#RhymeIndia by Times Of India!!

Okay, so be it!!


The OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT is here, and I am so, so, so glad to have won this one! :)

:) :)

“সৃষ্টিকর্তার অট্টহাসি!”

(১)

আমার বিয়ের সময় অনির্বাণের কয়েকজন বন্ধু বড়কাকাকে দেখে বেশ চমকে গিয়ে বলেছিলঃ “উরিব্বাস! ইনি কে জানিস? এ কে বাসু! ইউনিভার্সিটিতে সবাই এনাকে ভগবান বলে মানে।“ আমি অবাক হয়ে বলেছিলাম, “ধুর! ওটা তো বড়কাকা!” ১৮ই জুলাই ২০১৬ তে অর্থাৎ বড়কাকার কাজের দিন ঠিক সেই ব্যাপারটাই আবার হল। নানান ক্ষেত্র থেকে অতিথিরা এসেছেন যারা বড়কাকাকে শ্রদ্ধা করতেন, ভালবাসতেন, তাঁরা “স্যর” বলে উল্লেখ করে নানা কিছু স্মৃতিমন্থন করছেন, অতীতচারণা – ইউনিভার্সিটির কথা, ওনার পড়ানোর কথা… আর আমার মনে হচ্ছে - “ধুর! ওটা তো বড়কাকা!”

বড়কাকাকে নিয়ে লিখতে হবে। কিন্তু যাই লিখবো, মনে হবে যেটা বলতে চাই সেটা বলা হলনা। বড়কাকাকে ডেস্ক্রাইব করার চেষ্টা করাটাও বোধ হয় – সে যতই পাতার পর পাতা ভর্তি করে লিখি না কেন – শেষে ওই অন্ধের হাতি দেখাতেই পরিণত হবে। আসল কথাটা হল,  বড়কাকা মানুষটার ব্যাপ্তি আর গভীরতা দুটোই এতটাই বেশি, যে একটা সামান্য লেখায় ওনার স্মৃতিকে ধরতে যাওয়ার চেষ্টা করাটাই বাতুলতা, অথবা হয়ত একপ্রকার ইঞ্জাস্টিস করা। বড়কাকা একটা প্রিজমের মতন – এক একদিক থেকে আলো ফেললে এক একরকমের রামধনু-রং বিচ্ছুরিত হয়, আর তার প্রত্যেকটাই আপন দ্যূতিতে উজ্জ্বল!

তবু, বিন্দু বিন্দু দিয়ে সিন্ধু ধারণ করার একটা অক্ষম প্রয়াস…

We make it to The Cannes!!

I wish you a Merry Christmas!

This had also been published in The Huffington Post, Women's Web and MyCity4Kids!!

"How did it get so late so soon? It’s night before its afternoon. December is here before its June. My goodness, how the time has flown! How did it get so late so soon?” – had said Dr. Seuss!

Right! Before you barely get used to the new digits at the end of the date, it’s time to change it again. That time of the year is back. The Time of the times, the Month of the months!

Look! It’s December, again!!

Kya "Tamasha" hai!

This is going to be one hell of an insane rant, muse, or I don’t know what! Bear with me.


I’ve often been, rather almost always been, rather envious of those who author self-help books; it seemed they’ve always had a Sufi, a saint, a pathfinder, or even if it's just a tarrot-card reader by the roadside, they've had them there for themselves right on time, right at the very corner of the road where they stopped to find their way. The right message on the poster, the right picture, sermon, song, the right thing at the right moment, just what they needed and when! It always, unfailingly, made me feel very little, feel - incessantly - like not being the chosen one, perhaps!

The Little Light of My Life...

This post has also been published in World of Moms!

"What is Durga Puja?" - they had asked!

This article has also been published at The Speaking Tree, Youthkiawaaz, WhatsupIndia, Gurgaon Moms and Women's Web!!


