32 years of Indian Police Service – To my Papa

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!

Celebration is for other people ….

Affliction is something which nobody can define. Even I can’t. It is always felt and then forgotten. Some forget forever and some remembers everyday. I should pat my back and also thank a few who helped me get out of the continuous affliction that tore me apart the whole last year – I was never the same anymore. Some people say you become strong, you become this and that … But nobody knows what I have become … Let us forget what I have become, and focus on what other people perceive of me… A friend told me that people have branded me as someone who is emotionally unstable and all my writings/poems seemed as if they are the product of such instability. He is an honest guy and what he told me about the perception is true.

Funny, that people, for whom I am going through such affliction, oblivious of it (highly unlikely) asks me to have fun, celebrate festivals …. very condescendingly.. and worst part is that they pretend to have not known about what I have been through …

I don’t know why I am writing this post but will soon figure out … perhaps it’s a product of my mental instability … perhaps celebration is for other people …. perhaps other people should always celebrate … but leave me alone …. I don’t want to celebrate and never will …

Wordsworth beautifully wrote the following in The Affliction of Margaret:

Beyond participation lie
My troubles, and beyond relief:
If any chance to heave a sigh,
They pity me, and not my grief.
Then come to me, my Son, or send
Some tidings that my woes may end;
I have no other earthly friend!

This is for you Maa….

This is for you Maa … You know, the greatest regret I’ll have in life is not being able to compensate for all those moments when you were worried and anxious about me. I know that though I am a big boy now, I am still your little kid. But it really hurts me to see the stifled anxiety in you seeing me grown up so fast – and more so when you were not around to see the gradual transformation in me . I know that you are very curious about me but you hate to admit it and pass it off saying that I am a big boy and things are going the way they are supposed to be ….

I heard this song from Rang De Basanti a few days back where Yashoda tells Krishna -

I am anxious about you as the evening sets in; See that my vision has become hazy ….

Yashoda: Luka Chuppi bahut huyi saamne aa ja naa
Kahan kahan dhoondha tujhe
thak gayi hai ab teri maa

Aaja saanjh hui mujhe teri fikar
Dhundhla gayi dekh meri nazar aa ja na

 

Krishna: Kya bataoon maa kahan hoon main
Yahan udney ko mere khula aasmaan hai
Tere kisson jaisa bhola salona
jahan hain yahan sapno vala
Meri patang ho befikar udd rahi hai maa
Dor koi loote nahin beech se kaate na

Yashoda: Teri raah takey aankhiyaan
jaane kaisa kaisa hoye jiyaa

Dhire dhire aangan utre andhera, mera deep kahan
Dhalke suraj kare ishara chanda tu hai kahan
Mere chanda tu hai kahan
Luka Chuppi bahut huyi saamne aa ja naa
Kahan kahan dhoondha tujhe thak gayi hai ab teri maa

Aaja saanjh hui mujhe teri fikar
Dhundhla gayi dekh meri nazar aa ja na

Krishna: kaise tujhko dikhaun yahaan hai kya
Maine jharne se paani maa tod ke piya hai
Guchcha guchcha kai khwabon ka uchal ke chuwa hai
Chaaya liya bhali dhoop yahaan hai
Naya naya sa hai roop yahan
Yahaan sab kuch hai maa phir bhi
lage bin tere mujhko akela

Ambivalence?

I write and I erase… and I write and I erase and I write and think that I will erase but then I keep writing and later erase and I write again to erase and more so I write while I erase …

Am I afraid, detached, tired, clueless, confused or just ambivalent?

Sleep tonight … for you are not alone

All you who sleep tonight

Far from the ones you love,

No hand to left or right

And emptiness above…..

 

Know that you aren’t alone

The whole world shares your tears,

Some for two nights or one,

And some for all their years.

 

~ Vikram Seth

Vanilla Skies …

I have turned out to be a photo-poem churning out machine now on my blog. Somehow I have lost connect in speaking to people who reads my blog. Reasons will be job related (I was so engrossed in my job that I didn’t have time to think about anything else), fatigue not of body but of mind – didn’t want to discuss or engender thought processes which would probably take up time and space … However I am at ease right now. The other day I was reading other’s blogs and chanced upon a friend’s blog wherein he wrote about a very happy incident. He was present when one of his friend proposed to his girl friend and she agreed to marry him. A smile beamed on the corners of my eyes and then faded away leaving behind hints of moisture …..

