Haiku

There was a poetry submission contest for Virginia Tech's grad handbook. They specifically stated that "ideal poems would be haikus, 3 lines of 5, 7, and 5 syllables."

I found out a little about Haikus and read some at http://www.toyomasu.com/haiku/#akutagawa.

Then I went on to write my first three Haikus.

1.
Simple tea
with friend by side
smells better.

2.
Words clash.
Then eyes meet.
Smile wins.

3.
My new friends
meet old friend.
River and ocean.

Song Picks

Here are two highly recommended Harry Belafonte songs -

1. "There's a Hole in My Bucket" is slow, sweet and really makes one laugh.
2. "Jamaica Farewell" is a classic. Added on Dad's request.
   

SeeqPod - Playable Search

PS: Those subscribed by RSS might not get to see the embedded Seeqpod player above. Visit the blog to access the media.

Demanded With Love

I had the following conversation recently. In it, I received an unusual request. Actually it was more of a demand.

Initially, I was taken aback by the request. But I understood that only a person who really loved you could make such a request.

Read the conversation to find out.

NOTE: The conversation was in Bengali so I am firstly reproducing it verbatim in the mother-tongue. On request, my father translated it into English too. You will find the English version below.

***

THE CONVERSATION

me: recently shorir ta khub ekta bhalo thakche naa

didi: chi chi chi.. baaje desh. ekebaare baaje desh. sustho shobol chele-ke niye rugno kore dicche. ami bolchi kriti... tumi ekkhoni phire esho.

me: hee-hee-hee

d: naa shotyi kotha.... by the way, jaano ekhon ami 72.

me: (ami mone mone bhabi je 72-er ulto hocche amar boyesh... kintu naa, amar boyesh to 27-o naa)

didi: (continuing) oboshyo ami not the least bit sad about that. haan ei komor-e byatha, paaye byatha ei gulo beshi holey tokhon kharaap laage.

m: ki je bolo didi.. tumi 72 hotei paaro naa... onek onek kom... anyways amaar khobor shunecho ki? june-e india aschi... tokhon dekha korbo tomar sathe..

d: haan shei khobor taa peyechi tomaar maa'r kaache... maa khub excited hoben. ekmatro chele bole kotha... amader barite ele tomaake alu-bhaat-e khawaabo... jeta tumi eto gorbito hoye tomar okhaner shob bondhuder kaalkei khaiyeccho.. shotyi kriti, tumi odbhut chele botey.. lok dekey alu-bhaate khawaao...

me and d: ha ha ha

d: accha shono to kriti.. ami bhabchi tumi june maash-e koyek din-er jonno ashbe.. ek du baar amaader sathe dekhao korbe.. abaar jei ke shei... abar shei phone-er opekkha... aar dekha petey gele ek bochor wait kora...

naa... tumi ebaar eshe amar sathe dekha koro naa...

me: maane?

d: naa tumi amar sathe dekha koro naa. ei tumi chole jawaar pore amar prothom-e khub dukkho hoyechilo.. keno kriti chole gelo USA-te. o ekdom theek kore nii... tarpor ekhon aste aste obhyesh hoye geche..

aar abar tumi dekha kore USA pherot choley jaabe... abar shei shuru theke obhyesh korte hobe..

naa tumi amar sathe ebaar dekha korbe naa..

me: accha theek ache korbo naa

d: naa koro naa.. taai bhalo... accha kriti, tumi jodi phire porashona shesh kore India pherot asho jeta ami 100% sure je tumi phirbe naa, tumi aar koto bochor-e phirbe?

me: aar-o 4.5 theke 5 bochor...

d: paaaanch bochor? ho ho ho.. taa holey to totodin-e tomaar didi chobi hoye jaabe..

me: ha ha ha

d: naa eta ami sure. tomar dada oboshyo eeya boro ekta frame kore amar bhalo chobi lagaben... jokhon taar bou shundori chilo

me and d: ho ho ho ho

***

THE TRANSLATED VERSION

me: didi, I am not keeping all that well lately.

didi: Tsk...Tsk...Tsk...I am not at all surprised. Simply awful country you have decided to go and do your Ph.D. in, simply awful. Look they are making a healthy person sick. I am telling you again. Come back as soon as you can, when you still have a chance.

me: hee...hee...hee

didi: don't snigger like that; I have given you a very good piece of advice. By the way, you know I am running 72?

me: (I mentally calculate that if I interchange the digits of her age, I get my age... 27... Oops... I am not even 27.)

didi: (continuing) ...except when I get the occasional joint aches and pains, that’s when I do feel a bit down in the dumps.

me: Come on, didi, you cannot be 72. you are years younger. Anyway, I am coming to India, when we can meet, just like old times.

didi: I have got the good news from your mother, who is naturally very excited about it. I have decided that when you come, I shall treat you to parboiled rice and mashed potatoes, just like you seem to entertain your guests with in the USA. You really are the limit, Kriti, and the funny thing is that your friends seem to like the stuff, according to you. I really can’t understand it at all.

me and didi: ha ha ha

d: now, seriously, though, Kriti... I know that when you will come for your short trip in June you will probably visit us a few times, we will more than likely relive the old times, then you will have to go back to the states...back to square one ...the same old yahoo/Google talk routine...and then wait another 12 months or so before we meet again ...no, I am beginning to think that we better not meet when you come home...

me: what do you mean didi?

d: we will have grown accustomed to your presence during your stay in June/July... suddenly, you will have to pack up and leave...to go back to the USA...then we in Cal will have to again start living without you being in our midst...no. don’t meet me this time when you come home.

me: OK, if that’s the way feel, I shall make it a point not to meet you in June.

d: No, please don’t... that will be far better...but tell me Kriti ,if you do come back to India after completing your course – I am of course 100% sure that you won’t come back to settle in India -how many years will that be?

me: another 4.5 to 5 years

d: fiiiive more years... ho ho ho... By then your didi will be a photograph on the wall

me: ha ha ha...

d: No I am dead sure... Of course your dada will put up a photo from much younger days, when his wife was far better looking than now... You can’t blame him, poor thing...

d and me: ho ho ho ho

***

PS: If anyone wants some short pieces in Bengali/Hindi translated into English, contact me. I'll request my father to do the translation. And he usually enjoys it quite a lot.