Now, strange things happen at times at most habitual moments. Like when they asked you to tell them "something about yourself" at your first job interview, and you looked blank. You did not know, until then, how difficult it could be to be asked to summarise your own self, in precise words and well-formed sentences, conclusively and sufficiently! You do not know where to start, what to carefully keep aside, what is just yours and not for the world to know, and what preciseness of the reply would fit the bill right, that is, to leave your audience engaged and pleased and to still be honest and at it. When confronted with casual curiosity, or even courtesy-calls, on something so damn close to you that you've grown up to belong to it or to be it yourself, it really gets bad. I know I am getting too gibberish for you to keep on reading this piece, especially in a season where you've so much to otherwise, and I duly apologise. Give me a chance to defend.

I'm just back from a very sudden going-total-blank-at-a-most-obvious-question situation at a non-Bong gathering. They casually, only slightly curiously, had just asked me one simple well-meaning question:

"What is Durga Puja?"

Mahalaya - The Homecoming!

Well, it was going to be Devipaksha soon, and so I wanted something nostalgic to the core, something sentimental to its brim. So, I thought and thought, and thought, and then I did what I always do - rob my brother. This time, I robbed him to author the first ever guest post on my blog. So, here's to a happy 200th to myself, and an emotional, nostalgic  few minutes of reading journey to each of you...



Mahalaya, the homecoming

Srijan Sengupta

The Bun in the Oven!!

This has also been published in World of Moms!


I often wonder - now that after four years plus of eventful parenting it all looks like a past as distant as if the rest of my life was not coherent but a past life – as to how did I, we, at all go about it? How did we come at it, at making her? At making our daughter - a blossoming fairytale that she is unfurling every day to be?

তিনি কহিলেন... পার্ট ৪

“তিনি কহিলেন”-এর অন্যান্য অংশগুলো – পার্ট-1 | পার্ট-2 | পার্ট-3

ধপাস দেখতে দেখতে কিরকম তরতরিয়ে বড় হয়ে যাচ্ছে...

যুক্তি সাজিয়ে নিজের ভিউ-পয়েন্ট খাড়া করে – না ঝগড়া না, রীতিমতন বাক্যবাগিশ তর্কালঙ্কারের মতন করে নেগোশিয়েট করে দাপটের সাথে। আমাকে কম্পিউটারে বসতে দেখলেই সরিয়ে দিয়ে নিজে নিজেই ইউটিউব খোলে, তারপর ঘন্টার পর ঘন্টা প্যাপা-পিগ, মিস্টার-মেকার আর প্লে-ডো ভিডিও... জামাকাপড় থেকে টিফিনের মেনু, ম্যাচিং জুতো থেকে বেড়াতে যাওয়ার গন্তব্য, এমনকি সিনেমা দেখতে গিয়ে ইন্টারভেলের পপকর্ণের ফ্লেভার পর্যন্ত ওর ডিসিশনে চলছে আজকাল। এইতো সেদিন, দোকানে গিয়ে কি একটা পছন্দ করেছে, বারণ করায় বলে – “আমি তোমাদের এতো কিছু কিনে দি, তোমরা আমাকে এইটুকু একটা জিনিস কিনে দিতে চাইছনা?” স্কুল থেকে ফিরে চোখ বড় বড় করে গল্প বলে – “আজ যা একটা ঘটনা ঘটেছে না, তুমি তো কল্পনাই করতে পারবেনা!!” অনির্বাণের কোন পাগলামি দেখলে মাথা চাপড়ে বলে – “বাবার মাথাটা পুরো গেছে, আমি আর কিছু করতে পারব না!” আর পান থেকে চুন খসলেই আমার ফোনটা নিয়ে নিজে নিজেই নম্বর ডায়াল করে আমার মা-বাবাকে ফোন করে আমার নামে নালিশ করা, সেসব তো আছেই...

তিনি কহিলেন... পার্ট ৪

“তিনি কহিলেন”-র অন্যান্য অংশগুলো – পার্ট-1 | পার্ট-2 | পার্ট-3

ধপাস দেখতে দেখতে কিরকম তরতরিয়ে বড় হয়ে যাচ্ছে...

