Recipe : D Chowmein

Serves 4 people

Ingredients

• Vermicelli (1 packet) - not the one which has long strands but the one which is broken into small bits
• Onions
• Vegetables : Tomato, Beans, Capsicum, Potato, Carrot - diced into cubes as for chowmein
• Spices : Heeng (Asaphoetida), Ajwain, Haldi (Turmeric), Chilli Powder

Procedure

• First heat some oil in a kadhai and fry the Vermicelli till golden brown
• Separately boil some water. In the boiling water add the fried Vermicelli after it has cooled down a bit. Add salt to taste. (Measure of water is 1 cup of water per cup of vermicelli. This is important as this determines the texture of the Vermicelli. After soaking in the water, it should not become too soggy.)
• Now fry the onions. Add the spices. After the onions have cooked a bit, add the diced vegetables. Fry till they are cooked, but only so much that they remain crunchy.
• Finally add the Vermicelli and toss around a bit. D chowmein is ready to serve.

Final suggestions : You may serve with chaat masala sprinkled on top, or with tomato sauce. Whichever way, it tastes yummy!!!

Dream Theatre : 3D

I am going to relate to you a dream that I recently had. At the end of the dream, I was put in a sticky situation. I will request my readers to suggest ways by which I might have got out of that situation.

At the end, I shall also relate the solution that I conceived in the somnolent state I was in when I woke up.

Scene 1
The dream starts an I find myself in a park with some small kids. All of us are playing with a Frisbee. Suddenly one of the kids throws the Frisbee wildly and it whizzes past all of our heads and lands in a drain.

I go over and look into the drain. To my surprise I find the Frisbee resembling an upturned dinner plate. Anyway, as the drain is full of muddy dirty water, I refrain from picking it up.

Scene 2
To my utter surprise, I find out that one of the kids playing with me in the park is actually my son. Presently I am in a room with him. I am getting ready for a party and he is jumping all over me. As I wear my tie, I promise him that I shall fight the goons to bring back his Frisbee. To add to the weight of the promise, I fire a few weighty punches in the air. My son is suitably impressed, and starts to envision me as his superhero. Leaving my son with his illusions (true or false) I leave for the party along with my wife.

Scene 3
Now I am at the party with my wife. She is presently in my arms and we are doing a slow ball-dance. I notice that she is tall, slim, dark and attractive. She is tipsy after a few drinks. However, I am totally in my senses. My mind is occupied by thoughts of the Herculean task before me.

Retrieving a Frisbee from a drain should not be a formidable task. However, the drain and its periphery have undergone a drastic transformation from one dream scene to another. I visualise the area while dancing, and I see visions of a dark and formidable street. On one side of it, there is the canal (the erstwhile drain) in which my son's Frisbee is lying. A series of workshops lie on the other side of the street and its' inhabitants look like goons coming straight out of prison. They wear dirty cargos and rag-like vests, and they seem to have muscles popping out from all over their body. In each of their faces, I see scars, pockmarks and the same lecherous and trouble-mongering expression.

If only our city had been better developed, I think to myself. Then this canal-side road would have become a beautiful promenade lined with elegant skyscrapers, much like the waterfronts of many US cities.

But for now, it is through this haven of ruffians that I have to venture to retrieve my son's Frisbee. And on top of that, I have to take my wife along with me.

Last Scene
Now I find myself driving my car at almost zero speed through that narrow lane. My wife is on the seat beside me and is sleeping as peacefully as a kitten. The car lights are on and the scumbags outside can see her. As my car inches along at snail's pace, a crowd of leering ruffians forms outside. Now I am almost at the end of the road. Soon I must stop my car. And to retrieve my son's Frisbee, I have to go some distance, leaving my sleeping wife in such contemptible and dangerous company.

There is no turning back. What do I do?

Please suggest some solutions…

The solution that I got in the semi-conscious state I found myself in, when I woke up from this bad dream......
As I near the end of the road, I spot a small door leading into a mosque. Having stayed beside a devout Muslim at hostel, I know that a prayer session must be concluding around this time. I stop the car, lock it from outside and rush inside the mosque. As soon as the prayers get over, I drag the Maulvi outside. On seeing him, the ruffians who have by now almost clambered on to my car, shy away like naughty boys caught red-handed. I request the Maulvi to guard my wife and dash off to retrieve the Frisbee. Soon I bring it back (by now, it is no more a Frisbee; it is a dinner plate) and find my wife sleeping in ignorant bliss.

Mission executed....

A Simple Experiment

By means of this blog, I request you to participate in a simple experiment. I shall outline the procedure here.

First, I shall describe a few situations that I have encountered in my personal life. Then, I shall ask you a few questions regarding the described situations. Your role would be to honestly answer those questions.

Here and there, I might put forward some of my views regarding the described situations. I would request you to patiently hear me out. Pretty simple experiment, isn’t it? Then, let’s go ahead.

Situation 1: As I was waiting for the lift in my office building, I noticed a beautiful girl coming along. Being an early hour of the day, there was no one else nearby. As our eyes met, I noticed a hint of interest in her eyes. I was dying to start talking with the girl. I could feel the palpitations in my heart …

Question: I felt the urge to talk to this beautiful specimen from the opposite gender. Have you, in a similar situation in your life, felt a similar urge? Answer in Yes or No.

Situation 2: A (female) friend and I had visited a coffee shop recently. We struck up an interesting conversation. Flitting from one topic to another, the conversation landed on the topic of my friend’s boyfriend. She started by describing the time when they had started going around, and then talked about a bad patch in their relationship. Then, she went on to describe how they had made up. I could notice a glow of happiness in her face, as she talked about him. As I listened to her monologue, my feelings changed from one of pleasant curiousness to slight jealousy. How could these people be so happy? Must you have a love-partner to be in such a state of bliss?

Question: Have you been faced with a similar situation? Have you, at one point or another in your life, felt a similar need to have a partner? Answer in Yes or No.

My views : Now, here are my views on the situations described above. Some of you, having faced similar situations in the past, might have already found your life-partner. I believe that these ‘needs’ of mine will be fulfilled in the future. It may be in the form of marriage, or in the form of a girlfriend. My point is that there is no need for me to despair. A positive solution lies in the future.

Now, let me describe a few more situations.

Situation 3: While going for my morning walk, I pass this eating joint beside my house. If I pass it around 7 o’clock, I find boys, much younger than me, huddled together, peeling potatoes. Every day of the week, barring Sundays, they peel potatoes. During my walk, I think about my career, about the rising pollution in the city, and other such issues. I wonder what those kids think about.

Question: Have you seen small kids, slaving away at menial tasks, wasting the best years of their lives? Have you ever been worried for them? Answer in Yes or No.

Situation 4: One day, I was running a few chores during the daytime. As I was passing Minto Park, I noticed a small kid defecating behind a tree. It was a busy time of the day, and hundreds of cars were whizzing past that site. Quite a few pedestrians, like me, were also using that footpath. The kid was in full public view, but obviously he had more pressing things to attend to. Initially amazed by the sight, I noticed that this footpath had been used for similar purposes quite regularly. Unlike this child, the others had probably been careful to control their bowel movements to less busier hours of the day.

Question: Have you seen a similar pitiable sight? Have you felt injustice over the fact that some people do not get even their basic needs attended to? Answer in Yes or No.

My views : Well, I keep feeling sad when I come across these sights. I wonder why there is no natural social mechanism for alleviating these inequalities. A natural mechanism like the one that gets people married. Why isn’t there a natural movement towards addressing such social injustice?

Initially, when I set out to write this piece, I started on a pessimistic note. But since then, I think I have found a positive answer. Like my views expressed earlier, I think the solution for this injustice lies in the future.

After all, I cannot help each and every child in the streets. Much like the fact that I cannot marry each and every pretty girl that I come across in a lift. I hope I shall be able to help at least one needy child in my life. That, I think, will be similar to remaining happily married with the love of my life.

D Sandwich

I'm learning a bit of cooking. I make the breakfast every Saturday. I recently learned to make this sandwich, and it tastes great. So I thought I'd share it here. Some friends in the US, who are having to cook on their own, can easily try it out.

Ingredients:

1. Bread – 2 slices
2. Butter
3. Oil
4. 1 Cucumber – sliced into round discs
5. 1 Tomato – sliced into round discs
6. Cheese

Procedure:
Butter 2 slices of bread. Heat a very little amount of oil in a non-stick fry pan. (You can also use some butter for this). Lightly fry the non-buttered side of one slice till it starts appearing brown. This forms the outer side of the sandwich.

Take the browned bread slice off the pan. Arrange the sliced cucumber and tomato on the buttered inner side. Then add a generous sprinkling of grated cheese. Cover this with the buttered side of the other bread slice.

The outer side of the top slice of bread has still not been fried. Now gently pick up the whole sandwich and place it top down on the frying pan. That means the yet-to-be browned side of bread now gets browned. This also results in the grated cheese melting a bit, giving the sandwich its characteristic taste.