Inspiration

At this moment, I am hoping that this will inspire me...Hobbes: Do you have an idea for your story yet?
Calvin: No, I'm waiting for inspiration.
C: You can't just turn on creativity like a faucet. You have to be in the right mood.
H: What mood is that?
C: Last-minute panic.

(Bill Watterson: The Calvin and Hobbes Tenth Anniversary Book)

Seeq and Ye Shall Find (The Beatles)

Listening to music on Seeqpod, a recent favourite pastime of mine.

"I'll listen to the Beatles today."
I search on Seeqpod, add to playlist, add, add, add...
Many songs heard before, many new... Good! Good!
I listen while working. Arranging papers etc. Standing up.

"Hey what's this song? Doesn't seem Beatles...
But it's peppy. I listen listen..."

Advisory: You listen with good headphone or stereo system.

Me tapping feet, jiving body. "Oye. Take care, this = workplace.
But what the heck...
Hey this is good.
Never heard it before."
I tap tap. Jive. Jive. (Decently)

"Hey lyrics meaningful too...
Search Search. Wiki. Wiki.
Oh! this (Within You Without You) is Beatles music."
I search more.

Lyrics meaningful too. You read. Read. While listening.

ARTIST: The Beatles
TITLE: Within You Without You

We were talking
About the space between us all
And the people
Who hide themselves behind a wall
Of illusion
Never glimpse the truth
Then it's far too late
When they pass away

We were talking
About the love we all could share
When we find it
To try our best to hold it there
With our love, with our love
We could save the world, if they only knew

Try to realize it's all within yourself
No one else can make you change
And to see you're really only very small
And life flows on within you and without you

We were talking
About the love that's gone so cold
And the people
Who gain the world and lose their soul
They don't know
They can't see
Are you one of them

When you've seen beyond yourself
Then you may find, peace of mind is waiting there
And the time will come when you see we're all one
And life flows on within you and without you

I read more.

"Mashup of the song created later by famous artist.
What's mashup - some sort of remix?"
I search search. Wiki. Wiki.

"Mashup = music of one song mixed with lyrics (a capella) of another...
But the version I am liking = by ATOM. Who's that?
Google search: Website containing more remixes by ATOM.
May be good listen for later and for dance nights."

Original song (very slow):


Video of Mashup (for Blog decoration):

PS: Wonder whether my Boss at previous workplace has listened to this. And what he has to say about the remix.

Growing Up Again

“You think you got into the team because of your abilities? Think again. The list was made by us and sent to the Gymkhana.”

“I always told you that this guy (referring to me) was not up to it. We should never have put his name on the list.”

“You cannot leave the post just because you want to. The Hall gave you the post... and you better live up to the name of the Hall.”

“We don’t tolerate any attitude. If we say so, not a single person in the Hall will talk to you. How would you like that?”

“If you can’t do it, quit. People will curse you for a few days and then they will forget it.”

“Your first priority is academics, you say? Then why the hell did you take up the post? I had warned you earlier...”

“Kid, I believe in you. You can do it.”

---

The first year in the Senior Hostel was a confusing and trying one. My extra-curricular ambitions had overlapped with the political ambitions of the Hall. And both of these bulldozed any academics ambitions that I might have had.

I had to make some choices then – the one between academics and extra-curricular being of foremost importance.

Yet, I was not ready to make a choice. I was too afraid and tried to keep one foot in each boat.

My seniors, like all seniors, tried to help me. They counselled, they advised; when they saw it was no use being soft, they were tough and unforgiving.

Unfortunately, I did not know whose advice to listen to. I wanted to win everyone’s heart with my actions and behaviour. I was always reminded of my years at junior school, where all the teachers adored me. But however much I tried, I could not find that loving care and guidance in my seniors’ behaviour towards me.

---

It took me some time to realize that I would need to earn that love.

I learnt that I needed to prioritize – not just for my own good, but for others too. My choices would affect the ambitions the others; and for this alone, I needed to act responsibly.

I learnt a lot of life from my seniors. The learning was tough but it was a part of growing up that was necessary for me. That time, I was afraid to discuss such stuff with too many people. But now, a good many years have passed. On my side, a sense of love and respect lingers on for my seniors. They too will have overlooked (or will overlook, in the future) my many flaws.

So now is a good time to write about the problems I used to face then. But the main reason why I write about those times is that currently I am in another phase of learning – another necessary learning curve. As some of you might have guessed, right now is not the correct time to dwell on the details. And to those of you who know, and are helping me on the way, I just have one thing to say – thanks.

A Fellow Human-Being

Due to my work in the field of Biomedical Engineering, I need to read up a lot of Biology from time to time. In the past two weeks, while reviewing 2 different topics - Plaque Assay and PCR (both extremely common and routine procedures followed in Biology labs worldwide), I was surprised to find that the inventors of both of these had won Nobel Prizes. I came to the conclusion that "Biology is full of Nobel Prizes" and that I should not be so surprised the next time I stumbled upon a Nobel Prize winning achievement.