যুক্তি সাজিয়ে নিজের ভিউ-পয়েন্ট খাড়া করে – না ঝগড়া না, রীতিমতন বাক্যবাগিশ তর্কালঙ্কারের মতন করে নেগোশিয়েট করে দাপটের সাথে। আমাকে কম্পিউটারে বসতে দেখলেই সরিয়ে দিয়ে নিজে নিজেই ইউটিউব খোলে, তারপর ঘন্টার পর ঘন্টা প্যাপা-পিগ, মিস্টার-মেকার আর প্লে-ডো ভিডিও... জামাকাপড় থেকে টিফিনের মেনু, ম্যাচিং জুতো থেকে বেড়াতে যাওয়ার গন্তব্য, এমনকি সিনেমা দেখতে গিয়ে ইন্টারভেলের পপকর্ণের ফ্লেভার পর্যন্ত ওর ডিসিশনে চলছে আজকাল। এইতো সেদিন, দোকানে গিয়ে কি একটা পছন্দ করেছে, বারণ করায় বলে – “আমি তোমাদের এতো কিছু কিনে দি, তোমরা আমাকে এইটুকু একটা জিনিস কিনে দিতে চাইছনা?” স্কুল থেকে ফিরে চোখ বড় বড় করে গল্প বলে – “আজ যা একটা ঘটনা ঘটেছে না, তুমি তো কল্পনাই করতে পারবেনা!!” অনির্বাণের কোন পাগলামি দেখলে মাথা চাপড়ে বলে – “বাবার মাথাটা পুরো গেছে, আমি আর কিছু করতে পারব না!” আর পান থেকে চুন খসলেই আমার ফোনটা নিয়ে নিজে নিজেই নম্বর ডায়াল করে আমার মা-বাবাকে ফোন করে আমার নামে নালিশ করা, সেসব তো আছেই...

Another Woman - Woody Allen - random thoughts

(Non-disclaimer: There are hardly any spoilers in this piece of discussion.)

This is common if I have to guess; you see that woman, typically older than you are - on the street, in the television, or at a party – and from the way she dresses, walks, talks and carries herself, you wish fleetingly that when you’re of that age, you’d like to age like her.

HOK...HOK...HOKKOLOROB

A day spent almost entirely on Facebook and television, sobbing, wiping tears.

Tears of pride, tears of joy. Of hope. And all that.

We are. We still are.

Oh that simple yet boldest revelation!

We may not be safe. We never would be. But then, there will be people. I am still sobbing, whispering this to myself to sleep.

Thank you, Us! Thank you!

#hokkolorob

PS: This day will go down in history. It will.

My list of Turn-offs

LIST OF TURN-ONs, in case you haven't read it!


As promised, I come with my list of turn-offs in men. Something that will surely interest much fewer, predictably! :/

1.       Stock brokers

There are men. And then, there are men who understand money. Way too much. They understand where money lays egg the best, and the climatic conditions and the hatchery et al. Better than anything.

I understand them very less. Appreciate, lesser!

2.       Decision makers

This one’s tricky. And one of fine balance. There is a kind who makes decisions for you. And those, who jump to conclusions. Well, I don’t like them meek and weak, but then, don’t I just love to blabber too? So, I get itchy when faced with people who’re like – “So, this is this and that is that. Next?”

3.       “Come, fall in love” people

They’ll do all they can. ALL. Online, Offline. Trust me. Only to end with taking an upper hand and saying… well, not saying anything.  Just for the love of it.

Somehow, flirting doesn’t have a clear definition and neither does it fall under sadism. It very well could.

4.       “Girls are from Venus” people

Trust me, we are just normal people. Just for a few anatomical differences. Insignificant they should be, unless you aren’t going to bed or fancying to. And even if significant, under the alternative condition that is, we still are normal people.

And no, it doesn’t contradict the point above. Not at all. You can also be just normal, you know!

5.       Office politicians

Stay away from them. Period.

(If they let you, that is, though.)

Bonus entry:

Leave it. Too many!

My list of Turn-Ons

This has also been published in World of Moms!


Suddenly in a romantic mood, me. 

Well, not romantic exactly. Flirtatious, rather.

