside chai shop.
the place at aundh where we used to sit and talk and talk.
riding on bikes.
singing our favourite songs...out of tune.
shared memories, of which each of us have a fragment, carefully stowed away in our hearts.
going for movies together. the whole gang.
getting caught by the traffic police. and begging and haggling thereafter.
forgetting to put the phone on silent in the library. and people staring when it rang.
going to sinhagad, just sitting there and basking in the glory of our friendship...

there are some things which distance can never make us forget.
or fade.
a million miles away, but always right beside us.

for ishaan, kapil, daniel, vibhav, shanky, amit, vedant....

what?

2009-12-06T10:56:00.003+05:30

this is about nothing in particular...
about crushed roses, maybe...
or a song which keeps playing in my head...
a tune which refuses to go away.
scraps of verses written here and there.
a half finished paperback.
a verry old photograph which got me really nostalgic.
going to see a friend off to the station.
coming back through a city of empty roads, halogen lights and unexpected draughts looking for some company.
takes and re-takes while jamming.
things left unsaid.
some said...but too late to make any difference.

wonderwall.

2009-12-06T03:46:00.001+05:30

of friends who make my world go round...

malda and avik - my brothers. my guarding angels. the reason i've made it this far.
prateek and abhilash - my friends through all my troubles and a million memories.
samya and puja - the ones i fight with the most, and the ones who have been there in almost all my favourite photo-freeze moments...
auto, dibbo and bhupen - the ones who have walked the same roads with me for so long, that no memory is complete without them.

daniel and kapil- two people so different and so similar. full of life, and full of quiet.
ishaan (and his bike) - the one who has no clue how important he really is for me. even without his bike.
deepti - the only person who'll never be shocked at anything i say or do. my wonderwall.

once upon very long ago

2009-12-06T01:04:00.005+05:30

photo taken on 6th may, 1994.
class II A.
teacher - aditi miss.
students -
top row (from left) - Arindam Gupta, Supratim Gupta, Souparna, Rohit, Swagata, Uttara, Mainak, Ritabrata.
2nd row - sayantani, pallabi, tania, Debashis, Niloy, Snigdha, Kaushik, Manisha, Sourav K Dhar, unknown, Tanuka.
3rd row - Nilanjana, Samik, Rounak, Shiladitya, Sayantika, Rituparna, Bidyutparna, swarnali, unknown, tanima (?).
Bottom row - Siddharth Sankar, Reetam, Soumabho, Abhishek Karmakar, Arpan, Sayan C, Debashis Pan, Arindam Ganguly.

conversation with a best friend.

