The color of verses, the color of curses
The color that's believed to bind universes
The color makes you wonder, the color makes you wander
The color on your parting sure makes you thunder.
The elliptic eyes, and the secret vice
The bonnetted stories up the hill sure sound nice
The chants go all around, the falling pieces are abound
The beauty of the nature or it's you to have me spellbound?
The right's long gone, the ritual's long past
The left has gone hard way and the highway's gone fast
The driver's changed seats, or the marks are forgotten,
I bet the color's brown still, and pink when smitten.
The store rests is pieces forever, the story's put to rest
The memories that tricked down can stay safe in the chest
For the key maybe valid still, but what use's the key?
The first took it own course, let the rest be.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Breaching Boundaries...
So what if I can't blow a whistle when I see you're drying your hair
So what if I can't sing like McCartney out of despair
So what if I can't built a Taj for a memoir
We still can hold each other from the world's be.
So what if we can't feel each other
So what if all we connect is not real
So what if real is not real anymore
Who draws the line, and who decides it there?
So what if I can't carry you in my arms
So what if we can't share sundaes in barns
So what if we can't fight with those alarms
Who rings the bell and who hears it anyway?
So what if there're still work to be done
So what if there're margins to erase
So what if the plum's never tasted..
Who told love had had to be realized?
So what if I can't sing like McCartney out of despair
So what if I can't built a Taj for a memoir
We still can hold each other from the world's be.
So what if we can't feel each other
So what if all we connect is not real
So what if real is not real anymore
Who draws the line, and who decides it there?
So what if I can't carry you in my arms
So what if we can't share sundaes in barns
So what if we can't fight with those alarms
Who rings the bell and who hears it anyway?
So what if there're still work to be done
So what if there're margins to erase
So what if the plum's never tasted..
Who told love had had to be realized?
Friday, July 16, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Synchronicity- POLICE
It's an excerpt from the album Synchronicity by the Police.. the band. Mostly the lyrics are by Sting, and some really hit me hard. Thought of storing them in the webspace.
All our greatest killers were industrious
At least the ones we all know by name
For it's murder by numbers 1 2 3
It's as easy to learn as your ABC.
If we share this nightmare
Then we can dream
Spiritus Mundi
A star fall, a phone call
It joins all, Synchronicity
If we explode the atom bomb
would they say that we were dumb?
They say the meek shall inherit the earth...
We want our tea in the Sahara with you...
All our greatest killers were industrious
At least the ones we all know by name
For it's murder by numbers 1 2 3
It's as easy to learn as your ABC.
If we share this nightmare
Then we can dream
Spiritus Mundi
A star fall, a phone call
It joins all, Synchronicity
If we explode the atom bomb
would they say that we were dumb?
They say the meek shall inherit the earth...
We want our tea in the Sahara with you...
Thursday, June 17, 2010
About Time
When there’s little room to open your wings
No matter how strong the air pushes you up
The wings at most flutter by itself
Knowing well flipping sides won’t help.
And when there’s no room for flexing muscles,
In the closed space of suffocated breathlessness
What’s the use of all the barbells you pump
For the very fabric is unable to bear the stress?
When you feel like you’ve been trimmed off your spirit
Your effervescence, your zeal, your very soul
When you know your waves will go uncaught,
Would you honestly spare a thought?
That is when sparks do fly
Not for the concrete conglomerate, but the humble and shy
For what’s yours, what’s own, is what you conceived,
Like a baby, parenthood succeeds all and sundry.
No matter how strong the air pushes you up
The wings at most flutter by itself
Knowing well flipping sides won’t help.
And when there’s no room for flexing muscles,
In the closed space of suffocated breathlessness
What’s the use of all the barbells you pump
For the very fabric is unable to bear the stress?
When you feel like you’ve been trimmed off your spirit
Your effervescence, your zeal, your very soul
When you know your waves will go uncaught,
Would you honestly spare a thought?
That is when sparks do fly
Not for the concrete conglomerate, but the humble and shy
For what’s yours, what’s own, is what you conceived,
Like a baby, parenthood succeeds all and sundry.
Monday, June 14, 2010
'To My Lovely'
Don’t come so close to me
That I can smell your perfume,
So close that I can see through your anemic skin,
I smell your perfume that has mixed up with the sweat and sunburns.
The tans and the waxed legs that you were ever so proud of,
Don’t come so close so I can’t feel you anymore.
Stay afar, on the other side of the bank.
Sit idle under the grand banyan tree maybe, or by
the stairwell where the village women would come in the evening
over their watery fights. Read, keep reading the book of longing,
and long to belong in the beholder’s arms. Shed a tear for the man
you’ve never seen, but don’t come close that I can touch you.
For there has been too many bloodshed on this side of the river,
Opulence cut the throat of sovereignty long back, where freedom was once
fed, is now the battleground for hostility, and the fear of death. For you,
‘to my lovely’, should stay far, curling strands of your highlighted hair,
for the blood that was lost, and the revenge that was avenged, stand
testimony to the love repossessed.