So, what do you do when you are thirty-three, married, and a mother of one, and have already noticed the two grey strands as you combed your hair in the morning while rushing for office, and yet cannot but feel flirtatious one fine evening?

Well, you make a list.

Yes.

Who knows, there can well be a next life somewhere sometime, and if your folks remember to bury you along with the list you make today (yes, I refuse to be burnt) you may even find it handy then. Less likely, someday your daughter may need this list for herself. 

Or whatsoever.

But here, I feel flirtatious now, and given my circumstances,  all I can do is make a list. So I will.

Now, coming to the point. What are the things that turn me on in a man?

(Yes, I am heterosexual. Just saying. I don't like guesses.)

1.     First and foremost – Baritone voice

Oh, that’s a killer. Deceptive, yes, but still. I can give up all my demands for looks and intelligence and intellect and poetry writing and reading that a man must, must have, if only he has a voice baritone enough to make up for all that. 

Well, almost!

+ 10 if speaks good English

+ 50 if knows good poems by heart

- 20 if speaks with strong accent

- 50 if the accent is fake

2.     Checked shirts

This one is easy, but a sure win. Checked shirts are sexy. Period.

            + 20 for blue, green, white

            +10 for brown, grey

            + 25 for black and white

 - 50 for fluorescent colours

3.     Moderately tall guy. Five feet eight to five feet ten.

The exact height at which, if we hug, I reach.. well you know! I like that. :/

4.     Frames.

What’s a man without large spectacles and a changed look when you take them off?

+ 5 for rimless ones (are rimless glasses called frames at all?)

+ 10 for Black or Brown frames

+ 15 for thick frames

- 50 for any other colours

5.     Keyboards

I somehow get very impressed when someone don’t have to reach out for the mouse at all while doing stuff at the computer. Very!

+ 10 if also good with writing magical Microsoft Access codes, ones that makes humans redundant at office save for security guards and tea-boys.

- 20 If uses terrible combination on colours on tables or graphs

+ 50 if the cartoons on the Microsoft Powerpoint slides gets across the messages better than the words on them, and with a twist.

Bonus entry –

Putting a hand on my head. Staying there. Like that. For a long, long time. 

(That makes up for most of the above.)

So much for my list. 

What’s yours?

PS: Just as I finish typing this on my handheld and am getting off the cab with a customary "thank-you", comes a "welcome Ma'am" in a, well, noticeably nice voice. Erm, the driver in a checked shirt. And just as I  walk towards the elevator, musing that I should add this fact as a post-script to my this post, comes a "Good evening man" from the security guard. Yup. Checked shirt, thick rimmed black frames. There you go!

PPS: List of Turn-Offs. Coming soon!

PPS: List of Turn-Offs. Came!

A petty matter called "Trust"!

A petty matter, a very petty matter. Pettier now, as I look back today from here, my thirteenth floor balcony, on a breezy semi-summer-semi-monsoon pretty twilight evening. Petty, but! It broke my trust. Oh, it did.

People who know me closely, friends and not-much-friends, will agree on this one thing - that I trust. I trust people, in general. "Too much!" - a few of them opines.

Yes I do. I really do. And I refuse to give that up, with anyone, unless s/he proves it otherwise. And what if they do? Well, even then, I have this huge space between trust and non-trust which is commonly called an area of benefit-of-doubt. I try to stretch its boundaries even when it comes to that. I do. I seldom have crossed its boundary, as I look back and think today.

So much for my introspection. And now, the petty matter.

This was Bombay. This was 2005. I was relocating away from my current place of stay, and I wanted to sell off my only possession in the category of "furniture", my cot. A middle-aged married couple came, saw, liked (or said so) and promised to call back in about a week. The deal was final, the transport needed sorting out, and I never thought of a booking-amount. I don't exactly remember, but I had just about two weeks or so to disburse it as I leave, and so it suited me. It was a simple affair. That simple!

But then, they never called me back. Fine, I did. A few times. They mostly didn't answer, and when they did, they said something vaguely like they were traveling, network problems, some mishaps in the family, et al. Simple, that too.