After the bread has become adequately brown, gently pick up the whole sandwich from the frying pan. Halve the sandwich diagonally.Your sandwich is now ready.

NOTE : 1 cucumber, 1 tomato and 1 Amul cheese cube usually suffice for 6 slices of bread (i.e. 3 sandwiches)

[Unfortunately, I don't have a DigiCam. But the above photo from this wonderful site at least shows almost all the ingredients required. (Except the strawberries!!)]

[Edit 11/6/2006] : Now, I have a DigiCam. The above photo is of the actual D-Sandwich.

The Interim Period

It has been quite some time since I posted something on my blog. Here are some things that I did during that time.

• Created an e-tutorial about my final year B. Tech project. Had been thinking about making one for a long time. Finally, was able to implement it in the last month. (Thanks a lot to BSNL Broadband connection at home). You can check it out here. Even if TI DSP’s are not what you usually fascinate about, you will be able to appreciate the introduction written for me, by my friend Atul Narayan. I asked him to put all his marketing skills into the introduction.
  
  
  
• Thought of a PJ. It goes like this:
  
  One day, a convoy of black Hyundai Sonata-s was proceeding along a highway. Suddenly, the first Hyundai Sonata broke down. And as a result, the whole convoy had to stop till the problem was fixed.
  
  Now, try to remember that old blind man from Sholay… At that time, he was on the way to his daily numaaz. As he was trying to cross the road, he was hindered by the serpentine queue of Sonata-s. My question is, what did the blind man from Sholay say at that time?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Read on
  
  
  V
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ”Itna Sonata Kyon hai, Bhai !!!”
  

“Nirjon Saikat-e” Film Review

The Sunday started by watching ‘Shaadi No. 1’ at Inox multiplex. As to how much I liked the movie, the lesser said – the better. Back home, I saw ‘Shrimaan Prithviraj’ on the computer. It’s an acknowledged Bengali classic and I saw it for the first time. Needless to say, it was highly entertaining.

After this, I found my parents watching another Bengali movie on the telly. The movie was called ‘Nirjon Saikat-e’ and my parents said that it was a famous oldie. Once I started watching it, I could not pull myself away. Since I liked it so much, I shall write about it here. Also, many people have not heard about it, and I would suggest them to definitely put this on top of their viewing list.

Cinema ta 30-40 bochor purono. Aar saikat ta holo Puri’r saikat. Tokhon kaar kale lokera Puri-turi gele mash-du ek katiyei ashto. Aaj kaal eto boro chuti bhaba-o jaay na. Jaai hok, shei Puri-te chuti kataate geche emon lokjoneder niyei cinema. Lokjoner moddhye ache ek-jot bidhoba buri. Shombhoboto tara ek-ee poribaar-er shodoshyo – ek sathe ghurte esechen. Taader moddhye du-jon buri non – ekjon hocche Ruma Guha Thakurta, olpo boyeshe bidhoba hoyechen. Aar ekjon hocche Sharmila Thakur, shey to bidhoba-i noy, pseudo bidhoba. Taar premik taake ekebaare biye-r mondop porjontyo giye ditch koreche – taai opomaan, betrayal-er jaala etc etc-te aajkaal shey bidhobar motoi thaake.

Aar aache Anil Chatterjee - film-er prodhaan nayok. Taar life ta ekebaare ‘mast’. Kormo khetrer dik theke shey artist ba author. Ekaai eseche Puri - shombhoboto inspiration-er jonne. Puri-te oi bidhoba buri-der sathe taar alaap hoy, taader sathe khub bondhutto hoy. Taara deke deke artist chokra-ke aador kore khawaay. Ruma ke Anil didi bole daake. Aar Sharmila to kaar-o sathe kothai bole na.

Jaai hok, ekdin enara shob shomudre chaan korte jaan. Sharmila’r to kichu tei spriha nei. Aar Anup o generally khub lazy – shey beach-ei boshe thakte chaay. Taader ke chere baaki-ra shomudre nemey pore. Tokhon Anup aar Sharmila kotha bolte arombho kore. Sharmila je khub depressed taa-i kothaay kothaay bojha jaay. Tokhon Anup suggest kore je shomudre chaan korle taar mon ta halka hoye jaabe. Sharmila gele shey-o jaabe. Sheshe anil-er onek onurodhe aar nuliya’r sahajye Sharmila jol-e naame. Kichu khon-er moddhei taar sundor mukhe ekta haashi phutey othe. Shob duhkho bisorjon diye shey ekebaare metey othey shomudre-r sathe.

Scene-ta dekhe amaar Puri’r jonne prochur mon kemon korchilo. Amaar mone aache je Puri-te giye amaar kono kaaron-e khub mon kharaap chilo. Aar shomudre chaan korte korte amaar mon-taao shob koshto bhuley gelo. 30-40 bochor aage-o loker taa hole emon-ee mone hoto. Raag hole joto chaao shomudre ke maaro; kanna pele joto chaao kaado – shomudro shob kichu-ke nijer moddhye grohon kore nebe. 30 bochor aageo je bhaabe nito, ekhono temon bhaabei nebe.

Accha ei holo shomudro-chaan er brittanto. Porey shei bidhoba-buri’r dol Konarak jaatra koren. Onek onurodh aar abdaar koraa-te bhoboghure Anil-o taader sathe jete badhyo hoy. Jaatra-ta abaar goru’r gaarite. Amra jokhon Puri theke Konarak gechilam, tokhon amader goru’r naam chilo Tata Sumo.

Konarak pouchey shekhaan-e aar ek mojaar kaando ghote. Konarak-er Sun Temple-er dewaal-e karukarjo dekhle ekta bishoye besh gyaan orjon kora jaay. Bishoy-ta holo Kamasutra. Emon kichu gyaan orjon kora-r por amaader bidhoba buri-ra Anil ke gaalagaal korte thaken. Bolen “Hotochaara! Kemon jaygay niye esechis. Sharmila jeno oi dikey ekebaare na jaay.”

Mojaar kotha ei je ami jokhon ma-baba-mashi-didi-jamaibabu-bhagne niye Konarak giyechilam amaar-o thik ek-ee experience hoyechilo. Mashi-ra ek ekta karukarjo dekhe amader bolchilo “Khobordaar oi dike takaabi na.” Ami to mukh tipey tipey heshe phelchilam. Aar amaar theke choto amaar bhagne-o chilo. Konarak jatraa-r por olpo boyoshe-ee shey onek gyaani hoye gechilo.

Finally, aar ekta scene-er kotha boli. Konarak-er surjo mondir dekhe buri-ra pherot gechen. Baaki ache shudhu Sharmila aar Anup – puro mondir-e ekaa tarai ache. Kichu ekta kothaay Sharmila khub depressed hoye jaay, bole “Beche theke ki laabh.”. Tokhon Anup taake bole, “Ki bolchen aapni? Beche to amader thaktei hobe. Ami nije onek kichui maani na, kintu ekta jinish shotyi - je ami atheist noi. Ami bhogobaan-e bishhash kori. Ami moni kori kothaao kono ekta force ache je protyek muhurte amaader jibon-ke gorche, bhangche, abaar gorche, abaar bhangche. Aar amader kaaj hocche - ei je jogot-e amader pathaano hoyeche, shekhane mon khule baacha.”

Kotha gulo amake prochur touch korlo. Ei byapaare amar feelings-tao kichuta similar.

Byaas, “Nirjon Saikat-e” niye eto-taai. Tapan Sinha’r direction-er movie. Na dekhe thakle dekhe phelun.

[Most of this blog is in Bengali. I started writing it in English, but found the feelings flowing better in Bengali. Inspired by http://jacchetai.blogspot.com/ .]

Scatter-brain

I am going for tennis coaching nowadays. The other day, the coach was especially ruthless. He had made me run so much, that at the end of the session, I found myself looking to the skies for respite. And what did I see when I looked above. I saw two huge TV cable lines running along the breadth of the sky. The sky was a clear blue with many tufts of cloud scattered here and there. The cable lines gave an effect that the sky had been divided into regions by them. The sight reminded me of something, of which I can provide you a snapshot. Look below :-

Guess this is what happens when you work too much with excel plots and scatter diagrams.

Battle Ahoy!!

Written 3 weeks ago, Posted today

Getting ready for and going to office is a daily ritual that many of us perform. I too go through this ritual every workday morning. After having a sufficiently nutritious breakfast prepared by my mother, I leave for office. I pack the water, ask the Gods for blessings, get blessed and wished good luck by my parents, and then set off. If my timing is correct, I get the office car. Otherwise, I go the full distance by 'shuttle-taxi' (or 'share-taxi', depending on what one calls it). This particular mode of transport is usually co-habited by others of my species. By this, I denote the young people working in software, hardware and other '-ware’ offices in Sector 5, Salt Lake of Kolkata. Most of us Sectorus Fivus people are doing similar jobs. Almost always, we are similarly dressed. It’s almost as if we belong to different regiments going to the same battle. But even in this uniform setting, which could have been a perfect stimulant for conversation, there is usually a pregnant silence in the car. If we find someone from our own office, we instantly start talking to fill this void.