That I can smell your perfume,
So close that I can see through your anemic skin,
I smell your perfume that has mixed up with the sweat and sunburns.
The tans and the waxed legs that you were ever so proud of,
Don’t come so close so I can’t feel you anymore.
Stay afar, on the other side of the bank.
Sit idle under the grand banyan tree maybe, or by
the stairwell where the village women would come in the evening
over their watery fights. Read, keep reading the book of longing,
and long to belong in the beholder’s arms. Shed a tear for the man
you’ve never seen, but don’t come close that I can touch you.
For there has been too many bloodshed on this side of the river,
Opulence cut the throat of sovereignty long back, where freedom was once
fed, is now the battleground for hostility, and the fear of death. For you,
‘to my lovely’, should stay far, curling strands of your highlighted hair,
for the blood that was lost, and the revenge that was avenged, stand
testimony to the love repossessed.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Distant Dreams
The birds that flew across the bridge
and swans who swam across the sea
Never knew what they were doing unknown
To make the unseen harbours see.
There were trees who drank the same water
and breathed around the same moist air
and grew on the same land, same oxidants
fed same robins to sing the same prayer.
Still they never met, never they knew
How the other wipes their tears off
How the other makes faces when angry
and throws tantrums when in grief or shock.
For who lends the shoulder when one cries
and who pats the back when achieves one
and who is scared of which demons
and who soothes their sleepy morn's.
Because what matters in a shiny day
is maybe the joke that's played along
But one who gives a lift in a rainy night
is the one for whom the feeling's strong.
The harbours had the same ships running,
and the same songs of the kayak-drives
But in order to come to real terms,
they had to do more than daily rhymes.
For they both dreamt of a day ahead
when the sun will shine and children play
and swear on the tears that they might shed
that together they'll make, what they say.
and swans who swam across the sea
Never knew what they were doing unknown
To make the unseen harbours see.
There were trees who drank the same water
and breathed around the same moist air
and grew on the same land, same oxidants
fed same robins to sing the same prayer.
Still they never met, never they knew
How the other wipes their tears off
How the other makes faces when angry
and throws tantrums when in grief or shock.
For who lends the shoulder when one cries
and who pats the back when achieves one
and who is scared of which demons
and who soothes their sleepy morn's.
Because what matters in a shiny day
is maybe the joke that's played along
But one who gives a lift in a rainy night
is the one for whom the feeling's strong.
The harbours had the same ships running,
and the same songs of the kayak-drives
But in order to come to real terms,
they had to do more than daily rhymes.
For they both dreamt of a day ahead
when the sun will shine and children play
and swear on the tears that they might shed
that together they'll make, what they say.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Madly Bangalee
There were dreams in the world we used to live in,
there were green mangoes to steal
There were hidden books of rotten literature,
under the big fat Daniel Steel.
We heard Pink Floyd where we got high
and Scorpions when we laid low,
We heard John Denver on our way back home,
and read Shelly when we missed home.
We had Tagore's lines rote in mind
to use when a friend was cheated
We had Sukumar Ray to make people laugh
when trysts of life were met.
We knew enough chords for a rainy day
and more jazz music to dance
We knew poems of Nazrul when blood fumed
after a Rand De Basati trance.
We knew and defined the meaning of friendship
and never left the hand we held,
My Bangalee roots stemmed myself
to become this perfect blend.
there were green mangoes to steal
There were hidden books of rotten literature,
under the big fat Daniel Steel.
We heard Pink Floyd where we got high
and Scorpions when we laid low,
We heard John Denver on our way back home,
and read Shelly when we missed home.
We had Tagore's lines rote in mind
to use when a friend was cheated
We had Sukumar Ray to make people laugh
when trysts of life were met.
We knew enough chords for a rainy day
and more jazz music to dance
We knew poems of Nazrul when blood fumed
after a Rand De Basati trance.
We knew and defined the meaning of friendship
and never left the hand we held,
My Bangalee roots stemmed myself
to become this perfect blend.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Passing Phase
He was alone when she walked by
silent breeze on the passer by
Like it blows him off his feet
from where he stood on the street.
The wonderland awaits, or so he thought
For the umpteen romances he has sought
Taught him to dream and not loose hope
and reach a high can take no dope.
They held hands, they took showers
they talked about buds blooming to flowers.
They lied beneath the martian sky
where only angels are allowed to fly.
She thought the time was way too fine
The knight is here and his armour to shine
He thought if not the mermaid be
Together they can make a perfect We.
If they only knew the rules of the Saturn
Permanent at best, can only be a pattern
For change is the new law of life
It touches like a feather, but cuts like a knife.
silent breeze on the passer by
Like it blows him off his feet
from where he stood on the street.
The wonderland awaits, or so he thought
For the umpteen romances he has sought
Taught him to dream and not loose hope
and reach a high can take no dope.
They held hands, they took showers
they talked about buds blooming to flowers.
They lied beneath the martian sky
where only angels are allowed to fly.
She thought the time was way too fine
The knight is here and his armour to shine
He thought if not the mermaid be
Together they can make a perfect We.