2009-12-02T12:12:00.002+05:30

Ishaan : fuck.. Dont you have 1 more yr to finish??
Reetam: results shud be out by august. round the time u return
Ishaan: Return of the King :D
Reetam: riiiite...
Ishaan: ahahahahahah
Reetam: anyway il need people around me to prevent me from hitting the slf destruct button now and again...heh
Ishaan: Tell me bout it..Luckily i have a few friends beside Phirrangs here. otherwise id be a goner..
Reetam: lol...and finally...i think i need a gf...a nice one...dont u dare laugh....
Ishaan: You cant have my girlfriend either!! Il pay for one if you want!!!!!
Reetam: dont want her....
Ishaan: Ahahahahhahahahahahahahhahaha
Reetam: and no, you dont need to pay
Ishaan: Ahahahahhahahahhahahahahhahahahahahhaha
Reetam: il be looking for one for keeps..
Ishaan: Ya thats good man. trust me. Im goin thru it!! :D
Reetam: goin thru what...paying for gfs? :P
Ishaan: I consider myself lucky to have found one!!
FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Reetam: and you almost ditched her too once, remember?
Ishaan: She pays for me OK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!??????
Reetam: WOW!
Ishaan: Ya i do
Reetam: so ur a professional gigolo now? with a single assignment? :P
Ishaan: And you remember the time when were unwell and i forced you to go to Barista
with me just so i could have an excuse to meet her..
Reetam: awww.....cute lover boy....
Ishaan: By pays….i meant for my needs :)
Like food
Reetam: lol. LOL
Ishaan: YOU JACKASS!!
Reetam: ya i get it...you're still so easy to rile up.. :P
Ishaan: Hey i miss this shit man!! Im kinda miserable here..
Reetam: so do i....remember the first time you brought vibhav over to my old room?
it was raining…and we had one umbrella…and we went to mcdee's
Ishaan: Fuck i dont!!
Reetam: and argued abt who'll go and order
Ishaan: FUCK I DONT!!
Reetam: you had that job then...and u used to come and have chai every evening near my place....the kothrud one
the time we 1st went to lonavla. you me and vibhav
Ishaan: Ya i remember
Hehehehe…that was fun!!
Reetam: and u used to read one piece on your friggin mobile
which took a bath in lonavla :P
Ishaan: Naazkashi na..
hahahah ya
Reetam: fuck! i miss those times....
not the mobile bathing bit...the rest
Ishaan: That phone survived so much!!
And the way it got away from me is the WORST!!
I just went to that triangle park to have a sutta
1 simple fuckin sutta and i lose it in my society!!
Ive fuckin dropped it from the 5th floor and still worked..
Reetam: thats how you usually lose stuff...
way you least expect it...trust me
Ishaan: Haha
Speakin of phones im buying the N97
Reetam; FUUUHHKK!
btw im in half a mind to post this conversation on my blog....
Ishaan: I dont mind..
Reetam: not even the gigolo bit?
Ishaan: I would be honoured :p for some reason..
Reetam: it'll be imported into my fb notes...
Ishaan: Especially the gigolo bit!!!!!
:D

beyond.

2009-12-02T10:37:00.003+05:30

i lost a friend yesterday. he got in a bike accident near kothrud on friday...rammed into the divider while trying to avoid a car which had taken a right where there was no right. this is the 2nd such incident to happen in 2 years. last time i was there in pune, battling the worst of my demons....so it passed in a haze of stupor...kinda. this time i was in kol, at home, mostly jobless, so the news, when it finally came yesterday evening, hit me rather hard. since then i've been having the weird depressing thoughts that are so me.
the worst bit came when i was returning home yesterday by the metro. it was quarter to ten, and i was there on the platform with my back against those pillars, facing the tracks...and as the light from the train fell onto the tracks in front of me, i got this very odd thought....i was literally 3 steps away from death. that was the distance between me and the wheels...and for one (later scary) moment, i wondered about the possibilities of walking those three steps....but sense prevailed, thankfully. then when i was on the train, this song started playing on my mp3 player (which was on shuffle, for a change) - switchfoot's dare you to move...its a song which has meant so many things to me so many times...and this time too...it just blew my top...i kept on hearing the song again and again right till when the train entered garia....and the song which came on next was even more prophetic under the circumstances....good charlotte's the young and the hopeless...these are the situations which make me look up with a raised eyebrow, say 'riiiight'...and wonder whether there's someone up there smirking at me right now....heh.
i'l miss nikhil...terribly...another strand tying me to pune snapped...but its made me realise what's important once more...for a tiny moment of extreme clarity, i knew what really matters...its lost again now, but somewhere deep down inside, it still echoes...i just have to look hard enough...