Speaking of battle, the phrase "getting ready for battle" might seem a little bit out of place today. But a thousand years ago, what with all the wars that littered our history texts, it would have been a commonplace thing. I can imagine the soldier setting off for battle. He would have shined his armour, much as we shine our shoes today. Then after having his morning meal, he would have been wished goodbye by his mother or wife. Their main concern would be his safe return. If the country won, it was good. For that increased the chances of the soldier returning home.

The soldier then would have set off towards the battlefield. On some days, he would be fortunate to catch his battalion's procession. After that, it would be a fun walk or ride, bantering along with his friends. On other days, he would be forced to travel along with soldiers of other regiments. And for some strange reason, the mood would not be as jovial. The cavalry would not talk with the archers, and the archers would smirk at the pikemen. And the pikemen would crack ‘arrow-bearer’ jokes within themselves, highlighting the imagined oddities of the archers. In the end, no one would talk with each other.

Coming back to my case, recently Kolkata received a lot of rain. As usual, our area was completely waterlogged. This resulted in my going to office wearing bermudas and chappals. Of course, once I was in office, I changed into the official 'armour'. People living in areas, where the drainage system is not up to the 'standards' of our locality, could not boast of similar exploits. And my voyages on land and water became the talking point among colleagues and relatives.

On such days, comparing myself with a common soldier of yore would not be appropriate. On those days, I felt like Arjuna, the main hero of the battle. It was feeling very similar to being "on top of the world".

PS : Between the time I wrote this piece and posted it here (a good 3 weeks), I have had quite a few interesting conversations on board the shuttle. So I should not complain anymore. If only all things got solved so easily!!!

'Baa, Bahoo Aur Baby'

A large number if Indians watch "Kaun Banega Crorepati" from 9 - 10 pm over the weekend on Star Plus. The slot just following KBC is thus an important slot for Star Plus as they would like to keep most of these KBC watchers hooked to their channel.

When KBC-1 was launched around 5 years back, "Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi" occupied the hallowed 10 o' clock slot. Those were my IIT preparation days, so I managed to see only bits and pieces of it. However, as my Mom followed the soap religiously, I was usually updated on the plot.

Initially, I found "Kyunki" quite likeable. Especially Tulsi Bhabhi , Baa and the starting song-and-video sequence. But ever since Mihir started dying pseudo-deaths and the jovial theme song turned into a lachrymose weepie, I started regarding it with severe contempt.

Recently, KBC-2 ('dwitiya') has started. This time, a serial of a completely different genre occupies the 10 pm slot. It's called "Baa, Bahoo Aur Baby". Hopefully, the 'Baa' is the only common link with its' predecessor.



The serial depicts the day-to-day issues of a Gujrati joint family. It is usually very hilarious. But it would be unfair to term it as a comedy as it also portrays the remaining gamut of emotions equally well. I'll relate two episodes of the serial here.

In one, a guy and his family had come to see Baby. Baby is a girl of marriageable age and arguably the main protagonist. Here I mean 'see' as in "ladki dekhne jaana". Now, according to me, and many Indians will agree with me, Baby is very sweet. We seem to like the "khaate peete ghar ki" type of girls and not the bulimic sort. Of course, Baby has a physical disability - she uses crutches.

The boy who had come to see Baby was more seriously disadvantaged - he stuttered. Finally, it was Baby who refused the guy. The striking part about the episode was the way the situation was treated. Unlike the usual Bollywood practise, the guy's stutter was not mocked at. I think he even deserves a prize for enacting the role so realistically.

Another episode recreated the settings of the Mumbai rains. A member of the family, Praveen, was feared to have died in the deluge. His wife, Praveena (usually great fun - watching 'Praveen and Praveena' together) was in tears, and was constantly being given support by the rest of the family. Nothing extraordinary about the plot; except the maturity with which all actors acted.

Overall, I think it is an absolutely wonderful serial. It is attractive mainly because it portrays Indian family values so well. Many serials become stale with time. Hope this one continues its' likeable streak for a long time.

Finally I think 'The Bold and The Beautiful' was good only for U.S. 'Baa, Bahoo Aur Baby' is good enough for us.

PS : Speaking of US and 'us' reminds me of something. In today's world, where many offices in India do the work of U.S. by outsourcing etc., the following motivational poster spotted at an office struck me as highly conspicuous -

"May this year be very prosperous

for US"

 

In relation with my work, I have lately had to do a lot of 'cutting-shutting' on images of people's faces.

What I want to mention over here is with reference to the picture above. (Sorry that it is so small.) I got both these faces from one of the umpteen face databases that exist in the world. And thus I know little more about these people than the Godforsaken names of their pix (BioID001212.bmp).

Anyway, that is besides the point. The point I want to raise is this : If you had to see one of these faces a thousand times every day, which one would you choose?

My answer : Jai Eve!!! 

This blog is dedicated to this pic (a popular wallpaper). And also to the new technique by which one can directly post pictures from one's computer to his/her blog using Picasa.

Also relevant is the fact that right now, Kolkata is totally washed out. Our area is totally waterlogged. For two consecutive days, I left for office wearing Bermudas and Hawaii Chappals so that I could wade through the waters. Of course I changed into trousers and shoes on reaching office. 

Holding Hands (The Last Day in Kgp - Part 2)

Read Part 1

That was to be my last day in Kgp. That was so because from the next day onwards, my beloved room would no longer be mine. It was to be handed over to the 'respectable' Warden of Patel Hall for use by future generations.

I had come to Kgp on a short trip of 2-3 days. There was still some work left regarding my research-paper writing! I had not expected much to come out of these 2-3 days in terms of positive results. At the end of the third day, when the results were what one would call 'mixed', I was not at all sad. In fact I was quite elated that I had tried till the last moment.

I had one more evening at Kgp. I had secured an invitation at a Professor's place that evening. Early next morning I would be leaving for Kolkata. Two days after that, I would be starting my job - a new chapter of my life. Today was the last day in the chapter of The Village (Kgp).

As I cycled towards my hall, I remembered that it was a long time since I had visited Jnan Ghosh Stadium for my jogging rounds. Usually, I would have gone to my hall to put on shorts and running shoes. But today, time was at a premium. I went into the stadium directly, in the same attire that I had since morning - shirt, jeans and floaters (typical Kgp ishtyle).

As I entered that green paradise, I wondered how much I'd miss it once I was in Kolkata. The stadium was quite empty today - quite natural since the holidays were going on in full swing. There was a small congregation of Mess Workers gathered on the steps. Their number and vocal presence grew considerably later on; but they were mostly busy with their own affairs. There was a young lad, wearing a vest and shorts, which revealed his good physique while he exercised. I took off my floaters and started walking on the tracks barefoot. Another old man came in for his evening walk.

As I said before, I was already in a very elated mood. Wonderful memories about the four years that had passed in Kgp came into my mind. Add to that, the sight of the lovely curtain of trees surrounding Jnan Ghosh. The wind blowing into you as you walked along - Oh! I was on a high. I felt like a bird. I took off my shirt and started jogging my last jog in this wonderful place.

I was about to complete my first round when the above-mentioned old man stopped me in my tracks. He asked me, "Young man, why are you running so much." I wanted to reply, "Because I want to stay fit. Because I want to have muscles like that other fellow. And anyway, who gave you the right to ask me such questions. Do I know you?" But as is usually the case, I meekly smiled and answered, "Emni"(Just like that).

The old man was not satisfied by bringing about a premature end to my last ever jog in Kgp. He had other questions he wanted to ask me. He got me to walk along with him. After a while, he put his arm around my shoulder. I was taken aback - was this old man a pervert! But I persisted with him, wanting to be sure before reaching such conclusions.

Now one side of Jnan Ghosh was so overgrown with grass that it was impossible to walk over there. Thus joggers and walkers and 'joggers-turned-walkers' (like me) had to forego the usual roundabout circuit and be content with walking the usable part of the tracks in a to-and-fro motion. Now this to-and-fro motion influenced my present situation considerably. Let me explain a bit here.

Every time my newly made 'old' acquaintance and I neared the end of the usable track, we had to turn around. As you will appreciate, it is quite difficult to do the same with one person's arm on the other's shoulder. So the old man would let go off my shoulder at the bend. But after walking for a while he would put his arm over my shoulder again. Quite peculiar - the habits of some people!

The funny part was that, as we walked along, I began to like the person. He asked me a lot of questions about myself. But he did them with such innocence that I could not but answer him. At one point, when he went to the point of discussing the size of my flat in Kolkata, the number of bathrooms it had, I decided that I had had enough. It was my turn now. I would do the questioning from now on.

