Saturday, May 26, 2007

will it rain today?

The evening is cut short by heavy dark clouds. Will it rain today?

I wish it rains today. After may be two-three years, I am in a mood to enjoy the rainfall. When I was in Shillong, it was a headache. Because it always rain there. There was nothing new in it. Cherapunjee, which receives the highest rainfall in the world, is only 40 km from Shillong.

But will it rain today in Bangalore? May the Rain-Goddess be kind to the city today; Let it rain cats and dogs. I am in a mood to immerse myself in the music. May be, who knows, if mood permits, I will run to the terrace and not leave until I feel I have caught a really bad cold and going to fall sick soon. But I am in a mood to be the instrument, let the raindrops strike the chord in me. I will sing today. Will it rain today?

It’s long since I didn’t attempt to write a poem. I have lost touch with my mother-tongue Bengali. I want to write in Bengali today. For that I need to open myself. Let my pores absorb the music of a drizzle. Let the Rain-Goddess bless Bangalore today. Will it rain today?

I remember, when we were kids, me and my sister, we used to beg father to let us bunk our studies and enjoy the rainfall. The pungeant smell of freshly-drenched earth reminded us the smell of mother. The all reassuring smell!

Me and Jhumu, our nose poking outside the window used to inhale the most fragrant perfume in earth. It was not enough for us. As if we wanted to bottle the perfume and keep it at our bedside. It was a strange smell; it was a strange experience, a strange feeling. I always wanted to run out of the house and never return. I wanted to break free every time the smell invaded the whole earth.

Our face hard-pressed against the iron grill, we used to see the distant light in the lamppost getting hazier. Soon it used to shine like a holy man’s ring. Our eyes ... round, wide open, fresh, eager, moist, were filled with dreams. Dreams of growing up soon. We would then reach that lamppost and touch the holy ring, without getting scolded by parents.

We were spell-bound by the small rivers and springs and pools formed here and there. Who knew, that curve where I peed everyday, and that crack which I passed everyday without even noticing had such potential. Who knew that they were a piece of art waiting to be carved out? Soon we would wonder seeing the heavy rains inundating the nearby fields and making everyplace “water water everywhere”. We were the favorites of the rain Goddess. Soon she used to fill our hearts with so much joy that we, me and my sister Jhumu, used to hold our hands and dance and sing. Our stock was very little and often we ended up singing our national anthem…without giving a damn of maintaining a proper etiquette. As the rain transformed the earth, many a times we transformed our national anthem, a must to learn and thus the only full song in our collection, into rock-and-roll thingy.

And there was music, a tune; the notes of which I have forgotten as soon as I grew up. The notes, which I used to effortlessly relate to, and which used to make me somber. I have forgotten them. I am desperately searching for the notes one more time.

Oh! When did I grow up? Why did I grow up? Why?

I know, I am a sinner now and the Rain Goddess won’t let me get atune to her. She is now striking the hearts of her new aficionados; somebody somewhere on earth has now pressed his/her face against the window and watching the distant lamppost. The holy man’s ring of light.

But at least, I will try to recollect the notes. I will pray to her today. I will put all my vileness, schemes, meanness and perjury behind and again will press my face against the grill today. Let the thunderbolt strike it. Let there be no chance of escape. Who wants to escape to return to this world of futility? If She forgives me and claims me back with her blaze, I will be the most happiest. I will get back my notes. This time I can really touch the holy man’s ring. Without anybody objecting. Earlier it was father who prevented me going out. Now it was me, the clever and practical me. The foolish me.


Ah! Finally, I will get rid of myself!! What a relief!


But, will it rain today?

Thursday, May 10, 2007

good morning

Today I decided to say “good morning” to everybody I met. Familiar faces, not so familiar faces, but may be with whom I was forced to interact sometime back, I decided to say good morning to everybody I met in the morning. You don’t need a psychiatrist to certify that I am a highly unsocial guy. Almost to the point being an anti-social, minus the brawn. I hardly talk to people whom I don’t know very well or with whom I feel my ‘chemistry’ is not matching.

And now I am writing this, as I feel a positive Chinese ‘chi’ of Indian origin (to be specific Bangalore origin) caressing my mind and body.