2009-11-28T19:46:00.008+05:30

this post shall have three bits. the lighthearted bit, the introspective bit, and the obscure bit.

part one : where my life stands.

i have exams which i might bungle again (okay, this is getting repetitive), my friends leave one by one for their jobs, emptying the city of the young, the restless, the bros, and a large section of wierdos (in quality, if not quantity). all the while as the friend who promised me financial support till get a job teetering on the edge of educational bankruptcy (if there is such a word). there are bandhs all the while (read reasons for getting a holiday from univ) and there's my delicate practical attendance. there are feelings of jealousy i never knew existed, and there are bleeding fingers and the sheer joy of being able to play my favourite songs on the guitar. there are bits of life definitely looking up and bits wondering which way up was again. the most interesting of still lifes are noticeable amidst incessant flux. and there's my deliberate attempt to cut down on the usage of long pompous words.
there's one of my favourite series possibly in its final season (HIMYM) and there's another due to start the final season in a few months (Lost). there's another killer movie with a killer guest appearance by simon pegg, and there's the cold...brr...but i'm still bathing every day, in cold water...and i intend to keep it that way...hehe.

part 2 : how my life stands.

people walk in, walk by, walk past...walk out at times. i usually am a mute spectator. sometimes i make half hearted attempts to raise my hand or speak the words which might make a difference, but i rarely do so. optimism and fatalism weave patterns in and out of my life, and my guitar gets de-tuned once too many. people ask me questions i do not have answers to, i have questions i keep locked away. still, guess things could have been so much worse. there still are enough people smiling around me, and enough reasons to smile myself. my singing gets less and less crappier, and i've made peace

where my life stands.

2009-11-28T19:46:00.007+05:30

this post shall have three bits. the lighthearted bit, the introspective bit, and the obscure bit.

part 1 : where my life stands.

i have exams which i might bungle again (okay, this is getting repetitive), my friends leave one by one for their jobs, emptying the city of the young, the restless, the bros, and a large section of wierdos (in quality, if not quantity). all the while as the friend who promised me financial support till i get a job teetering on the edge of educational bankruptcy (if there is such a word). there are bandhs all the while (read reasons for getting a holiday from univ) and there's my delicate practical attendance. there are feelings of jealousy i never knew existed, and there are bleeding fingers and the sheer joy of being able to play my favourite songs on the guitar. there are bits of life definitely looking up and bits wondering which way up was again. the most interesting of still lifes are noticeable amidst incessant flux. and there's my deliberate attempt to cut down on the usage of long pompous words. there's one of my favourite series possibly in its final season (HIMYM) and there's another due to start the final season in a few months (Lost). there's another killer movie with a killer guest appearance by simon pegg, and there's the cold...brr...but i'm still bathing every day, in cold water...and i intend to keep it that way...hehe.

part 2 : where my life stands.

people walk in, walk by, walk past...walk out at times. i usually am a mute spectator. sometimes i make half hearted attempts to raise my hand or speak the words which might make a difference, but i rarely do so. optimism and fatalism weave patterns in and out of my life, and my guitar gets de-tuned once too often. people ask me questions i do not have answers to, i have questions i keep locked away. still, guess things could have been so much worse. there still are enough people smiling around me, and enough reasons to smile myself. my singing gets less and less crappier, and i've made peace with people, life, and myself. well, most of the time...but this ferris wheel has started to spin faster and faster....

part ? : where my life stands.

i hope there is no almost by the end of the year.
i long for the feel of the sunlight between my fingers.
okay...the above 2 lines are not part of a poem. its just luck they kinda rhyme.
silence does have a sound...more so in music.
minor chords can be used to convey smiles. and major chords for the wistful smile. its just how you want it to be.
if i hold out my hand, sooner or later i will be able to feel the wind against my fingers....i believe that.
faith can be such a fickle minded word at times.
time draws near...

the song without a chorus

2009-11-28T19:35:00.003+05:30

so many smiles,
so many faces,
so many lives
leave their traces.

so many nods,
so many tears,
so many feelings
over the years.

the fingers that softly
touched your cheek;
the voice you wanted
to hear all week.

those little things
that mattered a lot,
they never go away,
or so i thought.

so close, so far,
a heartbeat away;
to and fro thoughts
all night all day.

hands that push away
in both directions;
redundant feelings that
were your world once.