He told me about his schooling and education, his career, how he had liked Kgp and settled down here for the rest of his life, his daily schedule that included a morning session of Yoga at Jnan Ghosh, his children and family. One reply still resounds in my ears till today. He was talking about his two sons. They were studying in colleges in Kharagpur. I remarked that this meant they would surely be moving out soon in search of greener pastures. At this, his reply was, "Ki jaani, ora ki korbe. Ora to khub bhalo chatro noy. (I wonder what they will do next. They are not very good students after all)" The words sound like those of a lamenting father, but his expression showed that he was totally at peace with himself. Probably he had a deep belief in the divine forces, which gave him such strength of mind.

Another thing occurred as we walked along. By now we were speaking like the best of friends. Only age separated us - I would be starting my career in two days time. And my new 'old' friend was at the fag end of his career, past 60, but still continuing by dint of a false date on his birth-certificate (giving a false date on the birth-certificate was like a norm in those days) and by "the grace of God". Anyway what happened was that as we walked along, he started holding my hand. Again I felt a bit awkward initially. As we turned around, he let go off my hand only to hold it back again. After a few more rounds of "let-go and hold-again" he held my hand for good. From now on, as we turned the corner, he would turn while holding my hand. And I would turn in a bigger circle so that I could get to the correct side of him.

It would seem quite awkward to be holding hands with a 60-year old man in a park. We usually do not even do such public displays of emotion with our fathers or grandfathers. Ours is such a preened-up world. But believe me do, I felt so good while holding hands and talking with the man. A connection was made that day which I will remember for long.

I promised him I would try to visit his house one day. Having left Kgp, I have not been able to fulfill that promise yet. But I would request one of you who is over there right now to go and visit this gem of a person. I'll give his name and address here...

Mr D. K. Das
(O) Materials Science Centre
Ph: 1650
(R) Prembazar, near CPM Party Office
(you can ask about his residence there)

Last to last Sunday, I went to my Grandma's place. I had to drop a few medicines there and I had gone alone. The Metro being closed in the morning, I caught a bus. (It turned out that the bus went as fast as the Metro.) Anyway what happened was that, by mistake, I got down one stop before Gray Street, where I usually got off. Obviously I realized my mistake after the bus had sped off. I could sight the Gray Street crossing from this point. But it was quite far off. Not wanting to walk the distance, and also by dint of my navigation acumen, I made an interesting observation.

To go to my Grandma's place from Gray Street mor (crossing), I would have to go East and then South. My current position being quite South with respect to Gray Street mor, all I needed to do now would be to walk East, and probably a wee little to the North. Also considering my father's penchant for exploring places on foot; by discovering new shortcuts, I would only be following the family tradition. (See Map below)

Thinking thus,I entered a lane hitherto untraversed by me. Sometimes, when you enter a strange place, you feel a bit unsafe. You view the people on the streets with a bit of suspicion. Not so here - firstly it was broad daylight and I'm a guy. Plus these people are Calcuttans - the people of my city.

After a few paces, I turned a corner. There were some shops here and quite a few people too. What struck me immediately the difference with what one would see down in South Calcutta. The shops were plain and paati. People here did bother about how they looked - remember one middle aged yet changra bhadralok wearing lungi and an unbuttoned shirt, walking as if he owned the street. He would look quaintly out of place if placed in any of the fashionable
malls of South Calcutta.

Such differences within a few miles of the same city!!

As I worked my way through the labyrinth that is North Calcutta, I got lost once. But it was a treat walking through those shoru oli-goli's. Peeping into the houses, it felt as if I was looking back in time. These houses are completely unlike any upcoming building of today. Some showed the signs of age - appearing dark and damp. A tubewell standing sentry beside the gate - the flooring crumbling and covered with moss at many places.

Again some houses boasted majestic facades and were still maintained beautifully. There is a saying that establishments are built by one generation of a family, maintained by the next and ruined by the third. Probably this ineluctable process of decay had forgotten to visit these houses.

After a while, I found out the right path to my Grandma's. I wished then that I had a digital camera to share these images of a different world with others.

A sample of the elegance of North Calcutta houses that I found on the Net

PS : The sights and sounds reminded me of Rituparno Ghosh's "Raincoat"... kudos to him for creating such beautiful imagery.

Rustication

vantage point on 2nd floor room - time : afternoon - raining outside - dark gray sky - most importantly a chilly piercing wind - of course i am in room - windows shuttered tight - and 'Through The Looking Glass', gazing out of my insulated world

so protected - so artificial - so far away from being the mati'r manush (true human, child of nature)

all this development - housings, glass windows, multistoried-s : all providing good views - claiming to be right in the lap of nature - but which of them provides the real thing - none of them!!

takes me back to a visit to a Mumbai high-rise - on Worli sea-face - 7th floor - Arabian Sea spread out below you - but you can't wet your feet - can't breathe in the fresh sea air - if you open the windows, everything in the flat will go topsy turvy - as is usual, at night, AC is turned on - me and Fonta, rustic people, decide otherwise - so switch off the AC and open up two windows at slight angles - thus, natural AC !! of course, fan also on; helps to sleep.

sometimes, pride myself for my rustic-ness - in fact, one day, Bipul and I go on a completely rustic trip - board a train - let it take us where it takes us - get down at a station Bipul has passed before and has liked the look of.

a walk through a plantation (here too... human hands, but still... trees after all) - early in the day -pleasant sunny weather - walk along, enjoying being 'actually' in the lap of nature - have some packed food with us, sit down under a tree and have it - so far... so good..mmmmm...

a nearby pukur (pond) - 2 chokra-s (young kid boys) dancing around in the water - splashing water on each other - another senior chokra goes up on tree to hang his jeans pant on a high branch for drying - that way, probably, the naughty younger chokras cannot reach it - hmmmm... they seem to be truly rustic...

another sight comes to mind - a lady wading in thick mud - picking up some things - probably some shaak (veggies) - hmmmm....truly rustic....

well, back to our snack, which is over by now - and those chokras who scamper off to a nearby village - so we rustic city youths decide to follow them - now, stomach quite full - and sun not so pleasant anymore - and village not exactly a window-shopper's paradise - after twenty minutes of walking in the sun, not feeling too rustic.... hmmmm...

to sum it up, 'Through The Looking Glass' is good enough for me... opening windows at slight angles (accompanied by fan) ... yes, that's something I can tolerate comfortably...

Jerome K. Jerome gives a hilarious description of an exactly similar state of mind - in the last chapter of his famous book, 'Three Men in a Boat' - and that too, hundred years ago, while describing a boat trip, to get away from dull-monotonous city life - so, even hundred years ago, someone felt the same thing...cool huh!

PS : i'll add here a link to that particular chapter of the book (the book is 100 years old and hence is now freely available on net). start from the line "The weather changed on the third day..." (5th paragraph) from this link. if you have a bit of time and want a good laugh, don't miss this.

'Park'-ed in Oblivion

23 years in one city ... In one house... Given these conditions, I thought I knew my neighborhood inside out. But last week, I was proved wrong.

In the last two-three years, our area has undergone a metamorphosis due to the following reasons:

1. The AJC Bose Road- Park Circus flyover
2. Forum Shopping Mall, Crossword and many other shopping Malls

Thus I would not have been surprised if I had bumped into a super-specialty mall right in the middle of the road. However, I discovered something in a completely different genre - an unknown, unkempt park right behind my house.

This happened during one of my morning walks. There is a park behind my house, called Woodburn Park, which is maintained by the Lions group. I usually do not visit this park. But one day I decided to explore it.

While doing so, I noticed a gate that I did not remember seeing before. There was a path after that which seemed to lead to Ashok Hall school, a known place.

However to confirm my doubts, I followed it. I was amazed to see another park at the end of it. This one was not well maintained, but it showed the all signs of being a grand one at one point of time - jhula's, a slide, a tiny decorative pool replete with a bridge over it.

All this had fallen to decay now. The grass however was quite trim as the caretaker's house was just beside it. This park and Woodburn park are in complete view to South Club and Punjab Club's tennis players. I however, saw it for the first time that day, and was quite amazed at my discovery.

PS : It obviously gave me a sense of deja-vu (thanks to similar park explorations in Navi Mumbai - 1, 2). However such a chance discovery, and that too, right in my own backyard, was beyond my imagination.

But then, life's full of surprises....

LAST DAY IN KGP …

Pranav mentioned ‘Total Recall’. In it, by some weird technique, one sees all the images of his life flying through his mind flying by like snow in a blizzard. However, I prefer them more in the form of a soothing breeze.

For the last ten days, I have been engrossed in a hi-fi flick. It’s titled, “Implementation of Biomedical Algorithms on DSP.” But right now, I feel the need to sit back and enjoy the breeze.