If they only knew the rules of the Saturn
Permanent at best, can only be a pattern
For change is the new law of life
It touches like a feather, but cuts like a knife.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Footsie
It was a known ground
and the rules acknowledged
It was a known battle,
the enemy only changed.
We were both trying hard
to fit the shoes we didn't try
The shoes maybe worn before
maybe strewn, sworn by.
We didn't know what to do,
but we knew what to not
We traded along on the line
of letting in and letting out.
The message was loud and clear,
The tone had to be delicate, though
For there's no fun in playing
footsie with stockings on.
Apprehensions were part-life
rest were.. hope and pray
To play the known game with new opponents
is always a grass- tad bit gray.
and the rules acknowledged
It was a known battle,
the enemy only changed.
We were both trying hard
to fit the shoes we didn't try
The shoes maybe worn before
maybe strewn, sworn by.
We didn't know what to do,
but we knew what to not
We traded along on the line
of letting in and letting out.
The message was loud and clear,
The tone had to be delicate, though
For there's no fun in playing
footsie with stockings on.
Apprehensions were part-life
rest were.. hope and pray
To play the known game with new opponents
is always a grass- tad bit gray.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Snow Pastel
Chunks of snow pelting from the top
But humbly wets the roads when touching the earth
Flurries hurrying like running out on schedule
Slippery sidewalks prepare for the slush.
Thirty minutes of pure ecstasy,
White pieces of joy pasted on us
High-rises look hazy through the rain
Horizon seems to a Grey hairline.
We could smell it, it marked us with chalks
Caught us off the guard after the eighteen degree mark
Parting kisses that the winter blew us
Only the romantic will know the reason why.
No sunshine today, no windchill to hide from.
No ear-cups are around so the wind touches the skull.
I've got warmth in my pocket from last night
Will walk through the ice and alabaster light.
But humbly wets the roads when touching the earth
Flurries hurrying like running out on schedule
Slippery sidewalks prepare for the slush.
Thirty minutes of pure ecstasy,
White pieces of joy pasted on us
High-rises look hazy through the rain
Horizon seems to a Grey hairline.
We could smell it, it marked us with chalks
Caught us off the guard after the eighteen degree mark
Parting kisses that the winter blew us
Only the romantic will know the reason why.
No sunshine today, no windchill to hide from.
No ear-cups are around so the wind touches the skull.
I've got warmth in my pocket from last night
Will walk through the ice and alabaster light.
Monday, March 22, 2010
My sunshine.
Wrap me around like a warm towel, like kid out of bathtub.
Warm me like the hot-water pipe that runs in the chilly downtown.
Like a mother's hug, like a brother's pat,
Like a yellow spread-out cricket field in some northern county..
(When the ball came looping from high in the sky,
the fielder closed eyes because the Sun was too bright.)
Like a quilt you get in stale air conditioned hotel,
Saturate, warmify or sepia our lives.
Like a father's hug when the son scores a mark,
Warm me like the hot-water pipe that runs in the chilly downtown.
Like a mother's hug, like a brother's pat,
Like a yellow spread-out cricket field in some northern county..
(When the ball came looping from high in the sky,
the fielder closed eyes because the Sun was too bright.)
Like a quilt you get in stale air conditioned hotel,
Saturate, warmify or sepia our lives.
Like a father's hug when the son scores a mark,
Shine on you crazy diamond... light up thy spark.
End of War.
You shoot me. I shoot you.
Our bullets stick to each other,
though we hardly do.
I curse you. You curse me.
Our street-fights are welcome home
though seldom are we.
You smack me. I smack you.
Our egos throttle homes rattle
though (the) battles continue.
I kill you. You kill me.
But there're no flowers or Shiva's to go
(as) the demon is set free.
We all wanted sunshine. We all needed rain.
We all were living just as Franco saved Spain.
Truth were nude but nudity was legal
Food was the cause to fight, life was frugal.
We spelt it wrong. We didn't get the takes.
Some call it an end when the brake breaks.
My bullet will end you pal, your bullet mine
If both of us press the button, ain't be any spine.
Our bullets stick to each other,
though we hardly do.
I curse you. You curse me.
Our street-fights are welcome home
though seldom are we.
You smack me. I smack you.
Our egos throttle homes rattle
though (the) battles continue.
I kill you. You kill me.
But there're no flowers or Shiva's to go
(as) the demon is set free.
We all wanted sunshine. We all needed rain.
We all were living just as Franco saved Spain.
Truth were nude but nudity was legal
Food was the cause to fight, life was frugal.
We spelt it wrong. We didn't get the takes.
Some call it an end when the brake breaks.
My bullet will end you pal, your bullet mine
If both of us press the button, ain't be any spine.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Weekend
It's a wonderful wonderful evening.
Breeze wiping the last of week's toll off my face,
Unsettling hairs that was parted to perfection for the drama
that unfolds every toiling day in varied ways.
I feel fresh, I taste the last sweat before it evaporates.
The last of the facade that was worn everyday with utmost care
is shelved back, waiting to be washed and dried.
It can rest a day or two, so can I.