'tis a lonely song
that only sings alone,
like a dead letter,
or a ringing phone.

so me and my guitar
wait for a chorus;
for one more rainbow,
a silver lining for us...

HELP!

2009-11-25T12:20:00.003+05:30

i.have.exams.
the above statement is a fact.

i.need.to.study.
the above statement is a conjecture.

or, actually, fact. i'm very close to a repeat telecast of last sem's disastrous result. disastrous used here as a gross understatement.
i'm one of those people who're come pre-equipped with a panic button. all these years, i've happily put away studying as long as possible. then when exams would be appropriately near, the panic button would get activated automatically and i'l start having nightmares about flunking, which would then propel me towards books.

but i think this panic button has a shelf life. i'm becoming surer by the day that it's acting up.

when i was in school, the panic button usually activated roughly 3 weeks before my exams.
by the time i waqs in 3rd year of college, that time had reduced to a week.
1st sem of my msc, that had come down to 2 days.
2nd sem and it didnt activate till i had the question paper in hand and actually blanked out.....

that was when i figured out something was very, very wrong.
so i've managed to temporarily fix it for the next 3 sems. but its coming apart again. 5 weeks left and i ain't half as scared as i ought to be. which equates to next to no studying. that's bad, right?

so, as i said earlier......HELP!!

Thoughts of rain...

2009-10-17T13:31:00.004+05:30

What would one say of a singer-songwriter who died at 26, having released only 3 albums which received next to none commercial success, a victim of depression all his life? We know our Dylan and our Gilmore and our Parker, but Nick Drake was not just a musician, he was a poet......a poet of words and of notes. He isn't loud, he doesn't demand your attention. His songs form images in your mind, of all that he sings and of all that he does not...of spring and autumn, of leaves and lakes, of rain and sand....of all the things we seem to forget about whilst we live our conveyor belt lives.

You don't just listen to his music, you feel it with all your senses, and at times with senses you didn't think you possessed. He looks for the profound in the mundane. His every note is filled with so much emotion it cannot fail to touch you.

Turn off the lights. Listen to pink moon, or river man, or road, or black eyed dog, or thoughts of rain...go take a walk, or sit on the terrace and gaze at the stars, soak in his music...You won't forget that feeling...ever...

Music has had better heralds, better musicians, better lyricists, better storytellers...Nick Drake might or might not be one of them...only time will tell. He is one of those rare musicians who bares his soul through six strings and his fragile voice and draws us into his world.....

You can say the sun is shining if you really want to
I can see the moon and it seems so clear
You can take the road that takes you to the stars now
I can take a road that'll see me through
I can take a road that'll see me through...

memories in motion III - Aila re

2009-10-17T10:27:00.004+05:30

the afternoon that Aila struck, we were in college. it was a monday, and they let us off right after the break. pointless, since it was already raining heavily by then, and trains had stopped running. there was no way out of kalyani....
i was the first one to dare the 15min walk back to our outhouse. i wore my bag like a kevlar vest since the rain was lashing (yes, i mean it very literally) from behind. i managed to open my umbrella (possible for the aforesaid reason), not to protect myself from the rain, that would be impossible, but from missiles flying around in the wind. the normally 15 min walk took almost 30 mins. i was being constantly shoved from behind by the wind and the rain, and every time i would see a bike or a van approaching, i would hastily come off the road, scared that a strong gust might throw it at me. progress was excruciatingly slow. the videos i took are pretty bad, since everything around was a blur. luckily i reached my room unscathed, with more or less everything in my bag dry, including my mp3 player and my cell.

memories in motion II - the menthos experiment shiver shudder shiver

2009-10-17T10:19:00.006+05:30

during my last month in pune i met vedant when he'd come on holiday. amit, ishaan and he came over at my place....we were on the terrace and decided to conduct the menthos experiment.
step 1 : take bottle of cold drinks
improvisation - since we were not sure how intense the reaction would be, we reduced the level a little from the 500ml thums up bottle we had, a sip per person.