I remembered those withered years and try to touch them with fervent hope … I can’t touch but only see … yes only see and it’s soon becoming dusty and hazy…. I wrote Vanilla Sky for someone else … a God-sent couple and I guarded this poem from everyone … but then the skies bled and never saw the light …. But now I am happy for my friend and dedicate this to his friend who is getting married soon… I know marriage is not the culmination of true love …. let true love reign in many different shades …..

Cogent, crisp, clear everything should be
Closure and coherence are enchantingly desirable
Permanence is linked with certainty
Is this what sweet dreams are meant to be?

Hope floats where love floats
A strange mixture of follies, pleasure, ghosts and vices

A frission of ecstasy shot through me
When i walked in those clouds
Always had i known
The clouds are not permanent
They shift along with the tides of time
Leaving me hanging between two realms – hopelessness and anticipation

Yet I always wonder
Rather realised
When love floats – everything else just founders
For a second or a lifetime
It doesn’t matter
The vanilla sky and the clouds remain forever

Lucid Dream

Had a great time, specially to see you both together. Not forever may be, but for just 2 most crazily happy hours of my life.

Treacle par excellence?

Earth splits …
The skies bleed …
I die every moment …
And my soul’s not freed ..

All my Love

I have all the time and all my world for you …
Keep me going …
Keep me strong …
I trust you’d never go wrong …
Don’t be around …
But send your fragrance through a whiff of wind …
I’ll welcome it with wide open arms
and kiss the ground.

I Love Mumbai

I landed in Mumbai past midnight. The ariel view of the city was more than enough to comfort me beyond measure – I have reached home.

Ok, this was what happened. I had some work in Delhi for which I had to take an early morning flight to Delhi, finish up the work and come back same day. I reached Delhi at 10:30 am and since then I was longing for Mumbai till I landed here.

More than anything else (Delhi’s annoying character Vs. Mumbai’s free spirited fun character) I have found that I like Mumbai and hate Delhi for associations -

Delhi – Whatever bad could happen in last 26 years of my life happened when I was in Delhi. For me every tree, every bit of air, every drop of water, the evening sky… in Delhi reeks of sadness – a kind of sadness that makes me nervous, catapults me to the deep recess of my psyche where I could feel my heart stabbed countless times every second and as if every drop of my blood has been smeared on Delhi’s landscape

Mumbai – The best things that could happen to me in the last 26 years of my life happened in Mumbai – getting to know people who changed my life forever, reuniting with lost relationships, and ah! of course the famous Colaba Causeway

I Love you Mumbai for giving me a brother, for giving me a whiff of romance, for giving me another chance to reignite a lost friendship, for giving me a home wherein I stay with a bunch of great great friends, for accommodating so many friends of mine, for instantiating my lost passions, for giving more than enough reasons to enjoy myself and not last and the least – for giving me an excellent colleague who has now became a very good friend ….

O’ Journalism

Ok this is a bit personal. I work as a product manager in one of India’s widely read newspaper. And following is the conversation I had with a friend of mine after reading an article I had done which covers the lighter aspects of life -

Friend: ” …. so this is what passes for journalism nowadays. People die in this country when it rains/doesn’t rain. People die when theres a heatwave/coldwave…. and we have a person (text changed to conceal identity) giving his spin on blah blah mushy mushy (text changed to conceal identity of the newspaper). Great.Where do people publish the truth? anymore… Where’s Gordon Gekko – lunch is for wimps….SIGH…thats all I have time for..”

Me: “Yes, this is journalism. It doesn’t mean that you always have to write about Gordon Gekkos and Human Piranhas. Sometimes we do need to address lighter issues to slow down the readers and not solipsistically laid out stories which ‘we’ like. Nevertheless we just don’t write ‘anything’ which can be considered reader likable unless it is something of great importance. Otherwise my paper would see itself as a tabloid and would be put in the same rank as ABC and XYZ (text changed to conceal identity of the newspaper) who don’t report but opine.

I think the series ‘blah blah blah’ (text changed to conceal identity of the newspaper) is not shroud under flippancy, rather it was a great breather after Srikrishna Commision report, 1993 blasts verdict, Mumbai under siege (monsoon) …..

I didn’t write this because I work in my paper, its because I believe in my paper.”

