‘Once a prince, twice a prince, thrice a prince threw gold; to ask for dear lord, prosperity manifold’ – a song sung by an old man who lived next door. He referred to thewishing well in front of our house. The song still haunts me…

Summers ago, a family came to spend their vacation in our village. They had three daughters – one was red, other yellow and the little one looked like a strawberry. They shrieked, ran and ate lollipops all the time. They even had a happy dog. They always sat by the river on the wharf singing happy songs, which we could never relate to. My sister, Lily, was very amused observing them and at the same time she used to curse me because she had to attend to me all the time.

Their father drove to the nearest city everyday and brought loads of goodies for them. I would wake up every morning to their giggles and singing. And needless to say, it was followed by my wails for attention. Mother would yell at Lily for not paying attention to me and her daily chores. After a few moments of serenity, I would hear sounds of cane creating welts in Lily’s back in conjunction with the giggles by ‘those three’.

The eldest one was always very pensive but happy with brimming thoughts. She was drowned in her own world. She used to carry a book and a pen everywhere and my sister observed her every move. She would paint her nails and then she would start writing and feel happy about it. She would always smile while writing.

Lily would emulate her with a pencil and a used book. But she would just scribble because she didn’t know how to write. That would frustrate her a lot. So one day she scurried her way to their yard and asked the eldest one about her book. The eldest one replied, ‘I treasure all my happy moments in this book and I see that you have one too’. Lily never liked the fact that there weren’t many happy moments she could write or draw about.

One night Lily hurriedly left me in the porch and marched towards their yard. She spent sometime searching for something very meticulously. She finally found it – it was that book. I saw her running out of the yard towards the well with the book and a plastic cover. She stared at the well for a few minutes and then threw the book in it. She then gave me a poignant glance and vanished in the dark. She never came back.

Later one day, villagers found all sorts of articles in the well when they decided to clean it. I found the book in a plastic cover and asked if I could have it. One of the diary entries read, ‘The girl next door seems so sad. I wish she could have all she wished for – a better life I guess’

‘I will give you all the diamonds you want’ was not the first thing that he said that evening under the moon shadows of trees swaying to Jazz that night. 

That night chanson’s d’amour or love songs were not mere mood jewels that he usually adorns in just any other mundane night. They had significance that night. He was in love after a good long twenty five years. He clasped his own hands in delightful serenity of the night laced with the hallucinatic music. He thought those were the magic that music creates in moments like those. As a kid he always liked movies over real life because movies had background music. He was happy ‘coz he can hum and sing; at least he can make up for the lack of background music in real life.

He could care less about his wealth, his palace and the never ending lonliness if not his anxious longing for what he didn’t know. 

That day his heart was filled with gratitude and he wept slowly. He was in love and he knew why. He looked at the moon and then looked at her , ‘How shiny would you be if you take all my diamonds?  Under this pale moon, this summer sea breeze and the trees, and everywhere you would be just the same; my shiny little happiness. You will always be with me’. 

He stopped gazing at Fiona, his watch and shifted his attention to his collection of books. He then started murmuring these lines again. However, in case of books, he offered them bookcases and shiny ones and in case of his wines, he offered them new cellars and yes! shiny ones.

He stopped realizing long back that it was just another night of Jazz by the bay.

Do androids dream of electric sheeps? May be yes! Bladerunner’s theme tries to show us the fine differences between humans and other things (in a more general view). Dreams are one of the those things that differentiates humans from others (thats what ‘they’ say). I could care less with all these mumbo jumbo junk sciences psycologist, antropologist or any ‘logist’ researching on. All I care is dreams are required/needed. Life would be such a clockwork if I don’t dream.

Of late, in my dreams I always figure out that whatever is happening is just a dream – irrespective of nightmares or good dreams. It’s nice to have such feelings when I have nightmares but during a good dream? It’s not done!

Its has been quite common with me nowadays. Over the time, I have ingrained in myself certain truths or certain inevitabilities in such a way that even in my dreams I no longer imagine or get transported to any new realms of distorted happiness. Even if I do, I just realize its a dream….