step 2 : take menthos and literally shove it down the bottle's throat.
tidbit - ishaan, dyslexic as he is, took a lot of time in placing them on the palm of his hand properly. even then i think a couple of em fell off.

step 3: enjoy as shown below.

end result, in ishaan's words....the fizz is fucked....
cheers to that.

memories in motion I - school friends through the viewfinder

2009-10-17T10:07:00.005+05:30

this is over a year old...sometime in june last year, probably....auto, bhupen and samya came over to play CS at my place...i had got the switch from pune (was on my last ever 'holiday' then)....we hooked up my lappy, my brother's, auto's and sam's. though i am obviously the worst player of the 4, i must have been in luck that evening. when sam teamed up with me initially, we won. when auto and i teamed up later for a GG (garia guys) vs BB(bansdroni boys) showdown, we won again....heh. this is just us setting stuff up.

we'd gone to play football at benricke, and dibya made a befitting entry...seriously, we've known him since class 4 and he still cracks us up...

this is an instructional video as to why you should wear atleast 3 levels of clothing over your undies. sorry about the quality of the video.

2009-10-16T23:37:00.005+05:30

i keep forgetting about these.....result of an extended jammin session...sam, me and riddhe da...we played all nite and then all morning...

about a phone call (for lack of a better topic)

2009-10-11T08:42:00.004+05:30

vandy, my friend in pune, is getting married next february. much to the surprise of some, but, somehow, not to me, it will be an arranged marriage. she'd called me up yesterday night to invite me. i've asked for an engraved invitation card before i consider going. both of us know i'm just playing around. i won't miss something like this for the world. heh.
once our 18min conversation got over, i spent the better part of the next hour reminiscing (ruminating?) over my pune days, specially the 1st 2 years which can be summed up with one word....F1. Our lives back then were totally inseparable from that house...its airy, large ceilinged rooms, quentin's comp upstairs, the room below the stairs where rahul had his den, the backyard where we played frisbee, cricket, football....
WE, in my previous sentence, comprises so many people, in and out, that its mind boggling....harsha and sarathy, quentin, aaruna and sallu, zaheer(for a little while), rahul and abhay, harsh, kavish, prerana, vandana (vandy) and vandana, kavita, geetali, rohan et al., payal, pranjal (one night), me (more nights/days than i'd care to name), sunny, manish, tanu and anu....the original pune anime people...vedant, ishaan, amit, dan, shanky, kapil, sheetal, deepti...then there was siby and aarti (one a cousin, another the sister of harsha), and kamalika and satpal (the reds maniac)....the list can go on endlessly...this is just me scratching the surface.
that was a time of high morals and carefree living...we laughed, cried, ate, slept, lived, died, played, fought, sang...all together....life seemed so simple....
classes...and bunking classes...basketball court, long walks, congress bhavan, noodles and pasta (we were frequently broke)...open space and ice golas, fc road and fc hill, dorabjee...all fragments of colourful pictures, or smells, or tastes, or just indescribable feelings...they are still so real, just beyond a closed eyelid or at my fingertips, they aren't just feelings...they are something much, much more....the world moves on, life moves on...we've moved on, gone our ways and liveing our lives, but i'm sure everybody still remembers F1 much more than i do, and probably more than me...it defined us...those years will forever be an anchor in our lives from now on, where we'll look back to at the unlikeliest moments and wish we could walk in those rooms again and hear the echo of our own laughter and live that life again....

i suddenly miss pune like i've never missed the city before....