Friend: “Come on mate, you should be more intelligent than that. Regarding the other newspaper from your company (text changed to conceal identity of the newspaper), the strategy was bad. I think whoever was in charge of the paper should be fired. I don’t say it’s a bad paper. Its good and its got good coverage of stuff which I like. And the readability is miles ahead of fucking ABC. But you would have disappointed/alienated 80% of your reader with the ridiculous sign up process. thats why they had to run like a mangy dog and change that 3 months down the line. But the damage is already done. So you guys are neither there – like ABC and XYZ or here – Like the Indian Express”

All this while I had maintained a saving grace as I was proud to be a Product Manager. But reality bites (a cliche, believe me, I have used after a long time) when we operate a newspaper in an era when it has become a media rather than an information source. Newspaper is now suffocating between information and revenue generation. Also it’s neither a breaking news medium like TV or internet and nor a lazy read like a magazine.

Are newspapers dying?

Stripped

Look at the picture below (photo courtesy: HT). A cute, fat kid walking alongside a policeman. Her name is Sarita and she is from Jaunpur, UP. She was thrown into a river by her father who couldn’t pay for her medical treatment. Before drowning, her last words were, “Papa, Papa …. Help me”. After being rescued, she was too scared of going back home and after persuasion, she has gone back to her mother.

On normal days, I wouldn’t have been so affected, but today …. Now you can blame the father or the society or poverty or the Gods … but that won’t work … Nor your money will help her effectively (There are many organizations wherein you can adopt a kid, but there is no transparency as in how effectively your money being utilized for the kid’s welfare).

I blame my childhood for whatever difficulties I faced in my adulthood… But now after reading this I have to rethink what went right/wrong… I can’t imagine what would have gone through this kid’s mind and how she will cope with the fact, later in life, that her father threw her away when she was ailing, into a river, just because he couldn’t handle the situation anymore…

God bless you, kid, for all the strength you require to brave the new world! Welcome …..

Endrum Vazgha Madras!

All I had in my mind was Idli and Dosa when I reached Madras. I chose to do my Dual Degree from IIT Madras for two reasons – first being the course in Microelectronics &VLSI they offered and second being the culture I wanted to “check out” – Pretty wild attempt at an adventure. It was June 26th, 1999 that I reached Madras. I recall clean roads and less traffic on the first day and quite a pleasant evening contrary to what my friends warned about.

I stayed in a place called Egmore for the first two days and after that I shifted to IIT, which was located in Adyar – it was a part of Guindy national forest. The shift was amazing – from the din and bustle of city life to the quiet serenity of a forest. Before I could try anything new … all new experiences plunged at me straight into my face … watery spicy soup-kind-of “daal” – Rasam, the jasmine flowers that adorned most women’s braid, the quaint villages – Velachery and Taramani, roadside idli corners, brash auto-drivers, coffee smell everywhere, temples and the quarter plate of Chicken Biriyani (sigh!)

Madras, for me, was a great escape – escape from the comforts of home and escape from my past. It was a revelation – a preview into the great land of South India. People warned me against going to Madras – bad food, bad people, heat, and of course no beautiful women. They were right in bits and parts. For the first two months I had experienced exactly what people told me and started hating my decision.

Nevertheless, I thought I have come to study and so be the order of the day. The first six months I buried myself in books – once in a while I would sneak out for a movie and sometimes to a cyber café in Vellachery. I would turn a blind eye to everything in the city, reach the cinema hall (Satyam) and would snuggle in the comfortable seat and watch any damn Hindi movie. I used to catch the night shows and usually with the extended drivel of hindi movie lasting for 3 odd hours, I would emerge tired out from the theatre at around 2 am. Lo! No signs of autos or any bus service. Then I would wait for hours in Mount Road. In some crazy nights it used to rain. Drenched, I would find one of those shared vans at around 3 am and reach campus gate. Since my hostel is around 4 kms from the gate, I normally ride a bicycle in the campus. I would then cycle my way from the gate, half-asleep, to my hostel. This continued for another six months.

Then I changed my hostel. I had new friends Ashish, Bhaya, Guru, Sandy and my new bike. Since they were one of those going-out kind of people, I had no option but to venture out to the city. We tried all places, places to hang out, places to eat, places to drink, place to enjoy rock music.

The best places to eat, I would say will be Shakes and Creams, Adyar for Ice creams, Dhabba Express, Kotturpuram for authentic Punjabi, GRT Grand Days and Residency, T. Nagar for an elaborate buffet, Galloping Gooseberries, Greams Road for pasta and strawberry cream, and of course Wangs Kitchen, Egmore for Chinese. These are the so-called up-market places. At times, when we were broke we would sneak out to Velachery and Taramani and have a full plate Chicken Noodles for as low as 20 bucks or we would try Andhra mess or simple quarter plate Biriyani.