It was only after another few frantic calls, as my apartment handover day approached too near and it showed in the panic of my voice, that they really came out on the phone and said something in the lines of - we thought you'd have realised by now that we will not buy it.

That was it.

Not that it hit me monetarily. Not that I will meet them ever again, or even know that if I do. Not that it mattered much to me in any practical way I could think of. But, then! I think I had gone white back at that time. It felt like a tight slap. A tight slap! Really, it did. I mean, why didn't they just say it! Why?

It wasn't simple for me any more. 

I had trusted that some people would do something that they promised. I had trusted that they would say it if they won't. I had trusted their reasons, which were rather excuses, without a second thought. I had told everyone else who approached me on this matter that the cot is taken, and was sorry for the couple and the apparent mishap they spoke about. I didn't know the details of what they said had happened, but I prayed for them somewhere deep inside. 

I kicked myself for days together for being so stupid, so juvenile.

This one small, petty experience left in me a scar I could never get over till today. I never can, I guess. It's funny, it's silly, and more so if you hear the bargain. It was all for three thousands of rupees. 

But of course if you know, you would understand that that was not the point. That is not the point. The point is not the point. 

Trust is!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Why am I remembering it all of a sudden?

Because, I can hear another silence aloud, and I badly, really badly, wish it strength.  I wish it strength, just so that it doesn't prove a coward again. I hope it doesn't break my trust again. I join my hands and hope.

Because, I want to continue to trust. Everyone. Oh, I so badly do!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

If you're reading this, may I request something of you?

If you've committed to something that you want to come out of, say it. For heaven's sake, say it!

Don't break a trust. Please!


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I want it my way!

"A suicide chooses to end life that he/she found unbearable but then they decide to leave behind something imperishable. Words. 

But then if someone had the clarity of thought to pen a decent note, would they necessarily kill themselves? The debate rages.

‘Dear world: I am leaving because I am bored. I am leaving you with your worries in this sweet cesspool,’ wrote actor George Sanders.  

I am still searching for that one note I wish to write if I ever do decide to kill myself."

I just finished reading through one of those many articles you come across everyday on Facebook. Some of which you scroll through, some you ignore, some your handheld refuses you on! This one, however, reached me, and this particular ending got me stop and think.

A memory came back. As a kid I was first introduced to Mahabharata over those many nights that my grandmother told me its story in a humming tone as I slept beside her half listening and half occupied in jealousy towards my newborn brother, who then took my place in the space between my parents at sleep. The bit on "ichchhamrityu" ("you choose when you die" boon that Bhishma acquired intrigued me quite a bit. Of course, among many.


I loved it. I thought it could be the best boon of all. And, like most mortals, I guess, I thought I would also want to decide my own departure. Myself.

Growing up, and particularly in this age and time, those many news of sudden deaths over a hardly-few-minutes notice of cardiac arrests in which age hardly mattered became almost as frequently met as those many terminal illness detection and eventual treatment that left people waiting, unsure, for years if not ages. Often you hear people mention them in a clumsy way - s/he is still alive, right? 


No, neither of these really are the way I want it. Never!


Of course, I want it my way.

I don't now what the trigger will be. I don't know when I can when I can say it's 'nuff and call it off, I don't know when, precisely. my self love will cross that restless sense of duty towards the living so that I can brave it without guilt. I may still bother that they'd call me a loser, or an escapist. I may still ponder over what and who I am leaving behind, and if I could do any better. I may move, stop and come back many a times. Most obvious of all, I'll keep thinking what if the attempt fails. 


But yes, I'd still say it loud and clear - I want it my way!

I hope I can have it my way. I can only hope, as of now.


Oh, and I also hope the above sentence is correct. The "as of now" part of it. :)

Ref: http://millenniumpost.in/NewsContent.aspx?NID=62101

Bombay, thou art sexy!

There is something about Bombay. There is something between Bombay and me. There is something between Bombay and the rest of the world.


First, I love her.