The tea shop owner, whom I have never seen smiling, responded with a blush, and after a brief halt said, “good morning”. This greeting is not at all common in India, definitely not among the common masses who won’t greet you with a good morning, unless they really mean it. If they say good morning, they really wish you a good morning and good day ahead.

It’s not like the well-dressed stranger in an elevator who would smile looking at you and greet you with a morning note, without even caring whether he really meant a good day ahead for the stranger. Yes, I am proud of the fact that Indians are not into western artificiality. It’s constricting and is overtly a make over.

But, today, I decided to find it out myself how a simple greeting like “good morning’ could change my attitude towards my rather cynical outlook towards these fake western ‘manners’.

So I said good morning to the tea-vendor. He was obviously taken aback. May be, never in his career he had heard a ‘good morning’ from his complaining but regular customers. Indians complain a lot. He knows it by now. If somebody would crib that there is less sugar in the tea, other would frown about the tea becoming syrup. But the fact that they continue coming to the shop is testimonial to the fact that they indeed love the tea. Otherwise they won’t come. But they will never say if they are pleased when a good tea is served. The silence of argumentative Indians should be read as high praise.

Anyway, he took some time to adjust and digest. Suddenly the fifty-year-old pretended as a teenager and blushed. He gaped his mouth in approval (I saw four of his teeth missing, a never before discovery) and politely replied, “good morning good morning…the usual full-tea for you sir?”

“Oh yes, sure. You know my choice.”

And stupid both of us were smiling at each other as if we had a clandestine understanding.

I moved on and purchased a pack of cigarettes, I said “good morning, may I have a pack of gold-flake kings please”. And lo, the shop-keeper ignored the other customers and handed me the packet. “Good morning,” he said.

I was riding in my motorcycle back home when I saw another biker coming with the head-light on. I surprised myself by volunteering to warn him that the bike’s light was on (generally I enjoy seeing these goof-ups). I signaled while still riding and the man got it. He switched off the light and smiled, which only meant he was really really thankful. It’s an Indian way of saying “thanks a lot”. For my western readers, if any day, you bump upon an Indian saying “thank you” without a gleaming smile on his face, you can be assured, he is not thankful at all. Merely, he is becoming formal to you. But if he smiles approvingly and keeps silent, you can well assume he doesn’t want to utter the word “thanks” and belittle his gratefulness towards you. West is west and orient is orient, even in the days of globalization. And I pray it always remain so. But I still like the Urdu style of saying thanks. “Shukriya”! With the right hand at the chest, a little bent, and a serious grateful expression on the face; I just love it! On the contrary, take a typical westerner. He says thanks and ‘thank you’ in everything. He is perennially thankful to everything in life. But he doesn’t forget to shout “fuck you bastard” at the slightest inconvenience. Whew! Extreme edition!

So I was happy that the man smiled back at me.

I was parking my bike when the neighboring uncle, who was recovering from Parkinson, came out of the gate a little wobbly. “Good morning uncle,” I said. He gave me a lop-sided smile. “A very good morning young man,” he uttered the words with some difficulty.

We smiled back at each other. I knew the old man’s day was made. He is very frail and feels happy whenever somebody asks about him. I can understand his psyche. Generally I always halt in my way to ask about how he was recovering, whenever we cross our path. So that was not a major out-of-the-box experimentation from me.

But my greatest reward came when I met my landlord. He just had waked up and was brushing. Generally I am afraid of this man. He maintains an air around him which warns any loafer like me not to mess with him. But I must say, he has a heart of gold. Because of him, I got my internet connection after all.

So I carried my experimentation a little bit further and dared to greet him. “Good morning uncle”. He was very happy! He was very very happy! Against all his inhibitions about boys of my age, he stopped and asked me if I was facing any problem in the house. Whether I was facing any problem in this thirsty Bangalore where water is a perennial problem now. He asked me whether I needed a new lock for my room as it had broken.

Though I had some problems and repairing the lock is a priority now, I decided to return the goodwill. I don’t need anything now. I am happy in whatever you as a house-owner is availing me with. I am satisfied and happy for where I am living.

My house-owner was happy. So was I.