I went on to find out a little more about the inventors and I was rewarded by a speech by the inventor of PCR - Kary B. Mullis. Such speeches by such "great" people are usually motivational; this one is too. But as I went through the speech, I realized that even such "greats-s" go through the same emotions and share the same insecurities as most ordinary people. Unlike some people whose autobiographies I started reading recently and had decided not to finish, here was a person who seemed to be just one of us. (In both A.P.J. Abdul Kalam's "Wings of Fire" and Paramhansa Yogananda's "Autobiography of a Yogi", I did not find anything which I could identify with from my own life. Of course, I read only the first 20 pages of the latter.)

The full speech is at http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/chemistry/laureates/1993/mullis-lecture.html. I highly recommend reading it. It might not be anything earth-shaking in that it just gives a glimpse into the mind of a fellow human-being - but is not that great enough!

(I have also extracted some of my favourite parts below.)

"The books of the great scientists," he said, "are gathering dust on the shelves of learned libraries. And rightly so. The scientist addresses an infinitesimal audience of fellow composers. His message is not devoid of universality but it's universality is disembodied and anonymous. While the artist's communication is linked forever with it's original form, that of the scientist is modified, amplified, fused with the ideas and results of others, and melts into the stream of knowledge and ideas which forms our culture. The scientist has in common with the artist only this: that he can find no better retreat from the world than his work and also no stronger link with his world than his work."

In one of our last experiments before we became so interested in the maturing young women around us that we would not think deeply about rocket fuels for another ten years, we blasted a frog a mile into the air and got him back alive.

The conundrum which lingered throughout the week-end and created an unprecedented desire in me to return to work early was compelling.

I wasn't sure about the law, but I was pretty happy working at Cetus and assumed innocently that if the reaction worked big time I would be amply rewarded by my employer.

Anyhow, my problems with Jennifer were not getting any better. That night was no exception to the trend. I drove home alone feeling sad and unsettled, not in the mood for leaving my job, or any big change in what was left of stability in my life. PCR seemed distantand very small compared to our very empty house.

For three months I did sporadic experiments while my life at home and in the lab with
Jennifer was crumbling. It was slow going.

The first successful experiment happened on December 16th. I remember the date. It was the birthday of Cynthia, my former wife from Kansas City, who had encouraged me to write fiction and bore us two fine sons. I had strayed from Cynthia eventually to spend two tumultuous years with Jennifer. When I was sad for any other reason, I would also grieve for Cynthia. There is a general place in your brain, I think, reserved for "melancholy of relationships past." It grows and prospers as life progresses, forcing you finally, against your grain, to listen to country music.

And now as December threatened Christmas, Jennifer, that crazy, wonderful woman chemist, had dramatically left our house, the lab, headed to New York and her mother, for reasons that seemed to have everything to do with me but which I couldn't fathom. I was beginning to learn tragedy. It differs a great deal from pathos, which you can learn from books. Tragedy is personal. It would add strength to my character and depth someday to my writing. Just right then, I would have preferred a warm friend to cook with. Hold the tragedy lessons. December is a rotten month to be studying your love life from a distance.

As he had learned all the biochemistry he knew directly from me he wasn't certain whether or not to believe me when I informed him that we had just changed the rules in molecular biology. "Okay, Doc, if you say so." He knew I was more concerned with my life than with those cute littlepurple-topped tubes.

In Berkeley it drizzles in the winter. Avocados ripen at odd times and the tree in Fred's front yard was wet and sagging from a load of fruit. I was sagging as I walked out to my little silver Honda Civic, which never failed to start. Neither Fred, empty Becks bottles, nor the sweet smell of the dawn of the age of PCR could replace Jenny. I was lonesome.

A Tale of New Potatoes

During our first month at Blacksburg, Virginia, we had been regularly purchasing a certain type of potatoes. Suddenly one day, while shopping at the departmental store, my room-mate Arnab spotted a new type of potato and announced that we should instead purchase that. According to him, this one would resemble Indian potatoes more closely. I was initially reluctant to change but finally succumbed to his confidence.

However I was skeptical about the end-product when one day, I embarked to make aloo-bhaate (mashed potatoes, Bengali style). Except for the darned potatoes, all the other ingredients had my vote of confidence. A newly acquired bottle of sorsher tel i.e. mustard oil (the quintessential ingredient of aloo-bhaate) would purge the ill-effects of the new potato, I said to myself.

But when I popped in my first morsel of the aloo-bhaate, my worst fears were proved true - the aloo-bhaate was sweet! What torture was my room-mate forcing upon me! Was this some sort of a sweet potato?. I was ravenously hungry, so I added some more "salt" and proceeded to gulp down a few more morsels. The "salt" however failed to placate the evil potato of its' cloying sweetness.

Research has not yet proved that when a person is extremely hungry, his brain stops working. However that day, that was exactly what happened to me. Somewhere down the treacherous meal, when the hunger pangs had been satisfied a little, I started thinking rationally about the series of events that led to the devilish aloo-bhaate. Recounting the steps, I realised that all the time, I had been adding sugar instead of "salt". My only line of defense was that here in the USA, sugar and salt look the same when unpacked. Thus it was not the potatoes that were at fault. Instead it was my hunger-induced state of mind, which had made my brain unable to differentiate between the packaging of these two substances.

There are records of similar "salt-and-sugar" mishaps in the recent past. This is what Amitabh Bacchan had to say about such an incident in the movie Cheeni Kum. You shall find that in this case, the person's brain had stopped working due to other limiting factors.