 

Then came Saarang, the annual cultural festival of IIT Madras. My joy knew no bounds when I found out that Madras had a good rock music culture. I found out places like Zarra Tapas, a Spanish bar near Taj Coromandel, Unwind Center (formerly known as Vineyard) where live bands play rock music every Friday. Madras at that time didn’t have the pub culture, there was more of a bar culture and without knowing, I got used to it. I got used to only males coming and drinking and no cute looking girls hanging around. Madras is a man’s place – there is no space for weenies, no place for people with superficial kisses thrown into air. The place/the people/their movies/their life is real. There can be movies like Parrayappa (Rajni Kanth’s Magnum Opus) or there can be something as weird as Rajni cult, yet what the people swear by or stand for seemed very real to me. Days went by in a blink and I found myself more dragged into the crowd, into the heartland of Chettinad. I started liking the snake ride driving in Mount Road up to Washermanpet. I remember Besant Nagar beach where I spent most of my Saturdays thinking about the sea and how huge it is – larger than anything I ever saw or could think of. The breeze once in a while would bring the smell of Jasmine hair oil and then the Bajji and Delhi-Appallam, which would drive me crazy – so crazy that I would fill myself up for dinner with just Bajji and Appallam.

 

22000kms of bike rides, 2 accidents, 35° C average temperature, 1814 days, 5 Saarangs, couple of good friends and one great Madras. Five years of my life won’t be insignificant coz they had the maximum impact in my life. Somebody said, it seems very easy to move on but what’s left behind is very hard. Endrum Vazgha Madras!

P.S. If interested, please visit http://abeyaby.wordpress.com and get some real low-down on experiences from an insider – an ardent Madras resident and more than a resident a die hard fan!

 

I was and I will be

True love should be liberating and not binding …

A friend of mine told me that true love should be liberating and not binding. It was after I raised the question, “If a beast can do so much for loving a human being, what do we do?”, while watching King Kong.

If I look around me, the connotations of love spells closeness, dependency, physicality, obligations, brandishing et. al. Is this the end of love? Knowingly or unknowingly even I, till yesterday, felt the same way about love… but then my friend told me in a very straight tone – “Your love is very binding” … just a line is what I required! I realised that probably this what have become of love – Binding! This what have become of marriage – Binding! This what have become of a relationship – Binding!

Love is very pure, it’s is a direct translation of God. If love exists, then I am sure God exists. Love permeates through the strict definitions of eros (physical), philia (emotional) and also agape (spiritual) – the three corner stones of love and finds it’s meaning in deep seated sense of affection which should elevate one and not degenerate. Needless to say phrases like “Love Labor Lost” loses significance in the lexicon of true love. True love should be emancipating one and make him/her happy about everything in life even the fact that it is a rarity if one has true love for someone.

The day if you or the one you love feel binding and obligatory because of love, I am sorry it’s not true. True love should seek a perfect kind of affection – one that is not only based on fondness, not only transcends any particular form of it, but also a passion without the necessity of reciprocity.

l’amour devrait libérer et ne pas lier …. and more on this ….

Quirk of fate

 

Tumbling down in a quite bright light

Supporting myself with past of the night

Clamorous Truth

 

Probing in the shadows of Truth

Embracing the mirth of the ruth

Tenacious Spirit

 

Fading soul and haggard Spirit

The wretched tree has borne seeds

Ludicrous End

~ Ashok P. Bania

 

Ode …

There was a time .. I forgot what it was like .. all I can remember now is that there was a time ….

Words escaping me nowadays.. fatigue of physique as well as mind has connived to make me forget how things were like a few years before. Questions arise and answers float… have no time to catch them. This is life perhaps… it has its own mechanism of copying sorrow. I heard that average mourning time of someone’s death is 6 months. I have mourned for more than a year… tenacity I guess. But now finally nature has answered. I am forgetting … things are becoming hazy … yet there is a lump on my throat and a throb in my heart, which will never fade away ….

Here is a great poem by A.S. Byatt

Who are you?
Here on a high shelf
In webbed flask I
Hook up my folded self
Bat-leather dry.

Who were you?
The gold god goaded me
Sang shrieking sang high
His heat corroded me
Not mine his cry.

What do you see?
I saw the firmament
Steady the sky
I saw the cerement
Close Caesar’s eye.

What do you hope?
Desire is a dowsed fire
True love a lie
To a dusty shelf we aspire
I crave to die.

- “Christabel LaMotte”, AKA. A. S. Byatt
.