And the dog at the terrace! The staircase being outside the house, this dog comes to the terrace and sleep in the night. Often in the clothes that are kept for drying and fall from the wire.

Earlier, when I used to come from my office at night, this dog used to freak out and run for his dear life, tail tucked under the belly. But of late he has realized I am also a homeless dog like him and he has no danger from me what so ever. In fact, for the last fifteen days I am giving him biscuits (though careful not to make him my pet). So he was least afraid when I came at the terrace to have a morning smoke.

After some initial gymnastics, he came to me wagging his tail. I pat on his head. He yelped. Being a dog myself I perfectly understood his language.

“Oh thank you. A very good morning to you too dear. Wait here, I will fetch your biscuits.”

While coming to my room, I realized these western greetings are not without a cause. These are the cheapest way to let your vanity go and socialize and feel akin to realize your duty in this world. That to live and let live and that humans are waiting to be touched.

It’s no harm if you say you love them, you care. It only makes you wealthier. Now I will try to be a little nicer to people I interact daily. Hmmm…not everything in west is a complete decadence, I must say!

Good morning my dear westerners. A very nice day to you.

Monday, May 07, 2007

Confessions of a drunk

Of late I have become very introspective. Very calm and deep in thoughts, or not thinking at all. I don’t know why this introspection, but I guess this is a kind of a stage in a man’s life. It’s allmost unavoidable as mid-life crisis, I guess.

I have started questioning my existence. Why am I here in the first place. I am 27-28 now and what have I achieved in life? In the sense, what was the need for me to take birth at all? Just to add to the numbers? But it was my firm belief that every little particle in this earth has some kind of purposes. It was my belief…may be a year-ago. When I was a little younger.

I think this age at a man’s life is quite revolutionizing, in the sense, it’s just like teens, when you are coming out of your childhood and is quite undecided of the world in front of you. You see people are responding differently to you. You get excited and astonished hearing your own voice, why blame others?

I guess my age has also some kind of connotation in the growth process. I am approaching thirty. My body has started depositing fat. I could feel the heaviness. I am getting bulkier. Whereas at one point of time, I was wondering why my cheeks should not be fleshy enough, why it should remain like that of a Somalian drought victim? Ah…I hope I get those lithe look. It was much better. My face was not good enough to hook a girl. No, I never expected a girl to get impressed by my appearance. So I concentrated on other tricks. Now that I am putting on weight, I don’t think I have the urge to impress chicks anymore.

Oh, I digressed…sorry. I was talking about this age being a crucial point. Two-and-a-half year and I will be in my thirties. Gosh! Can’t believe it. I still can remember the day I celebrated my twenty. And my twenty-one is still vivid in my eyes for several reasons, feels like yesterday. Twenty-four, I got my first job. I left Calcutta and started for Shillong. I still remember mother was packing my goods when tears rolled my eyes. I realized, for the first time, that the boat is lifting its anchor. It will never return to its original port. No…the safety, security, callousness and happy-go lucky attitude has suddenly vaporized. Now it’s the time to fend myself. From this point, I have to fend myself and possibly a many others.

When I was saying goodbye to Maa and touched her feet, she started crying so heavily, I felt like dropping my baggage and settle for the old life again. But the call from the wide wild world was too tempting to resist. That time I took my mother’s love for granted. Years of undiluted love from my parents and siblings made me thought that love is very cheap and is very tiring.

Oh! How wrong I was. Love is the only factor that keeps a human being running. The commodity that was in abundance at a point of time became so scarce now, that I became shameless in snatching some kind of love from somebody. Love, that doesn’t demand back.

When I was in Shillong, we had Tultul-di in canteen. She was the didi, or elder sister of everybody, including me. But quickly I found a mother in her. May be because, others were all locals and had a family, nobody cared for the deep love and affection her heart stored. I was lonely and was desperately searching for somebody who would shower me with unconditional love. Just like my mother. She quickly became a mother-replacement for me. So much so that, till this date, I feel a duty and responsibility towards her as her son would have felt for her. I don’t know. May be when she is old and frail and not able to look after herself properly, I might bring her back to stay with me, with my family. Though she has a family of her own, but I guess it should not be a problem. She is not married and her family is really her brothers’.