Stories and Memories

Thanks to the International Friendship Program at Virginia Tech, we (my room-mate Arnab, and I) got to meet an American family. Sarah, the lady of the house and the mother of three children, is adorable just by her beautiful nature and and her excellent culinary skills. But on our second visit to her house, we got to know that she is also a beautiful story-teller. Sarah has been working in the Blacksburg court for nearly three decades now. With that experience, it is not a surprise that she is a treasure-trove of all sorts of anecdotes from the court-house.

We got to hear her stories on the second day that we visited her house. I have re-narrated some of the anecdotes that she narrated to us. But before that, I would like to mention another thing that happened that day.

Sitting outside in the porch, I was learning about American football from Sarah's son-in-law Matt. Arnab was explaining "depth-of-field" (a concept in photography) to Sarah's younger daughter. Sarah herself was busy in the kitchen. The mouth-watering aromas of her cooking, just like her good nature, seemed to permeate the whole house.

During this massive gossip and adda session, I got a moment to myself when I went to the restroom. I do not know about others but many of my deeper thoughts have come to me within the privacy of the restroom. Reflecting on the truly enjoyable time that I was having today, I was reminded of the times at my Dada-Didi's place. (Dada-Didi are a couple in their seventies, who I got to meet around two years back. Visits to their home were an infallible source of unadulterated enjoyment.) I felt that it was mighty unfair that due to my pursuing studies in the US of A, such good folks as my Dada-Didi would not be able to share similar moments of happiness with me for an indefinitely long period of time.

It was true homesickness that I felt at that time. Notably, this was another "Happy-Sad feeling" which had been evoked in me by my coming to USA.

Coming back to Sarah's stories, I have re-narrated some of the anecdotes that she narrated to us. Hope you enjoy them.

Story 1 A certain person in the county of Montgomery, Virginia was involved in the illegal activity of growing and selling marijuana. His house was full of potted plants of this "forbidden fruit".

The business was good - no one was suspicious of his activities and had things gone the way they were going, he would have lived happily ever after. However as we all know, man's mind is never at rest. This very trait of human nature made our marijuana-grower lose sleep over how to better protect his treasures. Thus he installed a state-of-the-art burglar alarm system in his house.

And true enough, one day, a burglary was attempted. As expected, an alarm was raised by the newly installed system. The sirens and lights made sure that the whole neighbourhood and the police department rushed to the site of the attempted burglary. The police were faced with a peculiar problem - they were having to arrest both the burglar, and the owner of the house which was being burgled. It was then that the marijuana-grower realised that when one is on the other side of the law, one should not be too choosy about the company he keeps.

Story 2 Then there was the other marijuana-grower who was going on vacation. He decided to keep his pot-plants in the car so that they would get ample light to live and grow. He returned to find that the plants were alive and fresh. However there was also an arrest warrant in his name.

Story 3 Then there was the time when Sarah was checking in people when they came for their drug-screening test. One day, a certain young girl was late for her test. Sarah was especially irritated by late-comers and she grimly told the girl, "I am sorry. You are late and I cannot let you take the test." The girl started pleading, in an earnest tone, "But I was late because I had cut my ear." This news surprised Sarah and she enquired as to how such a drastic event had transpired. Sarah was in for a bigger surprise when the girl replied, with a straight face, "I was running down the driveway with my chainsaw... And I tripped and fell over and cut my ear... Here have a look.", and the girl parted her side hair to show the stitches that had followed the unfortunate incident.

For a moment, Sarah was speechless. Given that the girl was in a state of mind where running with chainsaws was a normal thing, the drug test would surely come positive. Sarah was amused by the irony of the girl's earnest pleas to take the test on that day itself.

A "Bread and Toaster" Arrangement

HR of my previous company must have made a very wise move by keeping provisions for preparing bread toast in their pantry. When I saw it for the first time on my first day at office, I was elated - I could make a snack any time I wanted. And bread toast is one snack that I really love. Strange as it may sound, my loyalty for the company was strengthened by the presence of bread, butter and a toaster in the pantry!

Let us for the sake of this blog, call such irrelevant perks provided by the employer as "Bread and Toaster" arrangements. I recently was provided with a similar arrangement at my new position as Graduate Research Assistant (GRA) at Virginia Tech (VT).

I had heard that the Newman Library at VT stocked quite a lot of fiction books. This was in stark contrast to the Central Library at IIT Kgp, which stood by its resolve of not letting any fiction books enter its premises. (Of course, some friends at Kgp had mentioned that they had found some classical Hindi literature there.)

So one day, I decided to set aside some time to explore the 3rd floor of Newman library. This was where the fiction section was located. I was in for a breath-taking experience.

I started by asking a librarian where exactly the fiction books were located. He told me that I would find "light" reading material (e.g. Stephen King) on a popular reading rack in the 1st floor. He said that the 3rd floor housed a lot of material including a lot of "heavy" literature. If I wanted to find some particular author then I should look up the web-based catalog. However if I just wanted to browse through books to get a feel of the collection, then I could scan the racks. And this is what I decided to do.

As I started my walk , I noticed a few known authors and many others that I had not heard of. Here and there, I would notice a book that I had thought about reading for a long time. But I refrained from picking such books from the shelf just now. The racks went on and my mental list of "Must Read", and "Can Read" books kept increasing.

In certain racks, I found a concentration of particular authors. For example, Dickens' whole collection was supplemented by an array of biographies and critiques. There were Indian authors too. One of RK Narayan's books brought back memories of the time when I had bought and read it. And this time I did not have to see the price at the back of the book.

Overall, I realised that I could spend a significant amount of my Ph.D. tenure with these books. VT had provided me an totally non-technological perk and I was really thankful of that.

A New Beginning

Recently I wrote an email describing my present situation... It is extremely apt... Hence I am pasting it here...