I am the Lizard King and I can do anything!

Raise high your pretty faces … I hear dreams … I can hear you clear my beautiful friend .. Live your dreams .. Every strand of your hair should scintillate with electrifying spams …

Art, science, philosophy are all fucking shit man … who are you to tell me what they are and why do I need to nod? Who are you to judge and why do I have to listen?

I can hear dreams like soft dew drops trickling from one leaf to another in a fresh winter morning. Morning …. huh! Mourning! Don’t mourn my pretty child … every drop of your tear is precious … saturated with the history of your sadness .. getting saltier by the minute and heavier by the hour .. Don’t mourn my pretty child …

Beeeetraaaayaaaaaallllll with a fuckin’ slice of poison, a dash of good memories, a pinch of lost love, a tea spoon of …….. fuckk!!! It’s a fuckin’ lame concept … Haven’t u betrayed ur mother when you smoke whilst you promised her that you won’t? Haven’t you betrayed your father, when you told him that you are more weaker than he is? Lame .. it’s lame …

It’s democracy ain’t it … It’s free will AIN’T it … It’s a fucking revolution……………. heheheheheh!

YOU are the Lizard King and YOU can do anything ….

P.S. –> My apologies to Late James Douglas Morrison

Being Assamese!

I have missed 7 Bihus and now this time it has hit me. I miss my family a lot. They might be a weird bunch but they are mine … I miss mom’s pitha (something which i never liked to eat) which she prepares during Bihu.

I have fond memories of Bihu – I wake up early in the morning and first offer prasad to the Cows (Garu Bihu means Cow Bihu). We rub turmeric and black dal paste on the cows. Turmeric is antispetic and black dal acts as a good exfoliating agent. Next morning we’ll wake up and apply the same paste to ourselves and take bath. Awesome smell of turmeric, dal and mustard oil. And yes, you come out yellow from the bath. Then we wear fresh new clothes and eat the assamese breakfast – pitha (pancake), rice flakes, curd, jaggery, sugar, bananas and other fruits.

My mom will be busy preparing them and feeding all and sundry who comes home. She will put on some bihu dance music in the background. Bihu music is weird man! – there will be heavy drum beating (dhol) in a very off beat rhythmic way like the way we see in grunge music … but then at the time of the climax of the song the drums go hysterical along with the pan chewing drummers… The lyrics are very suggestive … Talking about lyrics – well Assamese people seemed to be more open – My body is burning in desire; Oh my love, if you don’t satiate these dreams my poor heart will break - Got that!

Earlier (read 1960s) Bihu in villages was considered to be an occasion where young men and women meet and decide who their life partners will be. So, the men will assemble near the river and start beating the drums; the women will hurriedly dress up in crisp silk mekhela chaddar with flowers neatly placed on their hair (kind of orchid that blooms in Assam during spring). They become so desperate to be there with their men that they start dancing to the drum beats even before they reach the venue. Hence, if you have noticed the female dancers in performances, they will enter the stage dancing and much later than the male dancers.

Ok now back to my day – we children will be very excited that day – lot of people – known/unknown – will come to our house and our parents will be in a very good mood. We will have a lavish lunch with rice, dal, fish curry – lavish because mom will be very excited preparing it and we get to eat with very generous helpings. After my sisters’ wedding, Bihu became more merrier than ever. All my sisters along with bro-in-laws will land up at home – sudden commotion at home after a great lull ….

After the usual sweet nothings and jokes, we’ll set out to have a tour around the outskirts of the city (which by the way is very very beautiful). More commotion – mom will shout at us to get ready fast, I will shout at the driver to get ready fast, someone will shout at someone to keep the dog in custody, someone else will fight over lipsticks, make-ups and knick knacks … But then the Brady Bunch finally gets together to have some serious fun.

Evening dinner will be mostly outside … with everyone tired. But then we all have to finish our day with the grand finale – Bihu functions and ceremony. There will be 100000 Bihu ceremonies happening in the city simultaneously. We’ll drop by in the most popular ones. When I was a kid – we used to be escorted to the VIP seats owing to my dad’s position in the society. But gradually, VIP seats became unattractive for all of us. I remember faintly sitting on top of the car hood when I was a small kid to watch the bihu dancers. I also remember sleeping a lot. Contrary to other members of the family, I will jump and play around a lot when I was a kid. Hence I used to feel sleepy by 6pm. Thats why I don’t remember Bihu ceremonies of my early days. My mom tells me that she used to buy me a pack of peanuts and I sleep off while chewing them.