The smell that runs through my nose doesn't originate here
but is somewhere in the old country, back home.
Where they still feel the fire's spark,
when the meat chops are fried and cakes baked.
The sound is abstract, largely dominated by the basketball bumps
and friendly banters. A few cars start off for their downtown destination.
Families meet over dinner, mom gets to see her daughter studying in high school
where a few oldies regurgitate their memories of a soccer game.
It's the day we waited for. It's the start of dream that we dreamt for forty hours.
The planned sleep goes for a toss and we catch up with loved ones staying afar.
Plans roll for the coming days with rejuvenated zeal.
A few beds are cleaned, others, get ready to be messed up.
There's a lovely hug I see, I see holding hands.
I sense dad's getting me the special coffee.
For today has been dreamt too many times,
for even a moment be missed.
Breeze wiping the last of week's toll off my face,
Unsettling hairs that was parted to perfection for the drama
that unfolds every toiling day in varied ways.
I feel fresh, I taste the last sweat before it evaporates.
The last of the facade that was worn everyday with utmost care
is shelved back, waiting to be washed and dried.
It can rest a day or two, so can I.
The smell that runs through my nose doesn't originate here
but is somewhere in the old country, back home.
Where they still feel the fire's spark,
when the meat chops are fried and cakes baked.
The sound is abstract, largely dominated by the basketball bumps
and friendly banters. A few cars start off for their downtown destination.
Families meet over dinner, mom gets to see her daughter studying in high school
where a few oldies regurgitate their memories of a soccer game.
It's the day we waited for. It's the start of dream that we dreamt for forty hours.
The planned sleep goes for a toss and we catch up with loved ones staying afar.
Plans roll for the coming days with rejuvenated zeal.
A few beds are cleaned, others, get ready to be messed up.
There's a lovely hug I see, I see holding hands.
I sense dad's getting me the special coffee.
For today has been dreamt too many times,
for even a moment be missed.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Unspoken words of fear, angst and disgust.
On the wake another terror attack in my home country, I stand speechless like millions of others. Not that I am incapable of doing something, not that I don’t want to. But somehow I don’t know what to do. I am, just like everybody else, is too flabbergasted and bereaved to think straight and clear; I am shit scared. There was a movie a couple of years back in hindi, names A Wednesday. The theme of the movie was what might happen if a common man decided to take the plunge himself, of putting all his frustration and disgust into action with the aide of modern information-quipped world. He scares the police and at the end, lets them know if a common man can catch the guards off a guard with élan, what might those with money, power and vicious intentions do.
I feel same today. To give a small wrap-up of my digested part of the story: NINE people died in a for-nothing blast in German Bakery at Pune, which I am told is akin to Coffee House of Kolkata. Three of them were a boy, his girlfriend and his sister. I happened to know the guy by name and probably met him on one or two occasions. An IIT-grad, he was working at JP Morgan and was having a valentino-dinner with his sweetheart and also his sister, whom he arranged to meet his girl. They noticed a bag, suspected something and asked a super-excited 15-year old Nepali boy, who worked at the place, to look for its owner. Like 90% of 15-years old would do, he opened it… to make it the couples last dinner together, the siblings last meet and the lad’s last jump of excitement. They died, all on-the-spot.
That’s my digest, because I knew the guy, because the sister was my friend’s sister’s classmate and the boy used to serve my friends regularly. Not that they were so close that it shattered my world, not even that a very close school friend is alive by chance today has woke me up from a sleep… I am just told by someone to wait for the day when he does not pick my call to say he is well, and the tone in which my ever-so-jubilant friend told me that, told me something. It made me weak in my knees. I understood we are alive by chance. Not that it was different yesterday. The death has just come closer to me, Arya Banerjee, no matter where I stay at this point of time. I can just sense it, though neither me nor any of my beloved is unwell or fighting a war, but they are just out and about… a reason enough for them to die. Yes, death. The darkness which apparently is so romantic that people fantasize about it, about heaven and hell and the deep-frying pans, and there are so many philosophy, theology and principles around it; can just engulf me or anyone without any rhyme or reason, and also not because a drunk celebrity was driving his land-rover over speed. It got a reason, which is the most unreasonable of all.
So what changes? We are still insecure as we were yesterday, we still walk with fear, board the bus with care so that we aren’t ran over, check our wallets every minutes we’re in a crowded train and bribe doctors to lawyers to policemen to let us live. There is just another added superpower which can do all of these. The problem is we don’t see them. It’s omnipotent and omnipresent. It’s not revered but is fearfully respected. It’s not preferred but in constantly evolving. It’s scary, it scared the hell outta me.