Thoughts as i stood on the Crossroads to Nowhere

2009-01-26T21:18:00.010+05:30

following the footsteps
of the great idiot;
painting onto the canvas
of forgotten dreams,
with colors you can see
only with your eyes closed.
learning to perform miracles;
practising, believing,
until they are easier than breathing.
laughing the clouds
off the face of the sun,
and crying the rain down
to wash away a broken, battered heart.
wanting to be for just a day
a flower;
or maybe a drop of water in a calm pond.
killing time, waiting for something
to happen. the phone to ring, maybe.
smiling at nobody for no reason
in particular; and seeing an expersated face
across the looking glass.
living life in slow-motion-turbulence.
we are all but mannequins on a stage,
the backdrop for a great play
for a yet invisible audience
(whose sense of humour intrigues me).
you're most cordially invited.
your laughter and tears shall suffice
as the price.....

Yume no Tsubasa

2009-01-26T21:13:00.005+05:30

what colour are my dreams?
red, blue, green or black?
are they real or just streams
of cotton fluff lying around?

should i try and touch
them? i dunno what will happen.
honestly,i really don't know much
about all this dreams and stuff.

i supposedly am real.
whatever that means.
its only that sometimes i feel
my dreams are more alive than i am.

i woke up in the middle of the night
to find dreams floating over my head.
wispy, slight, translucent, bright,
a kaleidoscope of shapes and hues.

the only thing i wanna know,
...are they a part of me?
and what happens if i let go
of them? do i fade away too?

can i please see your dreams, too?

E-minor

2009-01-26T21:07:00.005+05:30

i play a tune...
of wide open skies
with cotton clouds and clear,
of my family and friends
and all that i hold dear.

i sing a song...
of chilly winter evenings
when sentences turn misty;
spent with hot chocolate
and books, old and dusty.

i hum along...
to life on a conveyer belt,
and unless we stop to stare
at what's all around us,
we'll never know who we are.

5570

2009-01-23T11:20:00.001+05:30

we sit for hours facing each other,
you and i; companions inseparable,
and anybody who would bother
to look at us would say we're in love.
worlds apart; yet made for one another.

i love to have you right beside me,
hold your hand while we share
a million adventures; would i be
insane if i wanted you to stay
with me for ever after, my dear lappy?

ANGEL

2009-01-23T11:18:00.001+05:30

So let it rain now,
the colours of the sky,
whle i look up and ask
you how when where and why.

and then let the world come
crashing down;while you and i
stil hold hands and look on
into each others' eyes and smile.

and if we let ourselves step
right out of the map and fly,
we'll go to lands beyond the horizon;
careless, carefree, as days go by.

and then lets walk on oceans
as far as our eyes can see,
for i've waited for you snce
when you first painted a question for me.

and still i look to you at times
and wonder whether you are real.
wishing myself to build the courage,
to hold you back and tell you how i feel.

for i know the time will come,
when you'll spread your petal wings,
and even as i fail to tell you to stay,
fly way to a sky of forgoten dreams...

We lost the skyline....

2008-12-04T21:15:00.005+05:30

its been years since i started painting questions across the skyline
on my way back from school;
walking dusty afternoon roads or cold, unwelcome landscapes
with only my imaginary friend to guide the way.
strumming my guitar
while living life in E-minor.
For a long time i've just been a numeral in a crowd;
strolling through forums on different timezones
exchanging pleasantries with smiling avatars,
very few of whom have faces beneath their masks...
most have just more masks.
been arriving somewhere for ages now,
somewhere which is definitely not here.
how can i be sure i'm here in the first place?
the fear of a blank planet seems to have put more stupid dreams in my head...
of stars in the country, summer, and her...
the sky's been moving sideways since then...