For those who might not understand the reference, let me give a bit of a background... I have recently landed in USA to start my PhD. It is going to be a long innings here. Naturally parents and relatives in India are missing me already. This is what I wrote to my mashi (maternal aunt).

-----

"right now i am busy running around with orientation, getting furniture, getting groceries, catching the college bus etc... but it's fun right now... class or research work have not started yet... and meeting a lot of new people everyday.... so not feeling too homesick yet...

right now sharing a phone between 2 people, a laptop with a faulty keyboard (e and f do not work) between 3 people... so not getting ample infrastructure to contact everybody...

will mail in more detail later... when i have lesser time, a better keyboard, and am feeling more homesick..."

Happy Sad

A funeral is a place where one has to feel sad. But this time, for some reason, I felt a sense of happiness. I shall explain why that happened.

My grandmother's elder sister (boromashidida) had been suffering acutely for the last few months. When we got the news of her demise, it did not come as a surprise to us.

My parents and I had gone to her house to pay our last homage. Most of the ladies were crying. Boromashidida's husband was sitting on a chair outside the room in which the body was kept. Usually cheerful, I found that he had been stricken by grief. I felt sad for him - such a long and beautiful innings of over seventy years had finally come to an end. I went over to console him and held his hand.

It was his reaction which really surprised me. On seeing me, his expression changed to one of joy. He asked me when I had come to Kolkata. I had met him recently but he must have forgotten. So I reminded him that I was now working here. This pleased him even more. I could not help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the simple task I had been executing for the past two years – that of staying and working in Kolkata. It is common norm these days that boys and girls move out of Kolkata for work or education. This leaves very few people of my generation staying back in Kolkata, and available to attend these occasions.

This feeling of satisfaction, you can even call it pride, remained with me as I helped in carrying the hearse. As I did so, I could feel people’s gazes falling on me. They were probably saying, “Look at him. Such a nice boy. He has come back to stay with his parents.” I met many people that day after a long time. Many of them actually expressed such sentiments directly to me.

It also felt funny because there was something that these people did not know. That this “nice boy” was trying to go abroad for higher studies. And this was something that would take him away from his parents and his hometown for at least four years. You could say that the “nice boy” did not feel very nice about this at that time.

Anyway, I felt like sharing that day's of satisfaction with others. I am sure that there are many people staying abroad, who in their heart of hearts, pine to return to India. However, career decisions delay their return indefinitely. It is the aim of this writing to provide them a reason for their return. As the MasterCard advert goes, “There are some things that money can't buy...”

===================================================


On a different note, here's another mention of a "Happy Sad" feeling:- (Click on the PLAY button to watch the scene.)

(Also, here are the dialogues of the scene. From the movie, Cheeni Kum)

Why are you sad-sad and not happy sad?
Why are we sad? Because our hearts are heavy-heavy!
When is heart heavy-heavy? When some one hurts our heart!
Who can hurt our hearts so much? The one who is very close to heart!
Who is very-very close to the heart? The one with whom the heart feels very-very happy!
You were very happy so you are sad aren’t you?
So every thing is Happy-sad not sad-sad!

Sights. Sounds. Thoughts. In Kolkata!

One day my friend Amitangshu had come home. He is now working in Delhi in an NGO. He works on wetland conservation - a noble cause!!! His work takes him to many places. Sometimes he also goes trekking. He was showing me pics of the places he had visited, especially of his so-called 'favourite' trek. Personally speaking, my job takes me as far as the restroom from my cubicle and that's about it. And I have had some occasional walks through the hills during my trips to the hill-stations. But my experiences are nothing to compare to his exploits. So I jealously listened on.

Anyways while showing the snaps, he stopped on this truly out-of-this-world sunset pic. He said that this sight greeted him after a particularly treacherous trek. He went on to emphasise how one's life becomes complete after viewing such a sunset.

I agreed with him. But does that mean my life does not have those moments of jubilation and discovery? Well, I shall relate one incident through which I tried to create such a moment right in the middle of this choking and claustrophobic city.

It was a Sunday, the holiday of the week. But when you are a person who wants to spend 'quality' time with parents, is one who has quite a few professional goals in life, is the sort of chap who wants to keep good relations with relatives, and regular contacts with friends - then Sunday does not remain a holiday anymore. That Sunday my list of odd jobs had taken me through the better part of the day, and it was early evening then. While walking back home from a necessary but unenjoyable activity, I realised that the cacophony of the blaring horns reflected the state of my mind. I decided that I needed to spend some 'quality' time on my own. I needed a nice and quiet walk to clear out my mind. And for that, I needed a stretch of land without the horns, fumes, people etc etc etc.

But when you live in an area like Minto Park, such a stretch of land at 6 in the evening is hard to get. I realised that I would need to take a bus to reach such a place.

The Kolkata Maidan could have been one option. However my last experience of Maidan in the evening had made me realise that it had already become prey to crass commercialisation. Maidan in the evening is like a once-peaceful and idyllic hill station gone totally wrong. So I decided to travel in the opposite direction.

I took a bus and got off at Lansdowne Puddapukur, turned right into a lane, and started walking. Initially, the din of cars and people followed me into the lane. But as I kept walking, I found the crowds and sounds thinning. This was good. I passed beautiful bungalows. I noticed an old wrinkled woman sitting alone on a porch... an artistic sight. Some sleek cars passed by me - this area was obviously quite posh. As I walked on, the streetlights grew dimmer and I could start hearing my thoughts once again. This lane, Lovelock Lane, connected Lansdowne with Ballygunge Circular Road. I recognised that I had come here twice to drop off a very close friend. But then I had come by a different route.