It’s early morning on Saturday. As usual, I am the only one awake within miles. Outside, the trees have just finished a nightly shower. They are still dripping wet. No use drying up, they’ll have to go in again soon enough.

Birds are up and about. Another creature who used to be up at this time (Abhinav) is right now doing a job in Gurgaon. Seeing me doing Yoga, he would comment, “It’s no use, Kriti.” The joke was that I was going through all these kriyas and postures just to become as smart and handsome as him. And no matter how hard I tried, it was all in vain – I would never attain his state of divine perfection. Playing along, I would say, “Kya karein, koshish to karna padega na.”

I knew another early riser in my first year - Godbole. He was studying hard at that time for a Department change. He had a peculiar trait, which was that he used to do recite his daily prayers while bathing. (He was a regular bather, which deserves a mention.) It felt funny hearing him during that time.

From second year onwards, he lived in a different hall. Gathering from the grapevine, I heard that the religious-studious boy had drastically changed. He was much more boisterous now and was getting involved in many hall affairs, some of them the subject of heated discussions. Among other things, he had started smoking.

Unfortunately, it took me a year and a half to make my first visit to his room in the new hall. It was spick and span as ever, with the gods and goddesses at their rightful places. At the time when I had gone, he was preparing for a seminar he was to give at an academic winter camp. I breathed a sigh of relief; some things, fortunately, do not change.

Anupam occasionally shared the morning with me by dint of his late sleeping hours. I had come to know Anupam at a time when my social circle was still in an embryonic stage. The thing about him which pleased me a lot was the way he talked. He talked with me in the same manner in which he conversed with others who were probably closer to him at that time. It was as if you had known him for quite long. And this not a small thing; I know people whose mannerisms leave you feeling quite cold afterwards. Later, Bipul and I have frequently come to the conclusion that Anupam is the epitome of a perfect gentleman.

In reading till here, if someone feels that it is mighty rude of me to pass judgments with such finality on others, he/she should remember that these are but passing comments by one traveler on another.

Wonder when this traveler will cross paths again with those mentioned above. Signing off for now.

Read Part 2 of 'The Last Day in Kgp'

Blank Page Syndrome

Written 2nd May 2005

This is one thing writers are very used to. You sit down with the aim

of writing something with a blank piece of paper before you (or

nowadays, a blank Wordpad screen). And then, for hours on end, you

cannot decide what the starting line should be. You think up various

options in your mind. As they come to your mind, you reject some

immediately. And you like one or two options but cannot decide which

one is better. This tussle goes on for quite some time and hence the

name, "Blank Page Syndrome".


The stage of my life in which I presently am, presents to me a

strikingly similar situation. In a week or so, the coursework at IIT is

going to end. ----- then job after 2 months---- like blank page ----- last

few months, busy with project & studies ---- now that no more ---- so

many options in these 2 months ----- career building ------ holiday with friends & family

---- hang out with friends in cal ---- urge to do sth productive ------

going home early ------- phew! eager to choose & write the 1st line....


****

19th June 2005

The 2-month vacation mentioned in the above scribble is now going on.

Half of it is over. And phew! The first line has been written.


The vacation started with my project guide asking me to stay back and

write a paper. Paper! - such glory, such hoo-haa'ness. How could I say

no. Thus the first line of my two-month long blank-page was literally

'written'.


The paper-writing episode continued for a good two weeks with a home

trip sprinkled in between. The writing had to be temporarily suspended

as the home front was threatening me with dire consequences if I did

not return within the month of May. My parents were convinced that

their son, who was showing no inclination of coming home, was up to some

dushtumi. If only they knew what a good boy their son was being at that

time!!


Anyway, circumstances were such that I found myself in Kolkata during

the last week of May. I had officially left Kgp. At least my parents

thought so. But some work was left for the project and that was a

good-enough excuse to come back again. However I could not breathe a

bit of this to my parents, because, as you well might understand, one's

life is precious to oneself.


A trip to Bangalore to visit my school friends who were completing

college there, had been long due. Also due was a relaxing getaway with

my parents. Punching these two, we decided to go to Bangalore for a ten

day trip.


This was my fourth visit to Bangalore. People found two things about our

trip difficult to digest. One - that we were not going anywhere apart

from Bangalore. For most Bengalis going so far South and not doing the

typical Ooty-kodaikanal-Mysore-etc-etc '2 nights-3 days' package is

sacrilege. And two, Bangalore being the preferred city of

employment that it is, that I was going there for relaxation instead of looking for

better job prospects.


The weather of Bangalore was just too good for scorched Calcutta’s like

us. We did not go to too many places. Our hotel, Pai Vihar, where we

had stayed earlier too, was just too good. Nevertheless, thanks to

Nilay and Soumallya and also Bhomesh and Fonta, we got to see quite a

few places - IISc Bangalore, Soumallya's college, Forum Mall, Bhomesh's

office. Finally we topped this with a trip to Tirupati and returned home

refreshed and blessed to face the onslaught in Kolkata.


There's one more month to go before I join my job. A string of

nemontonno's (invitations) has come up. I am struggling with all

earnest, in the departments of travel and gastronomical affairs, to do

justice to these invitations. Being of the opinion that such social

do-s prevent more enjoyable ways of whiling away time, I compare them

with similar social do-s that popped up ever so often in Kgp.

I started blogging a year ago when I was in Navi Mumbai for my training. That time, there were so many interesting things to write about – the various parks, the mushrooming population of saloons, combined with the feeling of being far away from home; everything seemed worth a blog. I was also writing after a long gap, and that excitement pushed me along to write more and more.

For the last four months, mainly two thoughts have been filling my mind. One is related to my project; but if I start writing about ‘variable time-frequency resolution’ and ‘digital signal processors’, not many will be appreciate it fully.

The second train of thought is about my career. And writing about it does not seem a pleasing proposition, at least to me. The thought that someone is going to read it and say, “What a load of crap!” bugs me quite a bit. (The last time I expressed similar sentiments, a senior responded with an “Oh… you’re so confused and I’m so ‘not’ confused” chat session.)

After reading the previous paragraph, it will surprise you to still find me writing about the second train of thought. Yet I feel it’s good to express emotions in public. Otherwise, the world is too competitive a place to be able to live peacefully and happily.

Over the last one year, I have met a lot of people with the specific aim of discussing my career. The list includes a management professor, two high-flying executives and a professor of engineering among others. For the time being, I shall talk about my discussion with the engineering professor.

During the discussion, the professor kept mentioning how their childhood was much more enjoyable than ours. He said that his generation, i.e. our parents, were to be blamed for this. He recounted the incident of a person coming to collect ‘chanda’ for a local sit and draw competition. The chanda, that person said, would be spent in buying the first prize.

“Competition even in the name of art! Parents rebuking their children for not coming 1st – how enthused that child would be to continue drawing!”

The professor tried to drive in these thoughts into the person’s mind. But seeing that his was a futile effort, the professor drove him away instead.

Movie Review : 'Before Sunrise'

Sometimes, I have been moved after watching a movie. And then I have felt the urge of writing about it. After watching ‘Before Sunrise’, a similar thing happened. Thus the following piece is not a review in the strict sense of the word. It is more of a personal reaction after watching the movie.

One day, as a friend was watching 'Before Sunset', I joined him and watched a bit of the movie. I realised then that I liked the movie. Later, I heard from friends that ‘Before Sunrise’ had been released in the mid nineties. And at that time, it had been a big hit. Then after a gap of nine years, the sequel ‘Before Sunset’ was released. My friends were in high praise of the two movies, and more so of the latter.

A few days later, another friend was watching ‘Before Sunrise’. This time, I saw the last few scenes of the movie. In whatever little I saw, I loved the bit where the morning scenes of Vienna are shown. I felt that the director must have a keen sense of art to be able to portray a whole city so beautifully.

This was my prologue till I finally got down to watching the whole movie. Needless to say, I was already inclined to like the movie. However it was only when I watched it, that the liking turned into love.

The best justice I can do is to list some of the moments that moved me. For those who have watched this movie, they can compare their personal feelings with my checklist. And for those who have not yet watched it, my request is that they watch it as soon as possible.

So here goes my list of the ‘movie’s moving moments’ (Alliteration, eh!) : -

1. The scene where Jesse and Celine go to the cemetery – while watching the whole movie, I remembered that this cemetery featured among the morning scenes shown at the end. Earlier, I had admired the sheer beauty of the shots; now I realised their significance with respect to the movie. ( More about that later.)

2. The scene where Jesse and Celine sit on a roadside bench, and while talking about the existence of God, Celine says, “Y'know, I believe if there's any kind of God, it wouldn't be in any of us. Not you, or me... but just this little space in between.”