Leaves me wondering what are we waiting for? Not in the positive sense, but in the most powerless way of terms. Not the Rahman’s inspiring song, but just a plain ask: how long we are left to live? Why am I thinking of a Masters, why is X thinking of starting her company and why is Y so happy that Z texted him good morning with a heart-smiley at the end? Why do we love, why do we listen to Pete Seeger, why do we read Rumi? I know I am being the worst pessimist I could be, but my optimism is not leading me anywhere. I am loved but not powerful enough to shelter my beloveds, I love but not enlightened enough to see the light at the end of this tunnel. What if there is no end to this tunnel? What if the world turns into a fight club which fights for the sake of fighting alone? What if reasons fade thick and fast and we are derided to the lumps of masses Ray predicted in his books that may only live and die but can’t think? I will probably not live that long, I might see a brilliant innovation or two, a few more solar and lunar eclipses and a closer look at the mars, one more Google and few more Aamir Khan and Denzel Washington movies, but nothing makes me happier than I am sad today.
I kind of understood what differentiates a common man and a government or ruling body today. Rulers worry about what killed their men and how were they killed. We, the people, only care about, how long we live and when we die. It’s not conflict of interest, but just watching where the puck stops.
Because love is known to heal all wounds, I pray, in my cocoon, ashamed of my race.
Today, the hardest! Take care, and never meant more so.
My flowers have died an honest death, because they couldn’t withstand the cold
My emotions have soothed away, because it has read in black and bold
That my fortune, or anyone else's for that matter, is held ransom
for reason that I, and everyone else is unable to fathom.
Who goes for a toss and no matter where it lands,
Who calls the heads or who bats first,
Who was present or who missed the match
Cause the match is closed if those guys catch.
I am insecure, scared and brittle.
I knew enough to stay in my hole
I am awake till I keep my eyes open,
I am dead before I actually died.
Promise to be more optimistic in my next post. As for now, let me mourn, in peace.
I feel same today. To give a small wrap-up of my digested part of the story: NINE people died in a for-nothing blast in German Bakery at Pune, which I am told is akin to Coffee House of Kolkata. Three of them were a boy, his girlfriend and his sister. I happened to know the guy by name and probably met him on one or two occasions. An IIT-grad, he was working at JP Morgan and was having a valentino-dinner with his sweetheart and also his sister, whom he arranged to meet his girl. They noticed a bag, suspected something and asked a super-excited 15-year old Nepali boy, who worked at the place, to look for its owner. Like 90% of 15-years old would do, he opened it… to make it the couples last dinner together, the siblings last meet and the lad’s last jump of excitement. They died, all on-the-spot.
That’s my digest, because I knew the guy, because the sister was my friend’s sister’s classmate and the boy used to serve my friends regularly. Not that they were so close that it shattered my world, not even that a very close school friend is alive by chance today has woke me up from a sleep… I am just told by someone to wait for the day when he does not pick my call to say he is well, and the tone in which my ever-so-jubilant friend told me that, told me something. It made me weak in my knees. I understood we are alive by chance. Not that it was different yesterday. The death has just come closer to me, Arya Banerjee, no matter where I stay at this point of time. I can just sense it, though neither me nor any of my beloved is unwell or fighting a war, but they are just out and about… a reason enough for them to die. Yes, death. The darkness which apparently is so romantic that people fantasize about it, about heaven and hell and the deep-frying pans, and there are so many philosophy, theology and principles around it; can just engulf me or anyone without any rhyme or reason, and also not because a drunk celebrity was driving his land-rover over speed. It got a reason, which is the most unreasonable of all.
So what changes? We are still insecure as we were yesterday, we still walk with fear, board the bus with care so that we aren’t ran over, check our wallets every minutes we’re in a crowded train and bribe doctors to lawyers to policemen to let us live. There is just another added superpower which can do all of these. The problem is we don’t see them. It’s omnipotent and omnipresent. It’s not revered but is fearfully respected. It’s not preferred but in constantly evolving. It’s scary, it scared the hell outta me.
Leaves me wondering what are we waiting for? Not in the positive sense, but in the most powerless way of terms. Not the Rahman’s inspiring song, but just a plain ask: how long we are left to live? Why am I thinking of a Masters, why is X thinking of starting her company and why is Y so happy that Z texted him good morning with a heart-smiley at the end? Why do we love, why do we listen to Pete Seeger, why do we read Rumi? I know I am being the worst pessimist I could be, but my optimism is not leading me anywhere. I am loved but not powerful enough to shelter my beloveds, I love but not enlightened enough to see the light at the end of this tunnel. What if there is no end to this tunnel? What if the world turns into a fight club which fights for the sake of fighting alone? What if reasons fade thick and fast and we are derided to the lumps of masses Ray predicted in his books that may only live and die but can’t think? I will probably not live that long, I might see a brilliant innovation or two, a few more solar and lunar eclipses and a closer look at the mars, one more Google and few more Aamir Khan and Denzel Washington movies, but nothing makes me happier than I am sad today.
I kind of understood what differentiates a common man and a government or ruling body today. Rulers worry about what killed their men and how were they killed. We, the people, only care about, how long we live and when we die. It’s not conflict of interest, but just watching where the puck stops.
Because love is known to heal all wounds, I pray, in my cocoon, ashamed of my race.
Today, the hardest! Take care, and never meant more so.
My flowers have died an honest death, because they couldn’t withstand the cold
My emotions have soothed away, because it has read in black and bold
That my fortune, or anyone else's for that matter, is held ransom
for reason that I, and everyone else is unable to fathom.