I passed 'her' house and approached a fork in the road. One lane turned left. I shall talk about the other lane a little later. I took the left turn and it twisted a little more to end at an old house. It probably was of the pre-Independence era. It was different from the more modern and utilitarian Non-Bengali structures in that area. (Non-Bengali by dint of the Ganeshas greeting you from different vantage points). It even had a lawn. The lawn had probably just been sprinkled with water and it was exhaling the beautiful smell of first rain. I was admiring the relic of older times when a group of boys came out of the house. Their conversation contained usual boy's talk - girls, sports and leg pulling. They had possibly come here to make best use of the lawn - a rare thing in most houses nowadays. I became conscious that I must be looking stupid standing there and walked back quickly.

Coming back to the fork in the road, I now had the option of returning home or exploring the other lane. Now this lane was pitch dark. And it was just enough for two persons to walk side by side. I contemplated that it might be risky, not knowing where this 'blind' alley might lead ('blind' because I could not see anything once I was inside, and also it might actually have been a blind alley). Finally throwing caution to the wind, I walked in. I felt my heart skipping a few beats. And if someone had popped out from the sides then, I would have given the run of my life. Soon however I saw light at the end of this 'tunnel', and breathed a sigh of relief.

After that I decided that I had had enough exploration for the day and returned home. I felt satisfied that I had been able to simulate a sense of exploration and discovery from this incident of “alley-trekking”.

Some Self Promotion

The product I am working on (LipTracker) is being developed for Pixel Instruments, Los Gatos. The product was displayed at NAB 2007, for which I travelled to US. It received the Broadcast Engineering NAB2007 Pick Hit award.

This was the third consecutive year that the product received an award. I have been with the product for the last two NAB-s.

Previous awards were
NAB 2006 - TV Technology STAR Award
NAB 2005 - Television Broadcast Top Innovation Awards

Here's a snapshot of the Pixel Instruments website (showing off the 3 awards together)

a must read in this valentine season... in English

With reference to my earlier blog on an AnandaBazar Patrika article giving novel ways of proposing, some people had requested that I translate the anecdotes in English. Well I passed on the request to my father, and he very kindly translated a few of the anecdotes. Here they are:-

Anecdote 1

Negotiations for my marriage had been almost completed, but eventually aborted, owing to our reluctance to cough up the dowry being demanded. My elder brother had a friend, who had visited our home several times. Over the phone, he asked me one day," When are you changing your title?" Somewhat reluctantly, I blurted out the bitter truth. Some days later, he phoned up again; this time, he wanted to know whether I was looking
for a job, and also if I were going to appear for the SSC exams.

His enquiries had an air of sincerity, and I was drawn into talking to him, on all sorts of unrelated topics. It helped that he was a good listener as well. He was, however, not the type to fall in love at first sight, and I was also not that way inclined. But he phoned up again a few days later, this time wanting to know what I thought of him as a person. Quite naturally, I replied that I liked talking to him. Suddenly, quite out of the blue, he then popped the all-important question-"Will you marry me?" Without much thought, I replied in the negative. Unfazed and unrepentant, he grandly announced that then he had no option but to marry me himself. So many years have now passed, and I realize how lucky I was that he did not take my denial seriously.

- Sanchari Mukherjee @ Mumbai

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anecdote 2

Exactly nine years ago, I was stationed in a small town in Orissa, on active duty. There was a tall, handsome and alert male colleague, who had been posted several days before me. We had struck up an easy paced relationship. He was with me on a bitterly cold January evening, when I accidentally managed to spill some hot water on my hand. Fortunately, no major damage was done. But imagine my surprise when my tall, good-looking friend chose this very moment to vanish, striding away very rapidly on his long and elegant legs. I was dumbstruck, and at a complete loss for words. Suddenly, the bell rang! The ghost who had walked out had made an embarrassed reappearance. Before I could put in a word sideways, he had held out a peace offering-a tube of Burnol, and was then unashamedly asking me for my hand in marriage. I had heard of red roses being used to speak of one's love, but Burnol? Was he intending to soothe all life's cuts and burns with a tube of Burnol? He indeed was.

- Shrabani @ Baleshwar

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anecdote 3

We first met during law classes at Surendranath College. He was very much into literary activities, happily surrounded by an amazingly large number of female admirers, and I was one of them. His sister Tuku and I were inseparable, though, and we haunted the college snacks-bars .I would also regularly drop in at Tuku’s house, but he would invariably come in fairly late in the evening, dog-tired, and would almost instantly hit the hay, sawing timber without any care as to present company. At these moments, I would begin to wonder exactly whose friend I was, Tuku's or his. Incidentally, with the knowledge of two past affairs that I had had, he would maddeningly insist on being called No.3.And this in front of everyone else! You can easily guess me turning a beetroot red, much to the delight of all present. We had frequent and lively interactions at Mitali-Hatibagan and at Sweet Home opposite Calcutta High Court. But he never found it in him to say the sweet nothings that I yearned to hear.

Believe it or not, this charade was to carry on for a full 10 years or so, and I was more or less resigned to my spinsterhood, when suddenly Tuku's marriage talks were finalised with Sanjoy, and all members of their household became tied up with the preparations. Somehow in the midst of all this ongoing chaos, he managed to slip into our house early one morning. He had evidently been headed for the ration shop, since he was carrying 2 or 3 large jute bags under his arm. I was busy cooking for my married sisters who had come visiting with their children, and seeing him in the kitchen, you could hear a pin drop. He was unperturbed, and asked whether I could have a word with him in private, please? We were still not informal together after the 10 years or so together; but we went to our granny’s room, nevertheless. In a rush of words, he blurted out that there was a very large queue at the shop, and he had suddenly realized that he had to finalise something much more important, and he was willing to wait 6 months for my answer, but could I muster up enough courage to enter into a more lasting relationship? Dumbfounded at this sudden and very unexpected turn of events, I could only nod my head in mind-sapping relief, and thank Providence.