3. When Jesse and Celine are on the Ferris Wheel and they kiss for the first time. My other room neighbour (who had also watched the movie earlier) came in just when that scene was going on, and remarked, “Hmmm…. Romantic scenes dekha hocche!!” I was quite excited by the on-screen display of romance, and remarked, “Kya karein… humare life mein to kabhi aisa moment nahi aayega… ”

4. And then there is Julie Delpy as Celine who looks pristinely beautiful throughout the movie. For a while I contemplated to surf the net for some hot pics of her. But thinking that it might diminish her stature in my eyes, I restrained myself from doing so.

5. And finally, the morning scenes of Vienna once again – only this time, they carried much more significance.
a. The Ferrys Wheel at total standstill – the scene of such a romantic affair just last night.
b. The roadside café with umbrellas, overlooking a forlorn street – no lovers gracing it right now.
c. An old lady walking by the spot where Jesse and Celine made love last night – reminds me of the isolation of old age. A bit sad.

Well, that was my reaction to ‘Before Sunrise’. Planning to watch ‘Before Sunset’ soon.

The Butterflies

From my vantage point
In my second floor room,
At a certain time of the year,
I get to see a fantastic sight.

The tree before my window
Is a very greedy tree –
Hundreds of thousands of butterflies
Are held captive by it.

But when autumn comes
And a strong wind rises,
The tree can hold them no more.
Then, these butterflies break free.

When the wind comes
And sets them free,
These butterflies
Do not fly away immediately.

For a while
They twirl and float around
Their place of captivity,
Before descending finally
To their flight of glory.

Come to think of it now,
In that short while,
These butterflies, most probably,
Stick their tongues out at the greedy tree
And proclaim,
“Weeee. I’m free. I’m free.”

And then, hundreds of butterflies
Fly around on the whims of the wind.
Some reach beyond the compound wall,
And some go out of sight.

Finally, all these butterflies
End their flight by falling to the ground.
And on landing,
They turn into dead leaves.

Of course, there are unlucky ones
Which die the moment they break free
And just like any other dead leaf,
Fall straight down.

A Campus Placement (Part II)

Read Part I

"Final year mein aur kaam hi kya hai - career ke
baare mein discuss karne ke ilawa." ("What other work is there in the final
year except for sitting together and discussing our careers?") - a friend.

The final year, truly, has proceeded with a lot of
discussion about careers. And along with it, people have slogged to get the
career of their choice. Well, with so much heat about 'career'-s, it is natural
that one turns to nature, once in a while, to clear a jammed-up mind.

My habit of going for a jog in the evening gave me
ample opportunity of doing this. One day, as I was doing my rounds in the Jnan
Ghosh Stadium, I noticed a man a little far off. He was sitting down on his
haunches and was cutting the grass. Now two things about this struck me at that
time.

One - I have observed the grass cutting process which
takes place annually in our hall. Here, when the grass reaches alarming
proportions, a huge gang of grass-cutters descend on the field and clear it
within a day or two.

And, two - in the off-season, when no events are
scheduled, the grass in Jnan Ghosh Stadium is left to grow. I have observed,
while passing it, how particularly 'alarming' the proportions of grass become in
such times.

Thus, what struck me as odd was that a single person
was cutting the grass of the entire stadium. I do not know how many epochs that
person had been working for, before he got the stadium fit for joggers like me.
(Now it strikes me that probably, a gang had descended upon the stadium, not so
many epochs before, to get it into the shape it presently possessed. And that
this particular grass-cutter was just doing the finish-up job.)

Anyway, there is something about the act of
grass-cutting which deserves consideration. The act of grass-cutting involves
squatting on one's haunches or bending down, sometimes for hours, and shaving
the land of its extra growth by a scythe or something. The task, as I see it, is
repetitive and proceeds slowly. In simpler terms, it is boring. On the brighter
side, the grass-cutter has a very nice work environment; sitting as he is, right
in the lap of nature. (Our grass-cutter might not agree on this term, and cite
the harshness of the mid-day sun as a valid argument.)

A comparison with the work-environs that we, the
passing out batch, are going to join comes naturally. Most of us shall be
assigned a cubicle in a plush office, with a computer to work on. In the future,
for a few years at least, that cubicle will be our workplace. Just as the Jnan
Ghosh Stadium, lined by trees on all its sides and the blue sky above it, is
workplace to the grass-cutter. Somehow, by fate or otherwise, we and the
grass-cutter are doing entirely different things at entirely different places.
Ultimately however, both of us are doing the same thing i.e. working. Hopefully,
both of us will work to the best of our capabilities. Hopefully, both of us will
be happy doing what we do.

I did something funny today... you can try doing it too.....

All you need for carrying out this prank is a junior who you are friendly with, but can boss over a little bit too.

I was hurrying for college when I noticed this junior (who fulfilled the above two criteria quite well) just ahead of me. As I liked his company, I thought I should talk to him. However, at that time I had not thought about the prank. The idea came spontaneously.

As I turned around to face him, I saw his cute and innocent face. This aroused the devil within me, and I asked him a question, "So how is your girlfriend?" A cute kid like him was inclined to have a girlfriend, but I had no previous idea whether he actually had one. Faced with such questions, people usually evade the topic or behave as if they have never thought about girls in their life. Likewise, my junior appeared surprised and his innocent face had "Me and girls? No way!” written all over it. It was possible that he was so straight that he had no girlfriends, but I still persisted, "I saw you the other day with a girl." Now, given that I was seeing him after a long time and that he and I resided in the same city, the probability of such an occurrence was not too low. So I poked him further about when and where I had seen him, with fictitious details; "It was in the middle of December.... In South Calcutta.... I don't remember clearly. Probably Rashbehari." I kept my details as general as possible.

Luckily, the "Rashbehari" arrow hit the target. By now, the junior's expression had changed from one of angelic innocence to that of slight unease. He said, "You might have seen me there as I use the Rashbehari Metro quite regularly." Grabbing the opportunity, I hurled a barrage of questions at him, "So what wa, the girl's name? Is she your girlfriend?" After all this, my junior assumed that he had actually been spotted by me while he was roaming with a girl. With a guilty face, he divulged everything, "She's just a friend. Her name is A***".

I left him and had a good laugh on the way to college. Maybe I can get some more details out of him next time. So don't tell him about all this just now ;-)

A ‘Bitter’ – Sweet Experience

I come out of the main institute building. I see some friends near the Central Library gate and talk to them for a while. After taking my cycle, I see another group of friends sitting on the circle just outside the main building. Azem looks very sad. I go over and enquire. Rolly, who is sitting behind him, explains. Azem is leaving for US tomorrow and is thus sad to leave kgp. Rolly is also leaving soon but after Azem. To cheer Azem up, I kiss him on his cheek. He seems to get some heart from this gesture so I kiss him on the other cheek too. At this point, somebody from the crowd passes a comment. It probably is 'sure-aan'. He points to the lady in the white dress who is cycling by at that moment and asks me why she is being left out. I say that the lady deserves a kiss on the lips and not on the cheeks. Everyone laughs. While we enjoy the joke, I notice a boy peeping at me from amongst the crowd. Till now, the other boys sitting side by side had kept him hidden from my sight. As he smiles mischievously at me, I recognise him. It is the boy who had committed suicide a few months back. I am terribly scared. I know he is a good friend and means no harm. However I look away from him and try to escape. But something is pulling me back. I feel myself sweating.... my dream breaks.

A Spot of Green, A Dash of Blue

My house overlooks a garden.
It is not a brilliant one, but
It is nice and green nevertheless.


There is an old man.
His house rises from where the street ends;
A thin wall tries in vain
To protect his privacy.

I and other passers-by
Add to the din and smoke
Which are his constant companions.

I wonder whether his window
Shows him anything green.


There is a child
Whose house is in a by-lane
Of a busy market area.
His house is small and damp,
With windows staring into blank walls.

When he has to stretch his limbs;
He comes out of his house
And through the alley,
Goes into the bustling market.
He sees the shopkeepers
And the customers
Cussing and bargaining over trifle things.

The boy looks up,
Away from the crowd
And through the banners and tarpaulins;
To catch a cloud floating away.

His daze is broken
By a honking car
Or the rickshaw-walla's curses.

His dreams are thus not very long.


Every one deserves his landscape;
A spot of green, a dash of blue.
Some people do not get it
And some who do,
Do not see it.

- Kriti Sen Sharma

RESERVOIR DOGS

It was OP time. Among the many funda passed diligently from seniors to juniors was the one about Patel ka 'Lund'. It was a water tank named so because of its position between the two legs, the B & C blocks of Patel Hall. Reportedly, a Professor of the Civil Engineering Department of IIT Kharagpur had designed it. While designing it he had forgotten to take into consideration the weight of water in the calculations. Due to this significant 'silly mistake', the tank was nonoperational. Such reports made me think about the superficiality of the IIT Professors and the system in general. We even speculated that the guilty person was the Professor whom we popularly address as Ramu.