Who goes for a toss and no matter where it lands,
Who calls the heads or who bats first,
Who was present or who missed the match
Cause the match is closed if those guys catch.
I am insecure, scared and brittle.
I knew enough to stay in my hole
I am awake till I keep my eyes open,
I am dead before I actually died.
Promise to be more optimistic in my next post. As for now, let me mourn, in peace.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Aboard, abraod.
Well, A long high after a long time. high or sigh? I'll settle for a simple HI!
Sitting pretty and getting access to a machine here in Toronto, I thought why not pen down this long journey which I have made in the last couple of weeks! Kolkata-> Hyderabad -> Toronto. Span is quite huge. Home, Workplace, Deputation.
The flight journey was cool enough. British airways stood true to its name being snobbish, and maybe a bit more more to us... Indians. I hate to say this, but there was a definite discrimiantion between the flights I took from Hyd to London and then London to Toronto. everything changed, right from highlife entertainment tv to drinks they served, and services they offered and the way it was offered. Hey i gotta tell ya something which left was in grrr... the airhostess asked for my age proof when I asked for Red Labels!!! I mean, is not that embarrassing??? I snarled back saying you ned the passport? and then it was smooth... the scotch and the service, both!! and the wines as well.
London airport was cool, well no deja vu there, the airport changed a hell lot in the last 13 years, and terminal 5, where all BA flights are now routed to, is a entirely new built airport. Only the name Heathrow was same, and maybe the weather!! I am obviously referring to my visit to the UK 13 years back, if anybody needed the explicit pointer!!!
Well, that was it for now. I will come back later. The apartment I am living in is pure Indian, or should I say south bound! more on that when I come back. there is a lot more to talk about, trust me!
Take care.
Sitting pretty and getting access to a machine here in Toronto, I thought why not pen down this long journey which I have made in the last couple of weeks! Kolkata-> Hyderabad -> Toronto. Span is quite huge. Home, Workplace, Deputation.
The flight journey was cool enough. British airways stood true to its name being snobbish, and maybe a bit more more to us... Indians. I hate to say this, but there was a definite discrimiantion between the flights I took from Hyd to London and then London to Toronto. everything changed, right from highlife entertainment tv to drinks they served, and services they offered and the way it was offered. Hey i gotta tell ya something which left was in grrr... the airhostess asked for my age proof when I asked for Red Labels!!! I mean, is not that embarrassing??? I snarled back saying you ned the passport? and then it was smooth... the scotch and the service, both!! and the wines as well.
London airport was cool, well no deja vu there, the airport changed a hell lot in the last 13 years, and terminal 5, where all BA flights are now routed to, is a entirely new built airport. Only the name Heathrow was same, and maybe the weather!! I am obviously referring to my visit to the UK 13 years back, if anybody needed the explicit pointer!!!
Well, that was it for now. I will come back later. The apartment I am living in is pure Indian, or should I say south bound! more on that when I come back. there is a lot more to talk about, trust me!
Take care.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
I have seen them decompose
Protection is good. Sometimes it helps nurture the blossoms to flowers and seeds to fruits. But many-a-times, the fruit doesn’t see daylight, hence not armed with to fight the toil of life and thereby, fails. Frail and weak, the fruit drops off, without giving any of its ‘expected’ or desired results.
Coming to real world too, we’ll have plenty of examples. Kids coming from too protective families often fall prey to ragging, out-of-couch feelings and die an early death. Poetically speaking, ‘Death of middle class Indian dollar dreams’!!
I have somehow experienced it in leaps and bounds over the past year. How racism is born, how caste divides are nurtured and how differences are kept in the blood, which surprisingly has its roots in the very way people are brought up. I read somewhere, parents bragging about giving their offshoots the ‘Indian value’ teachings! And our first lady of Bengal, Mrs. Dona Ganguly retorted that teachings aren’t taught but imbibed and taken up from the milieu they’re brought up in. true. But that’s what serves as the spice powder in the soul curry!
Often the way a Bengali lad is taught about their cuisine leads them to struggle for living in the tamarind-exhaustive southern part and the way a vegetarian Marwari boy is fed leads them to get their hands a kilometer off from all the chicken-friendly classes! But there weren’t any stones unturned and any (book) pages/ leaves unopened when they were ‘educated’. But somehow the problem of having the world’s second largest democracy has its bottleneck… we are different, and so bloody different that our blood is the only thing common between us.
Come to religion, it depends on region. Come to cuisine, it comes to coastal non-coastal, come to political turbulence or economic upheaval, it falls under territory-based exuberance or nonchalance. The ‘indianness’, an ever-elusive term, becomes more so, when presented to the inside-world, but surprisingly opposite when presented outside. Abroad, all Indians are desis and hindi-bengali-marathi-tamils eat from the same plate! Or do they? Do there also we are not stung by the tetuls, the roshogollas, the achars and the tandoors? Then why boast about something intransient, inculcated and inherited?