Anyways finally we’ll come back home tired at around 1 o’clock.

Lot of people ask me where I am from – My dad is from Gujju origin and my mom is an Assamese. Now I feel that I am more an Assamese than anything else. You don’t need to perform rituals or talk like them – You just need to feel the pinch of missing the culture and the people once in a while to call urself a person from that society. And to top it all, I am as lazy, laid-back, not competitive as any other thoroughbred Assamese…

“I think it would be healthier for Daddy to sleep in his own bed”

Frank O Connor has concocted the great potion of childhood flashbacks in his novel “My Oedipus Complex and others” .. Hey Freud! Take a hike man! Frank is here … just kidding! Great read – hilarious and thought inducing – a story about Larry – a small kid, who was comfortable and happy with his mom till his father comes back home from war. Early memories of his father were those where he came like Santa Claus at night … His world comes to a halt when his mom’s time was shared by his father. He used to sleep with his mom, but as Daddy arrived Larry was asked to sleep in his own bed coz it was healthier that way – Larry retorted – “I think it would be healthier for Daddy to sleep in his own bed”. He was always used to talking to his mom in the morning n bed – but alas! Daddy is very tired and he wants to sleep… “Not to come in and disturb poor Daddy in the morning. Promise?” “Poor Daddy” again! I was becoming suspicious of everything involving that quite impossible man.
He starts scheming against this stranger-in-his-mom’s-bed – how to send Daddy back to war. He then understood that his mom is more interested in Daddy than him. So he started behaving like his dad – smoking, reading newspapers -“He had a common accent and made noises at his tea”. “I even made noises at my tea, but Mother only told me I was disgusting”.

Poor Larry ends up fighting head on with Daddy -

“I see he’s better fed than taught,” snarled Father, waving his arms wildly. “He wants his bottom smacked.” All his previous shouting was as nothing to these obscene words referring to my person. They really made my blood boil.
“Smack your own!” I screamed hysterically. “Smack your own! Shut up! Shut up!”

That night broke him … he got a slap from his dad and he heard words he never heard before.

Now Larry got used to this routine and accepted things till little Sonnie came along – his baby brother … Well Larry didn’t like him and accused the poor baby that it cries because it wants attention but he accepted the way his mom started treating him … Only his Daddy who couldn’t accept the fact that his wife who spent her whole day with him suddenly is interested with the baby …

Guess what happens in the end … well I don’t wanna spoil it for you … read the short story by clicking here

I liked the story because it depicts the child’s world very vividly with adult insinuations. Something like Calvin & Hobbes. I find a Larry in me – may not be the Oedipus Complex but the kid …

When I was a kid, I used to be the best a house can get – very quiet, no tantrums, healthy and content. My mom named me Ashok – she felt that I am like the Ashoka flower – white, spotless and peaceful. I should have thrown tantrums and done everything that a kid does … well can’t go back to childhood again … tough luck huh!

“And this also,” said Marlow suddenly, “has been one of the dark places of the earth”

Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad fascinated a friend of mine after he watched, “Apocalypse Now” … years passed by… I still feel a sense of fear as to why he was so fascinated. Never could I fathom the depth of darkness he imagined and yet the very fact that the outwardly normal self of his had a darker side, which I am not familiar with, … intrigued me as well as saddened me….

I picked up the copy last year and absorbed every bit of it … the motif of darkness is very interesting – the dark continent, the Congo … the river .. the Africans .. or the characters .. Or is it the unknown .. Did you ever surprise yourself with something you thought you would never do? Do u shudder with disgust when you want to hate someone with all your heart? Do you want to see blood when blood makes you vomit? The very concept of Unknown becomes meaningless unless you find the “unknown” in you …

In the heart of darkness lies hate hate and hate …. Bleed this heart to free thyself from hatred …

Let me bitch![Spoiler Alert :P]

So it was like the movie – Sixth Sense … Akshay Kumar, in the end, reveals that he knows how to speak in English and he is not just another “Jat” boy from Punjab… Heheheh! I spoiled the suspense for you … Atleast now don’t go for Namaste London.

Two bad movies in a row and Bania is in a highly peevish mood … F*cking Garden State man! Who the f*ck told me it was a good movie … My a$$ would have made a better movie than that … nevertheless I had to drink half a bottle of rum to drown the movie …

Woke up at 12 noon on Good Friday and lo! I get another freak attack of watching a movie in Red Lounge, Cinemax… ALONE – any movie :O

I picked up Namastey London for the 3 o’ clock show. First of all, that crazy accent of Katrina Kaif – i mean i was confused – is it British, is it Indian, no wait its Tamil naah! The more she looked beautiful, the worst she acted – I mean it seemed that she was giving herself a competition – who can act dumber – Katrina in the previous shot or Katrina now. Combined with the raw masculinity of the crap bag – Akshay Kumar – they were on a mission to vanquish any mortal above an IQ of 100 who went for the movie.