There was an irony in the name of the water tank that struck me as odd. Patel was supposed to be the hall that symbolised all things macho. Why then was it so proud to boast about an organ, which suffered from the worst case of 'impotency'?

As the year progressed we made quite a number of night-outs for hall activities. On any of those night-outs, the sight of the tank as seen from the catwalk was an eerie one. With the open sky behind it, the tank appeared monstrously large and strange. It stood there, completely still, taking up the good part of our view.

My third year room was allotted in the top floor of C-block just beside the water tank. For most part of the third year the sight of the tank did not arouse any emotions in me. It was during the campaign for President-ship of the hall that I discovered that the tank was actually a working one. It provided water to three halls including ours. After gaining this piece of knowledge I noticed that people came to operate it at the allotted times everyday. Somehow I had never noticed them before. This made me think about the shallowness on our parts, the students of IIT, accepting blindly cooked up half-truths which were dished out to us.

Now into my fourth and final year, I view the tank with a lot more reverence. It has become an important feature of the landscape that I can see from my balcony. I see workers taking shade under it for a quick nap or to have lunch. Sometimes I even notice some people using the vicinity of the tank (hopefully not very close) for the ultimate result of the eating.

A huge hostel is being constructed just behind Patel Hall. Throughout the day, female construction labourers come to relieve themselves in the field beside the water tank. It is quite an embarrassing sight. Initially I resolved to shout to them from above so that they went behind a wall to preserve the mutual decency. On my doing so once, they giggled among themselves before obeying my instructions. Later on I gave up as there were too many of them coming throughout the day.

Many of these labourers are quite young, probably very near the ages of my sisters. But what a difference lies between their lives and those of my sisters brought up in well-to-do families.

I am reminded of a morning in Navi Mumbai when I had gone jogging; I was going through a new area when I saw two kids, a girl and a boy, throwing stones at another young girl. All of them must have been below the age of ten. Between the two kids, who seemed to live in a building nearby, the girl seemed to be the more active participant in the stone throwing. The little girl who was the object of their anger was in a squatting position trying to complete her morning rituals. She must have been left there by her mother. Not suspecting anything, the mother must have gone into a nearby public toilet. The unfortunate girl was all alone and at the mercy of these spoilt kids. I rebuked the two 'well-off' kids for their behaviour, well knowing that they were too young to be blamed for their actions. Having driven them away I went near the young girl. She was crying. She showed the traits of a kid brought up in less fortunate environments. Her hair was rough and she obviously was not bathed regularly. Nevertheless she was very sweet. I told her to stop crying and then asked her her name. She said her name was Pooja. I have an elder sister who has the same name and who is now settled in Antwerp after marriage. How different their lives are!

Anyway I will get back to the main issue of the water tank. The water tank is also associated with a bad memory. At the end of the first year in college, students go through a process in which allotment of the Hall in which the student is to reside for the next 3 or 4 years is done by lottery. In my first year I had been stupid enough to try the backdoor route to go to one particular hall. For this we had to stay under cover for a few days in the hall that we were trying to get into. One night during our stay we were told that authorities might be making a raid anytime. So in that unearthly hour we left our secret hiding place in the senior hall and clandestinely made our ways back to our original hall of residence. To avoid being seen we went through roads which were seldom used. Within that journey we passed through the field beside the water tank. If I were in more casual a mood I would have enjoyed the midnight stroll and the non-conventional surroundings. However with the thought of seniors and authorities breathing down on our necks, it was a feeling that is best forgotten.

That memory however is a part of the past. Now the water tank is a constant companion. After studying for a while in my room, I come out to the balcony for quiet contemplation. As I lean on the balcony looking at the landscape surrounding me, I think very often about the so-called 'information environment' of IIT in which we are living. Usually I am alone in my thoughts except for times when a wing-mate spots me and cares to start a discussion session. The water tank however is always there. Recently due to the lights from the construction site, the tank has got its fair share of illumination. It reminds me of Tintin's rocket in "Destination Moon", looking as if it is going to take-off any moment.

There is another water tank of similar shape and size, which is inside the institute area. As I looked at it while walking underneath it, it seemed to be of more grand dimensions. However the water tank beside Patel Hall as seen from my vantage point on the third floor is definitely friendlier.





PS : Here are some pictures from Tintin's "Destination Moon" :-

Photo1

Photo2

What Will I Write Tommorow?

It's been quite a while since I last posted something on the blog. I have been treating it like a step-child.

I have allotted Saturday mornings for writing. It happened for the last two Saturdays that I was writing a short story. I finished it last Saturday after much deliberations and effort. After which I mailed it to my parents and some close acquaintainces for reviewing. Got some praise, got some 'constructive' criticism.

That is exactly what I had asked for. But the fact was that it was quite difficult to digest the criticism even though I agreed with the 'critics'.

I am a person who is usually doing all things the 'right' way. Criticism is not something that normally comes my way. I am more used to praise. I succeed almost whenever i put in effort. The last two weeks passed with me getting a lot of 'stick' from my project guide. Made me feel bad sometimes but mostly I knew that it would at least keep me from diverting the focus from the job at hand. I realised that it would push me to finish what I had started.

So the criticism in the project thingie is good. But when it comes to writing, I do not like to listen to others. Sometime in the past, a teacher had said about a piece that I wrote that it started off brilliantly but faded away towards the end. The diagnosis was ditto as I had been hurrying to complete it.

This time however I am at a loss. I wrote this story keeping a simple plot in mind. It had come to my mind and I had developed the plot as it came to me. I wrote it over two Saturdays placed in Kolkata and Kharagpur. I took quite some effort firstly in Kolkata to find time to start writing. And then in kgp to complete it. After all that, all I expected was praise and more praise.....

Funny how we know what the ideal situation should be but fail to cope up with it when it comes along in real life.

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PS: I was asking RA how Salman Rushdie's parents feel when they find their son writing intimately about sex. "They probably do not know how to read English", is what I said as an afterthought.

Anyway here goes :-

Q: What do you call a man who has a delayed orgasm?





A: A Late-'cum'mer

PJ

Q: What did dohn denver say when he got lost and met Jhonty Rhodes?

A: "Jhonty 'Roads'...........
Take me home
To the place I belong........."


PS: Could not restrain myself from posting it.

Down Scholar's Avenue

It had been a very hectic day. I had just returned from Kolkata. After that I had gone out to the 'placement' treat of two wing mates. The party ran in a high vein. I had a great heart-to-heart with PP.

Soon it was time to return. We decided to walk back to our hostel. It is a long distance and on other days, I would have enjoyed it quite a lot. It usually aided the digestion process. But today I was too tired. It added to my woes when we met up with some other hall-mates at the paan shop. RA decided that he too should have one. After some delay we moved on (without the paan).

I was not in the mood of much discussion. I was just listening to my wing-mates talking about this and that. I trudged along towing my cycle beside me. I was desperate to reach my room and crash into bed for a deep, peaceful and well-deserved sleep. We had covered almost half the distance when the hall-mates that we left behind at the paan-shop (Jha and Shukla) passed us on their bikes. They stopped a little ahead of us. They had brought paans for us. So everyone stopped to take their share. On any other day, I would be praising the virtues of friendship and camaraderie. But today I had had enough. I decided to walk ahead, leaving the others behind.

My friends also started walking after some time. But I was practically alone, distanced from them by a considerable amount. I was thinking a lot of things at that time, most of which were the usual stuff - CAT, career, friends. But some particular things flashed through my mind which left a lingering effect on me.

One was a memory of me as a kid, returning home with my parents. Many a times, we returned by bus or were dropped home by relatives with cars. We usually got down at the bus stop and walked the remaining distance. And more often than not, I trotted ahead of my parents. I knew that they were behind me, watching every step of mine. But I liked the sense of freedom, the sense of being alone.

Today's situation was different. Usually I walk along with my friends. Sometimes I even find myself following them, listening to them and not engaging in active conversation. Today as I walked ahead of them, I knew that they might not be watching my every step due to their pre-occupation with the discussion at hand. A pre-occupation with the present which is a characteristic of our age. However it surprised me how the present had brought out a memory of the past. A memory which was related yet distinct; distinct yet familiar.

(Twice my friends joined me in my solo walk. Thanks to them for noticing that I was alone.)

Another was a more recent memory. It was related to a feeling that I used to get when I had just started jogging. While running the 2.2 km circle within our campus, I used to feel anxious whether I would make it to the end. The sight of the 'frust corner' symbolising the end of 2.2 km came as an inspiration to complete the task I had set out to achieve. With time I managed to complete it more comfortably. Thus today when I saw that the end was near and relating it to my memory of jogging, I knew I would make it.

Today's happenings gave me a funny feeling of 'deja-vu'. It surprised me how we unconsciously relate memories to our present life.