If there’s something called an open question, then maybe this is one the most important of them all. We are all united when the national anthem is played, bar the north-indians who think ‘sare jahan se achha’ would have suited India better!!! And there are chain mails about how ‘Jana gana’ was written actually to insinuate the British Empire. Always prone to an empirical-structure, be it the Mughal, British or the Gandhi (ahh, I like that!), we have been anti-incumbent and accumbency-lovers. You can call us hypocrites, but we have it in our blood!
I spotted a red clutter in my restroom the other day. I could get what it is and I left it at that. Yesterday I saw that is cleared and the remnants helped me understand that that was actually an unused old red towel. It decomposed to such an extent, that it became a heap of red dust particles. Someone told me a weird reason for not taking bath everyday… “If a towel is regularly put in a bucket of water then what happens to it? It rots. So is our body!!” well, my forgotten friend, here’s a polar opposite of your story. Don’t wash it for a long time and it decomposes. To particles… to molecules, to atoms and to some other little-known, much-spent God-particles, Higgs-bosons!!! But it decomposes.
And I have seen them decompose.
Coming to real world too, we’ll have plenty of examples. Kids coming from too protective families often fall prey to ragging, out-of-couch feelings and die an early death. Poetically speaking, ‘Death of middle class Indian dollar dreams’!!
I have somehow experienced it in leaps and bounds over the past year. How racism is born, how caste divides are nurtured and how differences are kept in the blood, which surprisingly has its roots in the very way people are brought up. I read somewhere, parents bragging about giving their offshoots the ‘Indian value’ teachings! And our first lady of Bengal, Mrs. Dona Ganguly retorted that teachings aren’t taught but imbibed and taken up from the milieu they’re brought up in. true. But that’s what serves as the spice powder in the soul curry!
Often the way a Bengali lad is taught about their cuisine leads them to struggle for living in the tamarind-exhaustive southern part and the way a vegetarian Marwari boy is fed leads them to get their hands a kilometer off from all the chicken-friendly classes! But there weren’t any stones unturned and any (book) pages/ leaves unopened when they were ‘educated’. But somehow the problem of having the world’s second largest democracy has its bottleneck… we are different, and so bloody different that our blood is the only thing common between us.
Come to religion, it depends on region. Come to cuisine, it comes to coastal non-coastal, come to political turbulence or economic upheaval, it falls under territory-based exuberance or nonchalance. The ‘indianness’, an ever-elusive term, becomes more so, when presented to the inside-world, but surprisingly opposite when presented outside. Abroad, all Indians are desis and hindi-bengali-marathi-tamils eat from the same plate! Or do they? Do there also we are not stung by the tetuls, the roshogollas, the achars and the tandoors? Then why boast about something intransient, inculcated and inherited?
If there’s something called an open question, then maybe this is one the most important of them all. We are all united when the national anthem is played, bar the north-indians who think ‘sare jahan se achha’ would have suited India better!!! And there are chain mails about how ‘Jana gana’ was written actually to insinuate the British Empire. Always prone to an empirical-structure, be it the Mughal, British or the Gandhi (ahh, I like that!), we have been anti-incumbent and accumbency-lovers. You can call us hypocrites, but we have it in our blood!
I spotted a red clutter in my restroom the other day. I could get what it is and I left it at that. Yesterday I saw that is cleared and the remnants helped me understand that that was actually an unused old red towel. It decomposed to such an extent, that it became a heap of red dust particles. Someone told me a weird reason for not taking bath everyday… “If a towel is regularly put in a bucket of water then what happens to it? It rots. So is our body!!” well, my forgotten friend, here’s a polar opposite of your story. Don’t wash it for a long time and it decomposes. To particles… to molecules, to atoms and to some other little-known, much-spent God-particles, Higgs-bosons!!! But it decomposes.
And I have seen them decompose.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Wandering of the perfumed dirt!
There are five types of people in this world. I do not wish to give you a count of all of them, but i will tell ytou something. We often think life is a huge pancake with unfair shares given to everyone. Then who gets the right share? Who decides who deserves what? If we are too small compared to the earth and if our earth is still small compared to the cosmos, then we/earth = earth/cosmos. so earth squared = we * cosmos!! Now, we are negligible compared to cosmos, and that becomes a finite quantity. now incremented we by dWE and arth by dEarth, we arrive at, we/earth = we + dWE / earth + dEarth! so if we land on some bigger planet someday, we will automatically be bigger!!!
CRAP!
what is not so crappy here is the though we are as big as our earth! if we think our earth is huge, we are huge. if we think earth is too small place to live, you are small, buddy!! it's like the droplet which sits pretty on a grasstop thinking she's the prettiest droplet in this world, when sun rises and drains the drop out of the grass. at last, it's the grass who's lonely. it's you who are alone. if you think so. I finish of tonight's bundle of banter with a poem:
CRAP!
what is not so crappy here is the though we are as big as our earth! if we think our earth is huge, we are huge. if we think earth is too small place to live, you are small, buddy!! it's like the droplet which sits pretty on a grasstop thinking she's the prettiest droplet in this world, when sun rises and drains the drop out of the grass. at last, it's the grass who's lonely. it's you who are alone. if you think so. I finish of tonight's bundle of banter with a poem:
Off they went where Sun never sets
Off they went on a lonely trip
Off they went with hand in hand.
