Wednesday, 5 June 2013

Rituparno and the 30th day of May:

"I will be going far away. Can I leave a little bit of me with you?" - Memories of March.

As I woke up this morning, I switched off my phone alerts so that I could finish off something wishful that sat on my To-Do's for a few months. When the landline urgently called for me, it had to be something. And what?

...."Who, come again? What? No, can't be. Can you please check again. Are you sure? You must have heard it wrong. What rubbish, no way! Just not done!" how the conversation went, with Ma on the other end.

And here I sit, at my office desk but nowhere near it inside my mind. It's been 7 hours now, and I am still as shell shocked as those first few minutes after the news. And I have not been able to think a second thing yet, since that hour.

I have rehearsed in my mind few times already, to go tell my boss (who happens to be an ex-pat, and nice) that I can't work today, that if I could go home early, as someone very close has died. But I can not bring myself to it, dreading if I were to explain it any further?

Memories and images relentlessly cross my mind. And dialogues. Lyrics. Snippets, words, letters. I start a blank document (and a blank stare), scribble, shift-delete, start again, control-alt-delete, come down the escalator to a floor I never visited (some other company), come back, hover around the coffee-machine for a while until it turns rude to not smile at those several faces, fidget continuously for hours together, and finally surrender to my office notebook-pen finding that remotest corner of the dining hall to my respite. Here, that dying need to express, to not wait for the time when my mind would be any saner.

No, I don't get any where, and the pieces of paper end up in my bin under my office-desk. But I wanted to hold on to the moment, keep some reference, keep some connect with the immense loss which I suffered that moment. So, very uselessly, here are a few scribbles I posted during the day on the social-hooking page:

..."Few deaths bring a lump in the throat and utter disbelief in the mind. Finding words to express this grief is impossible. Just, apart from his supreme intellect and sensibility, I'd miss having a film director who'd understand and portray women like he did. 
You'll stay with me, Sir. Through Jhinuk (Dohon) "jar onyo naam Joan of Ark", and through many more of your ladies who I want to be!"

(an hour later)
..."And I still have to wear my make-up, put on my lipstick and leave for work. And wear a smile. Like nothing happened! Like, if at all, its just a news.
Few priceless things life takes away from you when your hometown does not have a job worth holding you back."

..."Can you cut the crap, please, dear Bengali news channels?"
(No, of course they did not. They continues to interview and chase everyone who weren't exactly in the mood to use the moment to their propaganda, and continued to focus the camera on the broken and discoloured window panes of the neighborhood of where he breathed his last.)

..."Having a soliloquy in my mind ever since the news struck. It takes a day like this to figure out things important in life. I never realised what I realise now. Like, I thought I prevented anyone else influence me on Tagore than he himself, till Gaaner Opare happened in my life. Till I watched Chokher Bali and discovered the layers that that man left only for few genius like you to unfold."

..."At least till the day we would not discriminate Chitrangada's two facets as Kurupa and Surupa, we needed a man like you to sail us through in this big bad world. And now, without you, that day moves further away.
Rituparno Ghosh, you were one feminist I had counted on."

(Last one, at 2 am in the night)
..."I hope I get up tomorrow morning and discover today was just a bad dream."

(Sorry, for spamming. A part of me tells me it's not something I can share, how-much-so-ever I try! But I'll try. I'll try something better next time.)