- Rekha Mitra @ HindMotor

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anecdote 4

One day, taking me completely unawares, my office-colleague Kabita, asked me point-blank, "Are you presently into seeing girls for a future match for yourself?" When I wanted to know why she asked, she replied that an elderly man had been making detailed queries about me. Then, I had no option but to agree that the search was indeed on for a suitable bride for me. Kabita then informed me that she had a good looking friend working for the Government on a decent pay packet, blessed with a good even temperament, who could prove to be the ideal mate for me. I told her that I did not want a working bride, but instead a stay-at-home type, who would help my mother with the daily chores. Kabita smiled and pointedly remarked that before marriage all people had great expectations from their would-be spouses, but that these changed drastically, soon after the actual event. Working girl or not, Kabita opined that all brides of today wanted to set up small, independent, cosy family-nests, which ultimately required a great deal more money from the nuclear family. Naturally, it stood to reason therefore that working girls made for a better proposition, since they could steer the family ship more effectively. At this, I could not suppress my curiosity any longer, and asked Kabita whom she had in mind for me. Serenely, Kabita smiled, and stated that she had set her eyes on me for a long time now, and would brook no refusal. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, I could not make any sensible reply to her at that point of time, and such has been the story of my life with Kabita thereafter.

- Moloy Kumar Das Biswas @ Jamshedpur

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Movie Review : Before Sunset

There are some movies which have received universal acceptance as being extremely touching or extremely moving. Then there are some movies which have not yet attained that cult status, and yet when you saw them, they left a deep impression on your mind. According to me, "Before Sunset" is just such a movie.

"Before Sunset" (BS2) is the sequel to "Before Sunrise". I had watched the first movie almost two years ago. "Before Sunrise" (BS1) had ended on a predominantly melancholy note, but it also left a hint of hope. Thus when I started watching BS2, I was eager and anxious to know the fate of its' protagonists.

SPOILER : Plot details follow. Please note that people have not seen this movie and enjoy romantic things should first see both the movies before reading on.

In BS1, two people meet up as complete strangers on a train, and decide to spend the few hours till the next train, together. From evening till dawn, they roam the beautiful streets of Vienna, talking about each other's lives. There are some intimate moments too. At daybreak, according to their previously agreed arrangement, they part. Hence the melancholy. They promise to meet up in Vienna exactly after one year. Hence the hope. However, they do not exchange any contact details, fearing that such formalities might ruin the romance that had built up in their brief encounter. Hence the sequel.

BS2 takes us through the day in the lives of this same couple when they meet up seven years after that first meet. (For some reason, the girl - Julie Delpy - had been unable to keep the promised appointment in Vienna, even though she desperately wanted to.) As the movie progresses, we get to know what all happended in these two peoples' lives in the last seven years. Ethan Hawke is married, but is totally incompatible with his wife. He spent four of the last seven years writing a book on that one night in Vienna. His book became popular, which prompted his trip to Paris. Julie Delpy has a boyfriend but there's something missing in the relationship. At one point in the movie, Julie breaks down at the fact that all the guys she once thought of marrying, now were returning to her after getting married themselves. Finally, they both agree that the one night they spent together was so romantic, so perfect - that none have been able to love anyone else so perfectly after that.

The movie is about two adults trying to cope up with the whims and fancies of life which brought them together yet kept them apart. The end of the movie, which I shall not divulge, was such that it left me confused and angry. Can grown-up mature people act like this? And if circumstances make people behave in such a manner, why should fate conspire to create such circumstances.

Love, I believe, should create beautiful things. However, I failed to catch any ray of hope at the end of the movie. Or was I too obtuse? I certainly hope so.

a must read in this valentine season...

Hi

here's a writeup giving novel ways of proposing... a must read in this valentine season... (It is in Bengali)

those who can get hold of AnandaBazar Patrika Rabibashariya of 11th February 2007 can go read there.. otherwise you can download the PDF file of that page from here.

Update
Some people requested me that I translate the anecdotes in English. Well my father and I did just that. Here are some of the anecdotes in English.

Anecdote 1

Negotiations for my marriage had been almost completed, but eventually aborted, owing to our reluctance to cough up the dowry being demanded. My elder brother had a friend, who had visited our home several times. Over the phone, he asked me one day," When are you changing your title?" Somewhat reluctantly, I blurted out the bitter truth. Some days later, he phoned up again; this time, he wanted to know whether I was looking
for a job, and also if I were going to appear for the SSC exams.

His enquiries had an air of sincerity, and I was drawn into talking to him, on all sorts of unrelated topics. It helped that he was a good listener as well. He was, however, not the type to fall in love at first sight, and I was also not that way inclined. But he phoned up again a few days later, this time wanting to know what I thought of him as a person. Quite naturally, I replied that I liked talking to him. Suddenly, quite out of the blue, he then popped the all-important question-"Will you marry me?" Without much thought, I replied in the negative. Unfazed and unrepentant, he grandly announced that then he had no option but to marry me himself. So many years have now passed, and I realize how lucky I was that he did not take my denial seriously.