Another Paradise lost ….!

MyHeritage: Family tree – Genealogy – Celebrity – Collage – Morph

I am drunk and I am about to contribute my 2 cents of experience in US of A. And fuck I care about the fact that there will be millions of Indians who might have written about it. Well almost perfect my experience in US is and I am happy for the fact that a business trip didn’t suck too much. Hmmmm… let me write things in bullet points for your benefit:

American food is not all that bad. Its a bit sweet and baring the ever pervasive fast food, fine food seems to be palatable. Had an awesome experience of american barbeque in my colleague’s home on two occasions and got to see what they eat – to compensate the junk they eat all the time, they toss in a lot of veggies in form of salads or side dishes to go with their hamburgers/hot dogs/barbeque chicken

Americans are good-natured people. Though they might have reservations against a lot of communities yet the kind of bonhommie they display towards fellow human beings is noteworthy. This is what one wants – I don’t want my fucking neighbors to wallow in my sufferings with me. All I want is kind words.

Americans are threatened by Indians with respect to jobs. With increased cost cuttings, American companies are shifting their cost centers to countries like India – this is leading to increased job insecurity and low morale in US

Americans are much happier than Indians or let me put it this way – Americans are much more expressive than Indians in terms of happiness

Indians will be dirt-bags everywhere – they spread unhappiness and discontent everywhere. Funny experience with NRIs – Those who are now settled in the US are confused – they say, ‘I am more Amerikhan than Indiyen’. They are rude, spiteful and have no qualms in displaying all of it

Virginia is really boring – It’s worse than Kanpur … One should have a car to survive in places like Virginia. Americans are aware of it but they say its a trade off for a good job and a quiet lifestyle with kids and wife

Americans are very family centric – they are practical and think about family and don’t indulge in petty emotions when they decide things about family

Americans pubs are very lively … they have a lot of attractions other than just drinking – pub quiz, dart competitions etc. Yes, America doesn’t discriminate anyone on any grounds except for aliens (people from other country) which is not because they hate us, but because they are very conscious of the fact that our cultures are quite disparate. I loved the fact that people who come to drink in a pub know each other and talk to each other. They know the bartenders by name and they hug and kiss each other.

New York is a very exciting place .. even Americans in general aspire to be in New York coz its such an exciting city. Kind of reminded me of Mumbai. New York is an easy place to go around – nice planning though staying in New York (hotel/apartment) is very costly. I loved Coney Island Beach and Bleecker street. A pub named Red Lion was serving alcohol and playing loud live music till 5:30 am and I think its amazing.

All things nice and good … even London was good … there are things which falls into the negative part of my perspective but I will let it pass …

However,  would also like to say:

I miss everyone back in India – my family, my friends and room mates (all the room mates I have spent time with), my sunset (here sun sets at 9 pm), my home (parents as well as my Bangalore home), Mumbai, the noisy hustle-bustle, auto rickshaws, my relevance with daily life and habits and everything I can possibly think of. I wish things were better in India if I look at the good things in US of A, yet I wonder that India is unique coz of the fact that it lacks a lot in terms of social maturity and living standards yet Indians like me love India for the lack of it …. absurd it is … but then life doesn’t come with an ecyclopedia that answers all questions …

Buzz … Buzz… Thwack! I wish life was that easy. It just takes me 2 minutes to conjure up my thoughts and another 2 minutes to pen down. For some reason, thoughts came and flew. For some funny reason, I stopped relying on my memory and started storing thoughts on my phone (drafts in message section). They are still there and I am here writing about them being there.

Interestingly, this is my first post to break that stasis. I wrote this down on my phone draft message.

Thwack!

32 years – from 1976 till now in Indian Police Service (Assam & Meghalaya cadre) is a huge achievement in my father’s life – for that matter it’s a huge achievement for any man who was born in the pre-independent India.

Born to Late Soneswar Bania, Papa grew up in a small village named Dogaon in North Lakhimpur, Assam. He made his way out to a more educated and civilized life through hard work. When many of us were fighting over which channel to watch on TV, Papa in his adolescence was riding on a grazing Buffalo and reading his text books. He was very sharp as a kid and very artistic too – you should see his handwriting; it would have made my class teacher in school, who taught me cursive writing, go green in jealousy.

