Home Coming - A new life

It was yet another of those sleepless nights, silent and cold as death. The air in her bedroom stood stagnant the way it had done every night over the past countless years. She, like many an occasion before, prayed that the silence remained. That, however, went unanswered soon as he broke it with gritted teeth, hurling yet another round of chosen abuses at her. She remained quiet just as she resolved to do long back.

The air, still and heavy with silence for long, now seemed to grow colder with every hissing word he muttered at her. She realised, yet again, that she had ran out of tears long back, and anger as well. Now what remained in her could possibly be described as a soulless body, she told herself.  This thought offered her some comfort. It protected her like a shield, she wanted to believe. Yet, much to her dismay, she soon felt the warm salty trickle down her cheeks, pressed against the pillow; the pillow that was carefully placed at the farthest corner of the bed away from its other twin, the one which he leaned against at the other end of the bed.

Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) - Film Review

This has also been published at Women's Web.


When I sat to watch the movie "Birdman", there was no denyng that it was indeed because it was the Oscar win this year. I knew that if I like it, it'd mean I've understood it; else, I plain haven't had got it. I had assumed it'd be one which would be rich in a way that I'd have to try and reach. That I'd need to understand references, watch out, and would possibly miss out on few layers.

At the end of it, I realise a different thing - that, what I actually missed out on was the name of the movie. The entire name, which is:

"Birdman - The unexpected Virtue of Ignorance!"

That said, the rest was really for you and for me, and for any and all of us.

A one fine coward morning!

There's this one fine morning, there's this one fine pile of whatsapp messages on muted groups that waited, here's this not finding time or energy to check them anytime before noon.

My old school friends group - one random out-of-ordinary message - read like this:

- "Do you remember that girl called X who used to be our junior, used to date Y, used to travel by school bus route N?"
- Erm, not quite! Why?
- Well, she passed away last night.
- Oh! Sad, indeed. What had happened?
- Fever.
- Fever?
- Yeah. Swine Flu perhaps. Can't say"
- Hm. RIP.

Thus had ended the trail of messages and to be honest, the traces left the minds of most pretty soon as well.

এমন দেশটি কোথাও খুঁজে পাবে নাকো তুমি...

বাংলাদেশ নিয়ে, কেন জানিনা, চিরকালই মনের মধ্যে একটা ফ্যান্টাসি ছিল। তার একটা কারণ সম্ভবত ছোটবেলা থেকে পাড়ায় ক্লাবে বা আড্ডায় ওই বাঙ্গাল-ঘটি, ইস্টবেঙ্গল-মোহনবাগান, ইলিশ-চিংড়ি বা পদ্মা-গঙ্গা (প্রাকৃতিক সৌন্দর্য নয়, ইলিশের স্বাদ বিষয়ক) নিয়ে নিয়মিত খুনসুটি আর ঝগড়াঝাঁটি। আর তাছাড়া বয়স্ক লোকজন কখনো জিগ্যেস করলে নিয়মমাফিক চেনা উত্তরটা দিয়ে দেওয়া, যে হ্যাঁ, আমার বাবা মা দু'পক্ষই আদতে ও'দেশের, আর অতঃপর "ওদেশের কোথায়?"-এর উত্তরে হেথায় ও সেথায়, ইত্যাদি।

বাংলাদেশ ছুঁয়ে দেখিনি কোনদিন। টাকি থেকে নদীর ধারে রেলিং ধরে দাঁড়িয়ে ইছামতী দেখেছি বড়জোর, আর শুনেছি ওপারেই নাকি বাংলাদেশ। এই অবধিই আমার দৌড় আটকে থেকেছে। 

আজকের খবরে অভিজিৎ মৃত। কালকের খবরে অভিজিৎ মৃত্যুঞ্জয় হয়ে উঠুক!

অভিজিত রায়, একজন মার্কিন নিবাসী বাঙালী লেখক, এক “মুক্ত-মনা” চিন্তাধারার লেখক এবং প্রতিষ্ঠাতা, গত ২৬-শে ফেব্রুয়ারি সন্ধ্যেবেলা, অর্থাৎ আজ থেকে ঠিক তিনদিন আগে, বাংলাদেশের একুশে বইমেলা থেকে পায়ে হেঁটে নিজের বাড়ি ফেরার পথে ঢাকা বিশ্ববিদ্যালয়ের ক্যাম্পাস এবং নিকটবর্তী পুলিশ স্টেশনের থেকে ঢিল ছোঁড়া দুরত্বে, জনসমক্ষে চপার দিয়ে কুপিয়ে খুন হয়েছেন। তাঁর স্ত্রী রাফিদা আহমেদ বন্যা , যিনি যেটুকু পরিচয় সোশ্যাল মিডিয়ায় ভেসে আসছে তার পরিপ্রেক্ষিতে বলতে গেলে সার্থকঅর্থেই অভিজিৎ বাবুর সহধর্মিণী, তিনি প্রাণে বেঁচে গেছেন কিন্তু গুরুতর আহত।

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.

Blue Jasmine - Woody Allen - a film review

Well, let’s make a confession right as I start – I am kind of new to Woody Allen. Yes, how-much-so-ever uninitiated - illiterate if you would - this may sound. In fact, to confess, I had only watched “Annie Hall”, “Love and Death” and “Everything you wanted to...” before this. I did like all of them, but of course for what they were due for – that queer sense of humour, that slapstick humour, that oblivious not-that-I-care-much-for-you-but-can-we-still-sleep kind of weird humour. Humour, if at all!

Among those, I was stupid enough to form a vague guess about Allen and his film-making orientation, style and restrictions, particularly around the subjects he covered and stories that he chose to tell.

This, Blue Jasmine, my fourth of his, changed that. And how!

Epitaph

- তুমি সুখ উপলব্ধি করেছ?

- করেছি তো।

- সত্যি বলছ?