MAGNETS AND MIRACLES (Part I)

2008-10-01T23:31:00.001+05:30

Dear friends and admirers
today i plan to write a song
it will be a song
to which the world can sing along.
what would it be about, ask you.
what do you want it to be about ask i.
for it can be about a lot of things.

it could be about the world.
about steamy roads after it rains
on a hot summer day.
of walking barefoot on dewy fields
and of the sweet smell of grass in the mornings.
of watching the sun rise from my bedside.
of swimming in the lake
with slow, lazy strokes.
and of looking at the hazy world
out of the train window
amidst incessant rain.
let me also pen
the laughter of the sun;
and the soft smile of the moon
and the stars.
of rolling meadows and cloudy mountains.
of hailstorms in March
and the creamy dusk of holi.
of flowers inside folded pages
which smell of summer
And the slightly scented breeze
that heralds the coming of pujo.
of the butterflies in my grandma's garden
and the grasshoppers in the lake right next to it.
singing with the birds
and of dancing with the wind.
of the sunshine on my neck
and the whisper of the leaves.

and what of us who people this world?
i could write about the stories
that are etched into each line
on the forehead of the beggar
i pass on the street everyday.
Or the strangers who smile back at me,
only coz we board the same compartment.
let me also tell you about smiles,
of laughter like the breeze in spring;
and of eyes which say a million words
with just a glance.
and of small gestures which underline
bonds beneath the seemingly disconnected
lives we seem to lead.
Of the dying and the homeless,
and shootings in schools.
Of words like freedom and love,
and dreams like freedom and love,
and hopes like freedom and love....
I can also write
words of a monsoon windowsill.
of football in the rain,
and walking back, drenched to the bone.
and the sugary tea
that the chai-wallah at Bansdroni
serves us every weekend.
and of old train tickets
and coffee stains on the carpet.
of faded family photos
and crushed jeans and old books
with dog's ears; of cassettes
lying in my cupboard.
love letters that never got sent.
and dad's favourite pen...

this is going to be a song
a very special song
to which the world can sing along.
so i should write about a lot of things,
but i'm lost for words to pen.
so I think i'll write
about incomplete smiles and.....

Things I shal miss about Pune

2008-07-08T18:46:00.003+05:30

Fudge in chocolate sauce
kapil, ishaan and daniel
otherwise known as
dark element, shadow and dan midou
deepti sheetal and vandana
otherwise known as
accident girl, chainsaw girl and topper girl
walks on FC road at 2AM
pan tapris and black pulsars
R1, M16 and the kimaya
walking on the streets of camp
with a destination nowhere
F1, home to the wildest and weirdest gang in pune
witness to
booze parties, weed parties, and parties
witness to
football past midnight, frisbee and cricket
witness to
jazz, blues, punk, metal and pop
witness to
tales i couldn't finish telling in a lifetime
long rides
trips to sinhagad,just to sit on the hillside
discuss books, anime,music and movies over snacks
in short
contemplate the nature of the universe
throwing rules out of the window
total disrespect to routine
sleeping all day and partying all night
being known as the earphones dude
and the laptop guy
airtel friendz2
and talking for hours unending
savera, vaishali, good luck cafe
george, blue nile and sarjaa
cookies with coffee
sitting in the aisles of british library
and reading till the closing bell rings
secret trips to pondy and kolkata
the glorious feeling of homecoming
climbing fergusson hill
and climbing back down in the rain
experimenting with cooking
and unpleasant repercussions thereafter
three years spent in three different ways
being three different people
you know, stuff...
life....

words from a monsoon windowsill...

2008-06-05T10:41:00.002+05:30

Auto came over yesterday evening with his laptop. after a reasonably competitive stint with CS, i unwittingly moved on to fifa 2007. what i had forgotten was that the last time i had been playing it, over a year back, i had left real madrid in a very experimental formation. the 2 real vs barca matches for us thus ended in utterly humiliating scorelines of 1-6 and 1-friggin-9. I've been practising, and i cant wait till he comes down today. Bitan was supposed to come at 5 for taking music. he calls me at 5 past..."reetam, bujhli to, ghumiye porechhilam. aami berochchhi 5 minitey." he finally reached at 6. the next hour went in discussing Bitan's (entirely fictional) sexual escapades, led on by auto and complemented by yours faithfully. anyway, i shall leave out the grisly details.