He had to leave home and study in Darrang College, Tezpur, Assam initially and finish his graduation in Economic, Statistics and Mathematics from Cotton College. And soon after that he got his MSc degree (those days in Gauhati University, one gets a MSc. degree for Eco, Stats and Maths).

He got married to my mom in 1968. Mom was from a neighboring village. He was still a student when he married mom. And soon after my eldest sister was born (1970). He had the responsibility of his family back home and also his wife and a kid. He got a job in NSS (National Sample Survey) which made him stay in Shillong for a couple of years and then MidnaPore, West Bengal for another few years. He had to sent my mom back to her village along with my sister.

In 1976, he got through the civil services examination and he joined the Police Service. Again he was sent out for training and subsequent posting in Silchar, Assam. By then, Ma and my two sisters joined him. We had seen pretty bad days in my dad’s career – days when he was transferred to remote corners of a tumultuous Assam, days when Dad would come home late and Mom would wait for him, days when he had to make a lot of sacrifices in his family life (which was misconstrued by us on lot of occasions).

32 years of a tumultuous Assam – 32 years of a family who made huge sacrifices – 32 years of commitment

My father was very creative and perhaps he wanted to become an engineer, an architect, a teacher or a writer. His friends were from such fields. Due to work, he couldn’t even think about what he actually liked, forget being with his friends or dear ones. Much later in 1994, he met one of his closest friends in Tinsukia, Assam – Prof. Dundhubi. I saw my Papa behave with his long lost friends in ways which left an indelible mark on my mind – there were more to this man than what we all know.

Now, we all have the luxury to take up a job, if we don’t like the current one – relocate to a new city at our whims … Think about my father … I am sure your father would have gone through the same. Their generation was so different than ours in many ways.

Nevertheless, I am very proud of you Papa. As my friend Suresh said, “… thank him on my behalf for a service well done to the nation”, we all feel that you have done something which in no way I could ever do in life. You have started a generation in our family – my generation – the generation which books flight tickets on the internet, listens to songs from iPod, writes a journal on a blog, eats Mexican food ….

You have paved the way for us to a comfortable life, to a secured life… All these and more are a resultant of your sacrifice – a lot of it I am not aware of – may be there must have been times when you wanted to have an extra helping of food but you had to save for your family, may be you wanted to watch your favorite movie or buy a new shirt in Bihu …

Yes Papa, your sacrifice!

I could see through the hordes of people drenched in smokes of exasperation coming out of their tightly clasped cigarettes in their fingers – a great urgency in completing conversations. I could hardly see any faces that I know. It was suffocating …. moment before I decided to leave, I saw a familiar face sitting quietly in a corner drinking something precious for the very fact that he was protecting it rather than savoring it. I couldn’t recognize the face from that distance but intuitively I was sure that the person sitting there was someone close – probably eons back …. the familiarity, the comfort of someone close… I walked towards the person through meandering pathways between those congregations of people. Just when  I was about to reach and say ‘Hi’, a few people looked towards me, I could see the whole room looking towards me with some sort of amusement and shock. The look in their face said ‘How dare you go and speak to him? He doesn’t need anybody, he has us. Please leave this place…. there is no extra room for you’

Well I retracted and looked into his familiar eyes … they were sad, they were tired, they were dead, …

David Hidalgo written a song, ‘Someday’ for Los Lobos (OST: A love song for Bobby Long) which captures my emotions right now:

Someday I will go home
Someday I will go home
And I’ll find peace in the house
Of my heavenly father
I will fear, fear no more

I know down in my heart
I know it won’t be long
And I shall see the face
Of my savior
I will fear, I will fear
I will fear, pain no more

Someday, I will go home
Someday, I will go home
And I shall take the hand
Of my savior
I will fear, I will fear
I will fear, pain no more
I, I will fear, I will fear
Pain no more

Driving home
Driving home
I’m driving home

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when white wings of death scatter your days.
Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together, yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.