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'
Saturday, July 02, 2005
Sunday, June 19, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, March 28, 2005
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.
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.
Saturday, February 19, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
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.
"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.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
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 ;-)
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 ;-)
Monday, December 20, 2004
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.
Sunday, November 07, 2004
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
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
Monday, October 25, 2004
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" :-
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" :-
Friday, October 15, 2004
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.
----
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
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.
----
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
Saturday, October 09, 2004
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.
A: "Jhonty 'Roads'...........
Take me home
To the place I belong........."
PS: Could not restrain myself from posting it.
Saturday, September 18, 2004
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.
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
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.
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
Wednesday, September 08, 2004
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.
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.
Saturday, August 28, 2004
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.
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.
Sunday, August 22, 2004
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.
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.
Sunday, August 15, 2004
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
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
Thursday, July 29, 2004
The 'Final Year Feeling'
The final year of our college life in IIT Kgp is upon us..... However it does not feel too much different yet. Except the following things:
1. Writing lengthy, trying, repititive applications to companies
2. Gazing at the beautiful sky and wondering whether we will get to live in such beautiful surroundings in the future
3. Quizzing each other on words.. as preparation for CAT or GRE
4. Putting up the impression that you are above it all... that everything is 'maaya'
I feel there is a long way to go before we actually feel the final year feeling. Probably when we have got a job or a schol, we will realise that our paths are different. That these last few months in college are the last few months that we are going to spend together.
My hall president 'Ghaasi' told me the day he was leaving that this might just be the last day we were seeing each other 'eye-to-eye'. I have kept in touch with him over the net but do not know when, if at all, i will see him.
The point I am trying to make is that we are going to miss our friends. And very soon we will start missing them. We will realise that the person who we avoided for his nagging traits will not be beside us to nag us anymore. We will realise that some friends will have such varying paths in life that their trodden paths will seldom coincide with ours.
That is when the final year will truly start.
1. Writing lengthy, trying, repititive applications to companies
2. Gazing at the beautiful sky and wondering whether we will get to live in such beautiful surroundings in the future
3. Quizzing each other on words.. as preparation for CAT or GRE
4. Putting up the impression that you are above it all... that everything is 'maaya'
I feel there is a long way to go before we actually feel the final year feeling. Probably when we have got a job or a schol, we will realise that our paths are different. That these last few months in college are the last few months that we are going to spend together.
My hall president 'Ghaasi' told me the day he was leaving that this might just be the last day we were seeing each other 'eye-to-eye'. I have kept in touch with him over the net but do not know when, if at all, i will see him.
The point I am trying to make is that we are going to miss our friends. And very soon we will start missing them. We will realise that the person who we avoided for his nagging traits will not be beside us to nag us anymore. We will realise that some friends will have such varying paths in life that their trodden paths will seldom coincide with ours.
That is when the final year will truly start.
Friday, July 16, 2004
5th July 2004 8:03 pm
There was a time in life when I thought that all I needed to realise all my dreams was to have a computer on my desk. I have one on my desk at home, one in my room in IIT with 24 hours internet connection and am almost constantly surrounded by them. So have my dreams come true.
I try not to be the complaining types but dreams are dreams... they are not the ones to be fulfilled so easily. And if they are fulfilled so easily then what sub-standard sort of dreams were they in the first place.
Anyway I read in a Rebecca Blood article (for the uninitiated she is the god of blog-world) that one maintains a blog for mainly three reasons: -
1. self expression
2. image building
3. listing links to good sites
I think I fall in the second category. I write or at least aim to write some pieces to be appreciated by critics. That is not something which comes quite easily or at least not instantly with the starting of a blog. But what the heck at least this gives me an excuse to write. And maybe somebody somewhere is reading. Who knows.....? Rebecca Blood says that even if one starts a blog for only one of the above 3 reasons, maintaining it for some time ultimately fulfill all the 3 reasons. And is not that justification enough to keep maintaining one.
There are so many things to write. Sometimes a hundred things come to mind and I really have to force myself to focus on the topic at hand. Today there is no such binding.
Addendum: I am adding some links to Rebecca Blood articles here. I might have gathered the above mentioned information from some other articles also.
http://www.rebeccablood.net/handbook/excerpts/weblog_ethics.html
http://www.rebeccablood.net/essays/weblog_history.html
I try not to be the complaining types but dreams are dreams... they are not the ones to be fulfilled so easily. And if they are fulfilled so easily then what sub-standard sort of dreams were they in the first place.
Anyway I read in a Rebecca Blood article (for the uninitiated she is the god of blog-world) that one maintains a blog for mainly three reasons: -
1. self expression
2. image building
3. listing links to good sites
I think I fall in the second category. I write or at least aim to write some pieces to be appreciated by critics. That is not something which comes quite easily or at least not instantly with the starting of a blog. But what the heck at least this gives me an excuse to write. And maybe somebody somewhere is reading. Who knows.....? Rebecca Blood says that even if one starts a blog for only one of the above 3 reasons, maintaining it for some time ultimately fulfill all the 3 reasons. And is not that justification enough to keep maintaining one.
There are so many things to write. Sometimes a hundred things come to mind and I really have to force myself to focus on the topic at hand. Today there is no such binding.
Addendum: I am adding some links to Rebecca Blood articles here. I might have gathered the above mentioned information from some other articles also.
http://www.rebeccablood.net/handbook/excerpts/weblog_ethics.html
http://www.rebeccablood.net/essays/weblog_history.html
Monday, July 05, 2004
There was a time in life when I thought that all I needed to realise all my dreams was to have a computer on my desk. I have one on my desk at home, one in my room in IIT with 24 hours internet connection and am almost constantly surrounded by them. So have my dreams come true.
I try not to be the complaining types but dreams are dreams... they are not the ones to be fulfilled so easily. And if they are fulfilled so easily then what sub-standard sort of dreams were they in the first place.
Anyway I read in a Rebecca Blood article (for the uninitiated she is the god of blog-world) that one maintains a blog for mainly three reasons: -
1. self expression
2. image building
3. listing links to good sites
I think I fall in the second category. I write or at least aim to write some pieces to be appreciated by critics. That is not something which comes quite easily or at least not instantly with the starting of a blog. But what the heck at least this gives me an excuse to write. And maybe somebody somewhere is reading. Who knows.....? Rebecca Blood says that even if one starts a blog for only one of the above 3 reasons, maintaining it for some time ultimately fulfill all the 3 reasons. And is not that justification enough to keep maintaining one.
There are so many things to write. Sometimes a hundred things come to mind and I really have to force myself to focus on the topic at hand. Today there is no such binding.
I try not to be the complaining types but dreams are dreams... they are not the ones to be fulfilled so easily. And if they are fulfilled so easily then what sub-standard sort of dreams were they in the first place.
Anyway I read in a Rebecca Blood article (for the uninitiated she is the god of blog-world) that one maintains a blog for mainly three reasons: -
1. self expression
2. image building
3. listing links to good sites
I think I fall in the second category. I write or at least aim to write some pieces to be appreciated by critics. That is not something which comes quite easily or at least not instantly with the starting of a blog. But what the heck at least this gives me an excuse to write. And maybe somebody somewhere is reading. Who knows.....? Rebecca Blood says that even if one starts a blog for only one of the above 3 reasons, maintaining it for some time ultimately fulfill all the 3 reasons. And is not that justification enough to keep maintaining one.
There are so many things to write. Sometimes a hundred things come to mind and I really have to force myself to focus on the topic at hand. Today there is no such binding.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)