After almost one-and-half year, I left Shillong. Now this time, I learnt the greatest lesson in my life. I learnt, that I am a shitty emotional guy and quite incapable of controlling my emotions and be harsh enough to do a career for myself. I realized I spread my roots too much. It was paining very much to detach myself from my second home Shillong. I was in love with Didi. I was in love with my office, I had a Guru and brother in E.M. Jose, our chief reporter. It had become a habit to feed all the stray dogs in the locality early in the morning. All the dogs used to sit just outside my door waiting for me to wake up.

I used to get only Rs. 1,500, or a little more than U.S. $30 a month. There were many days when I had to go empty stomach, too ashamed to ask Didi to give me something to eat because I didn’t had money to pay her. But I never forgot to buy a full loaf for my dogs in Shillong. I used to save money only for that purpose. And many a times, we used to share the loaf. I used to divide it into six parts. One for me and the rest for the five pets.

At first, I used to loath this poverty. I am from a quite well-off family. I had everything, every comfort possible under the sun at my home in Calcutta. But soon I was in love with my poverty. At last something was my own!

When the call came to leave for Bangalore, I was ecstatic that my new salary would give me all those comforts and many more that I left behind. But when the day of parting came close by, I was at a loss. It was a painful, very very painful experience. I remember I stopped crying only when I reached Guawahati. For the last three- four hours, I was crying. I partied whole night. A very humble party that my Chief Reporter EM Jose had organized for me. Mcdowell whisky with water from the nearby spring and chicken.

Five of us--Jose, me, Om, Naresh and Sumit Kar sat at the room just below the printing press. The giant press was printing the morning edition with a deafening sound that gives you a headache. The entire room was shaking. We were oblivious of what might happen if the ceiling caves in. I was happy my paper was getting published. Page one being subbed by my. I was the one responsible for selecting the news for the page one. It was an honour that no amount of money can give you. Waking up in the morning and seeing a group of people scrambling for and reading the paper in a group done by you…it’s a heavenly experience.

They gave me the first printout. I left Shillong and my heart behind.

From that point of time I have decided not to fall in love with anything that is for momentary and temporary. Nope, I am not in love with Bangalore, because I was too careful to spread my roots here. But still I get weak and fumble when I see somebody extending me love. It’s quite scary! I try to my best to avoid that person and even stop communicating with him/her. Still he/she thinks that it was a wrong person to shower love to.


Actually, after Shillong, I realized that I am a boat. My anchor has been lifted. Now I have to drift along. It’s no good to fall in love with the weeds holding you momentarily. It becomes painful later on.

But I have become introvert and am brooding on the past. Doesn’t make sense to write this long, but these days I am not writing for anybody. I am writing for myself. So I won’t mind if you decide to leave in the mid-way.

Until some time back, I thought I have some purpose in life and that I am not an ordinary man. That I won’t let me become an ordinary man.

But after some incidents and as I mature, it’s quite evident that being a common man is the highest achievement a man can get. To live life unnoticed, unhindered, unlicensed and to die without thinking too much about anything. No, I am serious. A common man with no aspiration is the most clever and practical man possible. Why get fooled nurturing high ambitions? Why not try to be a good ordinary man, who cries at a little injustice and laughs at the slightest silly joke. Why not be an ordinary man?


But then, why these thoughts are crossing my mind? Is that because I am going to touch thirty? Is that because I am getting heavier and don’t have the physical might to challenge the world. So settling down for a much accepted escape route is wise and prudent? Am I compromising with my dreams?

No, I don’t think so. I think everybody has this realization at some point in their life. At some point of time a man is forced to think the purpose of his life. I think I have decided my own fate.

I will live and die a commoner. How dare I challenge and provoke the ancient wisdom of a commoner?

And I think like a commoner, I should settle soon. It’s time to heed mother’s plea. I will get myself a wife very soon. I will have a family of my own. I need rest and some warmth. And if possible, love!

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

I am sorry darling. I cannot kiss you today. I’ve got influenza!

Of Cricket and Other Sports

I have started playing cricket after some thirty years. I can't claim to be the best bloke around in cricket, far from it, but I am one ...