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PS: This happened two weeks ago. I decided then that I would write about it. It took me two weeks of time to manage to write it. Is my present stand of allotting times for specified tasks justified...? Or should I live more in the present... Writing when I feel like it, or speaking in a more general way, do whatever I like whenever I want to. With regards to blogging, I claim complete independence. I can do whatever I like. But in life, I cannot do the same. Even though that is what I may want to do... or think that I want to.

Anyway, this kind of wondering aloud is ideal blogging. Ramblings, as they call it in this direction of the intellectual spectrum. Not my kind of organised 'article' writing. But I like my organised style anyway. After all I think I fall into the 'image building' category of bloggers.

All for today... bye

A House for Mr. Bandyopadhyay

I usually write out of a natural urge to do so. But it is also a sense of duty that is influencing me to write this piece.

This article is about the Bengali author, Bibhuti Bhushan Bandyopadhyay. He is famous for timeless classics such as 'Pather Panchali', 'Aparijata' among others. He is also remembered for a book called 'Aranyak', which I have just finished reading.

Before delving into the main topic of this article, I shall write a little about the book 'Aranyak'.

'Aranyak' is a description of the author's five to seven year long stint as the collector of a forest area in present day Jharkhand. Bibhuti Bhushan wrote this book after many years of having left the collector's job. An unmistakable sense of nostalgia is evident ever so often in the book. The author misses the different aspects of the place - the forests, the people, the lakes, the horse-back rides, the beautiful moonlit nights.

Above all he misses the people. Nowhere is it more evident than in the closing stanzas. There the author expresses guilt for not keeping any news of the people after having left the job.

Another characteristic of the book is the great amount of detail in the author's description of nature. Every leaf seems to spring alive from the author's words.

Bibhuti Bhushan repeatedly tells us about his helplessness in the face of human greed. He loves the forests and wants to preserve them for future generations. However, he has to obey his employer and auction these lands. Within years, beautiful forests are pulled down and dirty overpopulated shanties mushroom in their place. Bibhuti Bhushan foresees a desolate future for this place, a future with no hint of the glory it once held.

This was about the book. I had just finished reading it when I was entrusted with arranging a trip to Ghatsila with my friends and family. I had heard of Ghatsila only from relatives who had been there before. I was naturally surprised when the tourist brochure of Ghatsila mentioned Bibhuti Bhushan's house as one of the many sites to visit. This increased my enthusiasm to arrange a visit to the place.

In due time, the day of the trip arrived. Like any other group of tourists, we booked a car which would guide us through the important sites. We had visited some places, none of which had impressed us so far. The next stop would be Bibhuti Bhushan's house. We were busy chatting with each other when the car suddenly stopped. We looked out to see a simple house resembling a school more than anything else. It was then that our driver pointed out the actual house of Bibhuti Bhushan Bandyopadhyay. It was just opposite to the house we had been looking at. It was a sight to be seen.

The house was totally in ruins. There was nothing called a roof anymore. The whole house had been taken over creepers and vines. On closer inspection we found a worn out signboard. It said something about a Bibhuti Bhushan Memorial Committee. Obviously that had happened too long ago.

(Compare this with Rabindranath Tagore’s house in Mongpu near Darjeeling which has been converted into a museum.)

The house was a depressing sight. Before reaching it, I had planned to tell my 'Non-Bengali' friends about the writings of the great author whose house we were visiting. But after seeing the place, they were obviously in no mood to listen to any such stuff.

Initially I blamed the state of the house on its location. You could not expect the people of Jharkhand to uphold our (Bengali) culture and tradition, I told myself. However as the trip progressed I noticed that the majority of the population in that place comprised of Bengali-s. And it was obvious from the political graffiti on walls that the Bengali-s threw their weight around quite a bit.

Many questions remain unanswered in my mind. Who is to be blamed for this? What should be done? Nevertheless, the house deserves immediate repairs. The state of the house is a mark of disrespect to the author. As far as the greatness of the author is concerned, I think there is no question about that.

Written 11th July, 2004

3:30 pm

Just returned after watching Harry Potter III. This time, had gone with family.

Tomorrow, have to return to Kharagpur. Returning early in order to do some project work. Final year to begin in one more week.

I had invitations from Professor's home (a friend) for lunch and also from Vatika for a meet-up. Turned both down so as to spend some time at home and avoid eating the lunch outside.

Seems it was a good decision. Did some packing, called up a few friends (including a nice chat with Pamela), had a nice lunch. And finally went for the movie. (Kakima, didi and Vatika – please do not get angry).

There was this scene in Harry Potter III where Harry rides a giant bird. He flies high into the skies and then swoops down. The effect on Harry, as is made obvious by his expressions, is one of total thrill. Somehow while watching this scene, I too could feel the thrill within me. It was a sense of freedom, of joy – like a surge of happiness rushing through your body.

I read this short story the other day (in a book called ‘Favourite Indian Short Stories’ compiled by Khushwant Singh and another famous Indian author). It was about a young mother. She was returning home by train along with her husband and three children. The story was about her life – how the responsibilities of early marriage and early motherhood had become a burden for her and how she longed for the love of her constantly rebuking husband.

It was about her desire to be more than just a machine fulfilling the needs and desires of her husband and children.

In the end she wanted to break free. Free from all the shackles that held her down and had led to a premature end of her childhood.

That scene from Harry Potter would have made her squeal with delight. There was an unmistakable sense of freedom associated with that scene. A taste that many of us have forgotten and many not acquainted with at all. I am lucky to have got that taste on numerous occasions.

(Today was one such day - a sunny Sunday spent with my loving parents.)

PS: Cinema has a mass appeal which books do not have. After all, two people can watch a movie together. But they can never read a book sitting side by side.

However you cannot choose one over the other. In the end, there are just too many good things in the world and too less time to experience them.

A 'Campus Placement'

On some of my visits to the north wing toilet in our institute I noticed a man sitting in a makeshift closet beside it. I wondered how a person could continue sitting there for the whole day every day. The toilet had just been renovated and so it did not stink. However the thought of having to sit beside a toilet without anything to look at except bare walls convinced me that this job was a highly depressing one.

During the ongoing process of campus placement in our institute, I have had to visit that particular toilet quite often. (Not very surprising, that.) I kept bumping into that fellow a number of times. I noticed, to my surprise, that there was always a smile on his face. On asking him I also found out that his job was to regularly clean the toilet. He had to do it a number of times in the day and saw to it that the toilet was spick and span. True to his words, the toilet was always superbly maintained.

I observed that that when this fellow told me of his duty, there was an unmistakable sense of pride in him. I tried later to rationalise that he was mentally unstable and that people had given him this 'lowly' job out of charity. And assuming him having retarded faculties to be true, he was thus happy with even such a job.

I recently applied for a position in a company that sells cigarettes. (No prizes for guessing the company correctly.) While preparing for the interview I was wondering how it would feel to sell cigarettes and be totally against their consumption at the same time. I wonder now that if I had got the job, would I be able to speak as proudly about it as that fellow in the toilet.

It is surprising how one can be totally content with one's job while another cannot. The crux of the matter lies in the fact that one must be happy with what he does. And that one must do his job to the utmost perfection

I hope that when I get a job, I shall not have to envy that fellow in the toilet.

Behind Every Closed Door

IIT Kharagpur was my first taste of hostel life. I have always liked to interact with people. For the first few months I used to roam a lot regarding some activity or the other. Through this I got to meet lots of people. There were a large number of boys in my first year hostel. The sheer variety of cultures, economic backgrounds, behavioural patterns that I got to experience by interacting with them was amazing.

Three years have passed. Yet the people here continue to fascinate me with their stories or just by their personalities. All this gives me an idea. What if I went to each and every room in IIT Kharagpur, interacted with its occupant, observed him and his room and got to know his feelings, his ideas, his emotions. What a wonderful achievement that would be.

Experience has made me wiser. Let alone the whole college it is impossible to know the inhabitants of one whole hostel. The deterring factors are many - personal ambitions, academic and social obligations, time constraints and the magnitude of numbers involved.

Sometimes this reminds you just how insignificant one is in the greater scheme of things. Since the inception of IIT Kgp, about fifty people have lived in the room I am presently occupying. Fifty hall presidents have presided over GBM-s in Patel Hall and an even greater number of people (like myself) have contested elections unsuccessfully for the coveted post. For quite a few decades now the department of Electronics & Electrical Communication Engineering has been grinding out engineers just like me. Many of them must have had the same queries at this stage of their lives as I am now having. Several thousands of young minds, in the course of these many years, must have travelled down Scholar's Avenue thinking some thought or the other. What were they thinking? Shall I ever know?


It is just like reading books. You can never complete reading all the books in the world, however much you may want to. You should consider yourself lucky if you have come across a few good books that you will remember all your life. Similarly it is through some select friends that you get a sneak-peek into this vast multitude of thoughts. I consider myself quite lucky to have got friends as I have...... but more about that later. posted by Kriti Sen Sharma on 09:06 AM 1 Comment