Weird product placements – Spykar Jeans – Mujhe nehi pata tha aap London ke sabse pehle Spykar showroom ki maalik hai … Mujhe Spykar jeans bahut pasand hai … (I didnt know you were the owner of London’s first spykar jeans’ showroom … I love Spykar jeans…) Then they showed Katrina’s parents making a profile of Katrina in bharatmatrimony.com – We never got to see what happened to that profile … and why did they do that …. they did get a guy who showed them grooms in India – but then does bharatmatrimony.com provide such service??? Then comes Western Union Money Transfer – Maine paise transfer Western Union Money Transfer se kar diya.. Ha main bhi Western Union mein khadi hoon … Paise jaldi pahuchega … Yawn!! Rakhi Sawant using Lizol in Big Brother was far classier than this …

Then this ugly bitch – friend of Katrina – who doesn’t want Katrina to get laid or kissed or whatever! (God knows why!!) – and her really ugly smile at occasions when any Indian will protest against any British guy (Upen Patel Vs. Susan’s parents) .. if she is so happy at Indians detesting Britishers, then why the f*ck she attends those parties and goes to discotheques with them … may b she is a f*cking Banshee or something ..

Enuf bitching … but then continuing with the spate of watching movies alone – I am actually enjoying (sorry for repitition)

Namaste London was ok! in certain respect – London .. It showcased very beautifully the prime locales of London – a place I yearn to visit someday .. Probably thats why I didn’t think twice before buying the tickets …

Freedom

Had a wild day yesterday. It was a holiday for me and all of my friends were working. Woke up late and suddenly had this urge to do something new … Ideally would have liked to kill a few people (heheheh!).. Ya, so I’ve decided to watch a movie … any movie.. So hurriedly took a shower and went to the nearest theatre – Fame, Andheri, Mumbai.

I took the best seat – Gold class with reclining seats – they even give you pillows and blankets and also take orders for food ..

Since I had no one near me … it was a great feeling .. I laughed at the silliest jokes and jumped and jostled with laughter … Well I never knew how much people affect my decisions. I felt free. The strangers around me were my company … Well I feel I should be working in a theater ala Nuvo Cinema Paradiso …

The movie was insignificant .. Could have watched anything … For the record it was a hindi flick – Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd.

See more progress on: watch a movie alone in theatre

Connect

I still remember you … it’s just that the winds shifted directions ….

You only told me not to … so I am following not only what you said but what is good for all concerned … So don’t get me wrong …. I want to meet you but then you have changed and I don’t know the new you … I can’t claim that I know you … nor can I live in denial … happy news is that I have been strong …. stronger than you can ever imagine … Hope you are proud of me …

I wrote the previous statement in total assumption of the fact that there are traces of old “you” left in you…. you only said that you will feel proud of me if I am stronger …

I want to re-iterate the fact that I don’t despise the new “you” … it’s just that I don’t know you anymore … and I don’t wanna tease those wounds that have been filled by time …

But then there has always been a consistent feeling towards you … Hope you are happy … happy in your surroundings and also in all your pursuits … hope my minuscule wish works towards your progress …

Fresh

Drops of indemnifying tears
Fills the chalice of grief
Overflowing it

I wasn’t so bad after all … after all that I was made to feel ..
No I wasn’t

I get a mouthful of fresh air
Filling my lungs with freedom
You are free and so am I

But ……

I wasn’t so bad after all ….

Shelter from the Storm Part 2

>> contd… from last post

She arrived a little earlier … could her questions be answered any earlier? Will the mystery man answer her questions? With no parsimony in expectations she waited with bated breath …. tick tock tick tock … ticking in her mind … ticking in her heart … Shankar didn’t arrive … She called her number … she hated her favorite caller tune …

Now there’s a wall between us, somethin’ there’s been lost
I took too much for granted, got my signals crossed.
Just to think that it all began on a long-forgotten morn.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