Abhilash calls me today morning, saying that he possibly wont be able to come over in the morning. i told him that since he looks like a goon in any case, all he needs to do is start marching while shouting slogans like "jonotar shonge ikir-mikir-chaam-chikir khela cholbe na cholbe na". no one will stop him. but since he looks like a didi devotee as well, he should wear red for today's outing. tomorrow it wont be a problem in any case. heh.

1. why cant all parties call the bandh together? why waste 2 days of my precious time? WHY?
2. since today's and tomorrow's WBUT exams have been cancelled, it means malu shall not be leaving on the 18th. it alse means, possibly, that samya, sayan, dibbo et al won't be able to come down after the 13th. *SIGH*.

Face/off: flushed away vs. ratatouille

2008-05-29T10:27:00.004+05:30

Rats! i saw both these rodent movies within weeks of each other. Flushed away made the cut first owing to sheer curiosity on my part. ratatouielle a while later on a lazy kolkata afternoon. as for what the movies had to offer....

ratatouielle:
1. pixar animation. as brilliant as always.
2. an unorthodox plot. i mean, rat chefs? come on....
3. brilliant performances from a relatively unknown cast.
4. an academy award.

flushed away:
1. animated by the makers of wallace and gromit. its got that otherworldly charm...
2. brilliant, brilliant acting, from a brilliant, brilliant cast. hugh jackman, kate winslet, andy serkis, jean reno and ian mcKellen do excellent jobs. the last two were cut out for the roles they played in the movie. ian mcKellen as the head of the rat mafia. and he's a TOAD. and jean reno. part poirot (a rather large part), heads his own group of ninja frogs, who are adept at things like singing, dancing and mime-acting. charming.
3. fast paced and has humour which, to my knowledge, only the british are capable of. add to that dashes of french subtlety and we have a laugh riot. honestly.

both movies are brilliant in their own sense. flushed away is more humanoid, yet have humans in only the first scene or so. then its all rats. ratatouielle has humans and rats coexisitng, and while the rat does manage to communicate with the humans, the two species, as dictates logic, are incapable of conversing with each other.

i loved both movies. but if i do have to take a pick, i'd go with flushed away. though imdb gives ratatouielle a higher rating, flushed away was able to charm me more. probably due to the british-ness of the movie and its contrast with the french. its fun.

watch both.

some haiku

2008-05-22T02:54:00.000+05:30

incomplete smiles
trying to reach my eyes
failing to decieve.

another day gone
another wasted winter
looking back, for you...

recap#1..end april

2008-05-11T01:43:00.001+05:30

my friend gorai and i decided we would diligently attend every movie at the european film festival. in reality, me and him spent the first day checking out chicks and using the restroom, RESPECTIVELY. i mean, not ALL the time, but there's only so much interest you can show towards the FTII staff trying their best at speaking english during the welcoming ceremony, with varying degrees of failure, i daresay. at least i could listen to my player. no nick drake, though. only metal could make itself heard over the din in the auditorium. and if I've ever seen aatels, that was at the FTII. fake hippies, fake semi-punks-semi-nothings-almost-eunuchs. And a variety of other sad excuses for humanity, mostly FTII students in this case, all trying to stand out of the crowd, but due to their glaringly obvious attempts at it, becoming the crowd. DUH. seriously, and people call us bongs aatel.
the only good thing about the opening ceremony was probably mohan agashe. sharp, witty, twinkling eyes and brilliantly veiled sracasm....it was very plain why laalmohan babu's cup had started shaking while taking tea when faced with agashe.
gorai insisted on using the restroom everyday. i know it didn't stink and was rather clean, but still, it was a bit too much. but the movies, thankfully, were worth their weight in gold. and since gorai, in exchange of the passes i had procured took me to ftii and saw me back to my mess the whole week made the whole thing worth it. he leaves pune in maybe a few more weeks. this probably sounds mushy but i'l probably miss him after a while,....