Yes, it’s a She. A "He" can never so erratic and so peaceful at the same time. So passionate, and yet so impersonal. So hard to get. So lonely inside, but still so proud. Yes, It has to be a She.


Do I yearn for her?


Yes. I do. And, badly!

Some real Freudian stuff!!

This is going to be a very personal story, and I had to, absolutely had to, document it. So, excuse.

(And yes, I am writing this in a trance. I am yet to leave my bed.And I am typing this on my phone.)

I am not much of a dreamer. I mean, day dreaming, impractical ideas, yes. But not much of you-fall-asleep-and-movie-starts kind of a dreamer. In fact, I sleep quite a broken sleep these days. So it was strange what happened last night. In my dreams.

You know that thing called "launch" or steamer? There must be some difference between the two, but I cannot tell which one it was. It had wood benches in neat rows, and was afloat on some dark, grey sea.

I boarded with Dhopash. As always, (ALWAYS, I insist) I found myself a seat at the edge, so that there was sea and there was us, and nothing much in between. On the bank, there was a wide wooden plank. (Who, ever, has seen a sea where launches are parked at wooden planks on the shore? Sorry, my dream was quite unreasonable you see. But in honesty, I should tell you exactly as it was.)

Anyway, there was this wooden plank and there were these people crowding on it, apparently seeing off the passengers who were leaving in the launch. My parents were there, both of them. They looked anxiously at me. The look they look everytime they see or hear that I, alone, will take care of Dhopash. Somehow, their attitude towards me over the last three years have been this, that I am old enough to give birth but perhaps yet some miles to cover to be the mother. As always, I tried to counter their anxiety with an exaggerated look of confidence and a pulled up smile on my face. I wished I could shout at them a "don't you worry, we'll be fine!". But it was too noisy all around and moreover the launch had started its wheels. I tucked up Dhopash tightly in one arm, and held on to the chain that roped the handles of the two large suitcases I had with me. I can't tell exactly, but it seemed like I and Dhopash were taking off for a destination, and for good.

What happened next freaked me out. Suddenly there was this huge, huge black waves that started forming right around us. The launch swayed vigorously at first, and water splashed all over us. Dhopash, asleep for a while, woke up with a jerk. She got very scared.

The next moment, the waves got bigger. And possibly wider. They pulled the launch atop themselves, and the next minute, let it off for a free fall. The launch became very upside down, something like those later scenes in Titanic. Dhopash clutched me tightly, while screaming and shivering at the same time. But then, there was some loud music playing and then someone from behind said something like "hold one, it's gonna be fun!" Loudly in my ears. And while Dhopash was still screaming, her voice drowned in the sounds from around us. People seemed to be divided by the sounds, some panicking while some exhilerating.

I waa silent, not because I wanted to be but because my throat was choked. I was scared for our lives. The launch kept being pulled up and thrown down in irregular succession, everytime with a strength stronger than last time. I gripped Dhopash tightly and she ctutched back hard, so much so that her nails scratched my arms and they were bleeding. Everytime we moved upwards, I could hold her closer to my bones, but then the very next moment we would come falling down and the gravitational pull would seem resolved to take her away from me. Not to mention the frail thin iron bars that formed the railings on the launch, their gaps being narrow for grown ups to pass but wide enough for a minor like her.

It was at one of those moments that I noticed that I was wearing a seatbelt. And that everone, as I looked around, had a firmly girded seatbelt around their waist. Some, particularly the ones who cheered at the ongoings, even had a life jacket put on. I looked back at Dhopash. She was the only one without a seat belt or a life jacket.

I looked at the shore, which now was at quite some distance. I tried to spot my parents in the crowd so that I could ask them if they can take Dhopash from me, but I could not identify them in the hazy crowd. Also, now that I am awake I am thinking, how could they possibly help when we had already left the shore behind?

And, how did I ever forget to put a life jacket on Dhopash?

Thank goodness I am awake! And she beside me, peacefully sleeping away to glory, her arm wrapped around mine, and a slight smile hanging at the corner of her mouth.

I can tell she's dreaming some dream too.

I just hope she feels safe in it.