- Sanchari Mukherjee @ Mumbai

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anecdote 2

Exactly nine years ago, I was stationed in a small town in Orissa, on active duty. There was a tall, handsome and alert male colleague, who had been posted several days before me. We had struck up an easy paced relationship. He was with me on a bitterly cold January evening, when I accidentally managed to spill some hot water on my hand. Fortunately, no major damage was done. But imagine my surprise when my tall, good-looking friend chose this very moment to vanish, striding away very rapidly on his long and elegant legs. I was dumbstruck, and at a complete loss for words. Suddenly, the bell rang! The ghost who had walked out had made an embarrassed reappearance. Before I could put in a word sideways, he had held out a peace offering-a tube of Burnol, and was then unashamedly asking me for my hand in marriage. I had heard of red roses being used to speak of one's love, but Burnol? Was he intending to soothe all life's cuts and burns with a tube of Burnol? He indeed was.

- Shrabani @ Baleshwar

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anecdote 3

We first met during law classes at Surendranath College. He was very much into literary activities, happily surrounded by an amazingly large number of female admirers, and I was one of them. His sister Tuku and I were inseparable, though, and we haunted the college snacks-bars .I would also regularly drop in at Tuku’s house, but he would invariably come in fairly late in the evening, dog-tired, and would almost instantly hit the hay, sawing timber without any care as to present company. At these moments, I would begin to wonder exactly whose friend I was, Tuku's or his. Incidentally, with the knowledge of two past affairs that I had had, he would maddeningly insist on being called No.3.And this in front of everyone else! You can easily guess me turning a beetroot red, much to the delight of all present. We had frequent and lively interactions at Mitali-Hatibagan and at Sweet Home opposite Calcutta High Court. But he never found it in him to say the sweet nothings that I yearned to hear.

Believe it or not, this charade was to carry on for a full 10 years or so, and I was more or less resigned to my spinsterhood, when suddenly Tuku's marriage talks were finalised with Sanjoy, and all members of their household became tied up with the preparations. Somehow in the midst of all this ongoing chaos, he managed to slip into our house early one morning. He had evidently been headed for the ration shop, since he was carrying 2 or 3 large jute bags under his arm. I was busy cooking for my married sisters who had come visiting with their children, and seeing him in the kitchen, you could hear a pin drop. He was unperturbed, and asked whether I could have a word with him in private, please? We were still not informal together after the 10 years or so together; but we went to our granny’s room, nevertheless. In a rush of words, he blurted out that there was a very large queue at the shop, and he had suddenly realized that he had to finalise something much more important, and he was willing to wait 6 months for my answer, but could I muster up enough courage to enter into a more lasting relationship? Dumbfounded at this sudden and very unexpected turn of events, I could only nod my head in mind-sapping relief, and thank Providence.

- Rekha Mitra @ HindMotor

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anecdote 4

One day, taking me completely unawares, my office-colleague Kabita, asked me point-blank, "Are you presently into seeing girls for a future match for yourself?" When I wanted to know why she asked, she replied that an elderly man had been making detailed queries about me. Then, I had no option but to agree that the search was indeed on for a suitable bride for me. Kabita then informed me that she had a good looking friend working for the Government on a decent pay packet, blessed with a good even temperament, who could prove to be the ideal mate for me. I told her that I did not want a working bride, but instead a stay-at-home type, who would help my mother with the daily chores. Kabita smiled and pointedly remarked that before marriage all people had great expectations from their would-be spouses, but that these changed drastically, soon after the actual event. Working girl or not, Kabita opined that all brides of today wanted to set up small, independent, cosy family-nests, which ultimately required a great deal more money from the nuclear family. Naturally, it stood to reason therefore that working girls made for a better proposition, since they could steer the family ship more effectively. At this, I could not suppress my curiosity any longer, and asked Kabita whom she had in mind for me. Serenely, Kabita smiled, and stated that she had set her eyes on me for a long time now, and would brook no refusal. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, I could not make any sensible reply to her at that point of time, and such has been the story of my life with Kabita thereafter.

- Moloy Kumar Das Biswas @ Jamshedpur

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I am proud to present to you...

Hi All

I am proud to present to you the writings of Srimati Mukherjee. You can read her writings at http://joc2.blogspot.com/ . Please note that the writings are in Bengali.

She is my friend Srikanta Mukherjee's mother. I found her writings to be of great quality and thought that such writing should reach a wider audience.

Blogging is a great medium through which a writer can find many readers. However like many people of my parent's generation, Srimati Kakima is not very conversant with Computers. Hence I helped her create this blog.

In the end, I will be glad if a lot of people read her blog and send her their comments at her email id, which is <srimati.mukherjee@gmail.com >. I would request you to forward this email to as many people as you can.

Regards
Kriti

PS : Thanks to my mother for doing the typing. And kudos to me for patiently answering her doubts again and again and again..... :)

What a Movie !!

I have been down with viral fever since Tuesday. Today's the 6th day and I hope to join office from tomorrow. But in these days, I watched a lot of movies on TV - "The Mummy Returns", "Zinda", "Bride and Prejudice", "Gladiator", "Airplanes II : The Sequel" etc. I watched most of these movies for the first time, since I have been quite irregular at catching up with movies for the last two years.

Of all these movies, I enjoyed Zinda the most. Though the dark and gruesome story might not appeal to everyone, I recommend it for its gripping storyline and realistic picturisation. Zinda stands apart when compared with other Bollywood fare.

PS : The songs of Zinda are haunting... Anyone would enjoy them... especially the songs Yeh Hai Meri Kahani (Strings) and Zinda Hoon Main (by Shibani Kashyap)http://www.raaga.com/channels/hindi/movie/H001015.html

I did it... I did it... I did it...

Those are lines from "My Fair Lady", a movie that I recently watched and loved.

The reason why I am uttering the same lines, is that I finished clearing the backlog at Orkut. Ever since my birthday went by, there were umpteen number of scraps to which I had not replied. Finally, with great grit, resolve and physical resilience, yesterday, I managed to reply to each of those scraps.. Phew!!!