The anguished soul with the bereaved man!
Dreamt they big on higher hopes
Flied they high on light's speed
Moved they free where they smelt love
The same smell of the dirt road.
Parrachute is all they needed, back
When they decided to return home
To the sweet pastures of earthy sweat
and salty perspiration was licked through.
Think apple. Eat peach!
Off they went on a lonely trip
Off they went with hand in hand.
The anguished soul with the bereaved man!
Dreamt they big on higher hopes
Flied they high on light's speed
Moved they free where they smelt love
The same smell of the dirt road.
Parrachute is all they needed, back
When they decided to return home
To the sweet pastures of earthy sweat
and salty perspiration was licked through.
Think apple. Eat peach!
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Crows for company
That's why I love Google. Even when ypu're in mood and out of touch, it gives you the right push for it. Today it was the topic of my blog, and Google said: ruminate. I agreed.
Pas month has been pretty eventful at any length. New habitat, New habits and new habitants! big news is I'm trying my hand at cooking. though haven't cooked much as of now, but you know, with proper ingredients and machinery at ready disposal, I might start anytime. Just an allusion, you see!
The chioce of people seems good, rather great. It's good to see that grinder working! Sad part is it has been two months I went home and maybe four more months till I go again. and that's a sad story, you bet. Had been having regular chats with old pals like DK, Pope and Kohi... and it's heartening to see DK accelerating hard. Pope has got a Swiss job! I know that's sexy!! I have had a few phone call and offers, none of which looked really interesting to shift again. The one with best one is pending, and chances seem to be bleak there. Luck is something you can always try... and keep on trying, right?
Personally too, it has been great. Had a chance to dine with my latest crush and some chitchats there were worth saving in a tape! Nights are really cool, one with the AC working all night and rest, with her words putting and pulling out from sleep. Ahh... I forgot, sleeping habit has gotten bad to worse, now awry. I can't sleep before three... that's fine when I land up late in office; but what happens when I need toreport before nine? Chumma pa... hell freezes o'er! And yes, it's a different story that it's nearly six in the morning now: it's weekend!! and the lasttwo beers have gone down the drain, clearly!
Didi and folks have moved to NJ, they must be having fun! The skyline lures me like anything. Good thing is I resumed on my reading habit. Some good books here and there... makes up for the 12-12 routine on weekdays!!
and there you go, I just remembered I have an unfinished book. aAnd I have crows for company.
Let's start the search.
For the last cigarette!!!
Pas month has been pretty eventful at any length. New habitat, New habits and new habitants! big news is I'm trying my hand at cooking. though haven't cooked much as of now, but you know, with proper ingredients and machinery at ready disposal, I might start anytime. Just an allusion, you see!
The chioce of people seems good, rather great. It's good to see that grinder working! Sad part is it has been two months I went home and maybe four more months till I go again. and that's a sad story, you bet. Had been having regular chats with old pals like DK, Pope and Kohi... and it's heartening to see DK accelerating hard. Pope has got a Swiss job! I know that's sexy!! I have had a few phone call and offers, none of which looked really interesting to shift again. The one with best one is pending, and chances seem to be bleak there. Luck is something you can always try... and keep on trying, right?
Personally too, it has been great. Had a chance to dine with my latest crush and some chitchats there were worth saving in a tape! Nights are really cool, one with the AC working all night and rest, with her words putting and pulling out from sleep. Ahh... I forgot, sleeping habit has gotten bad to worse, now awry. I can't sleep before three... that's fine when I land up late in office; but what happens when I need toreport before nine? Chumma pa... hell freezes o'er! And yes, it's a different story that it's nearly six in the morning now: it's weekend!! and the lasttwo beers have gone down the drain, clearly!
Didi and folks have moved to NJ, they must be having fun! The skyline lures me like anything. Good thing is I resumed on my reading habit. Some good books here and there... makes up for the 12-12 routine on weekdays!!
and there you go, I just remembered I have an unfinished book. aAnd I have crows for company.
Let's start the search.
For the last cigarette!!!
Saturday, May 10, 2008
FLATtened
They say that a few good men can make the impossible. I agree taking a flat at your workplace is not that big a task, but certainly it seemed so after monthlong persuaion to people for making their mind to shift. but lax got the better of many! Finally we could gather a lot of four, just the number needed for making the move. It took an hour or so, with a great amount of help from friends, we moved in, with nearly eight luggages per person. Luckily for us, the flat is full furnished, and with a friend coming in with his machine, I promise blogging will be much easier if not regular. It seems the good old habits are trying to come back into time and space, and I'm only too eager. Will obviously come back in a better and bigger manner... lest I do away with cleaning of the system.
Thought you all would love the news, so shared it. Make happiness.
Cheers!!!
Thought you all would love the news, so shared it. Make happiness.
Cheers!!!
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