She sent an SMS to him – Whoevr u r plz gve my phne else I’ll tell police. U dnt knw da troubl I had. I waitd fr 3 hrs nd expctd dat u’ll b decent persn and return my phne, U r a thief – exactly 160 characters – she didnt want to waste a single character for him … She cried … tear drops of regret … She cursed the moon …She cursed the Nakabandi, her poverty … she doesn’t want her cell phone back… she doesn’t want her cell phone back … she dozed off …

Well, the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount
But nothing really matters much, it’s doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

Next morning her friend gives Reena her old cellphone and tells her to use it for the time being. After office, she calls up her number… Shankar pics up, “I am so sorry that I couldnt come… you see I got busy with this meeting …” Reena interrupts, “Thats ok, I assumed you’ll be tied up … By the way what do you do? … lemme guess -you are a DON .. (chuckles!) .. no no no … you are a smuggler .. i know your types .. I have seen it all … D, Satya, Company … each one of them” … Shankar laughs with his guttural splendor …”Why are you laughing? You think I am kidding… no I am not… if you wouldn’t have picked the phone, I would have called the police… by the way I am asking all sorts of question … who cares!! Why did you find only me, that day, to share the autorickshaw?” … Silence engulfed .. as if it was a repertoire of lonliness – lonliness that has become a part of their lives .. Shankar said,” hmmm … you have a beautiful voice …” Reena smiled, “How stupid is that … hey one sec! I didn’t even speak to you that day ….” … “Well, you spoke to me through your eyes .. sigh!” … Reena closed her eyes in excitement … “Ok Ok! Don’t flatter … you don’t even know me… So are you planning to return my cell phone ..” .. Shankar grins, “Do you really want it?” Reena keeps the phone …. her heart stops beating … Shankar goes out for a smoke and wonders – Does she love me?

I’ve heard newborn babies wailin’ like a mournin’ dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love.
Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn?
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

Shankar tells Reena the next morning that he will be going out on a business trip and he promises her to call. As any sad story turns out to be .. he never calls …. days, weeks and even months pass by … Reena tried calling him back but he was out of range .. she even called up her service provider to find out if they know where he can be …. But he was not there? Life is playing a dirty trick on you Reena. Everything was perfect for you … I never gave you a chance to complain .. you were so brave that you didn’t even cry when your parents passed away … you were not afraid to live a lonely life .. look now what happened .. you don’t even know his name … hey! why didn’t you ask his name? Are you a fool? Why do you like him so much .. you saw him only once and spoke to him twice .. are you out of your mind? Oh! I know why – those kind eyes .. I see! those kind words … I see!! He will come back Reena … he will ….

In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes
I bargained for salvation an’ they gave me a lethal dose.
I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

Shankar had no way of escaping the doom … How can they shut me up … I didn’t do anything … It was all his fault .. I never wanted to do this … I wanted to have a decent life … I had no one …. no one by my side … She came in … Her beautiful voice … her melody .. her questions … If my mother would have been alive … she would have asked me with such curiosity … How can I escape this hell ? How can I go and meet her … I want to return her phone … this precious phone … hahahah! they can’t take it away from me … they can’t !! hahahhah

Well, I’m livin’ in a foreign country but I’m bound to cross the line
Beauty walks a razor’s edge, someday I’ll make it mine.
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

3 months and 12 days … Shankar saw day light … they released him … they didn’t find anything that Shankar could give them …

9819772440 … dialing … dialing … it was her 104th try … Oh! God … hope he is alright … he never told me it would be so long … wherever he is, he…. beep! Somebody picks up … “Hellow!” Reena – “Is it you … is it you …. I am Reena .. remember Reena .. my phone .. autorickshaw … …” Shankar started weeping … .. he kept weeping for minutes … Reena’s eyes started watering too … Shankar gather himself and told her to come to the same place in an hour … he had something very important to say … “I am so sorry Reena .. I’ll explain everything … not just my disappearance but more …” Reena didn’t think twice … She set off from Worli in an auto rickshaw …. She reached Phoenix Mills and asked him to come to Noodle bar. He obliged. Her eyes moved from corner to corner to find him … but he was nowhere to be seen … she calls again … That is my ring tone … wait that phone looks like mine … but the guy is different … probably its not mine … Wait I’ll keep the phone and call again … What! it stopped ringing … Why is that guy not picking the phone? Why is he startled? Why is he looking here and there? …….

“Are you Reena?” the same kind voice …. but not those kind eyes “Yes, I am… Do you have my phone?” … “Oh! Reena and he hugs her …” She releases herself from his clutches and embarrased, “Who are you? Where is he?” … He looks down, “I am he!” … “What do you mean? You are not the one who took away my phone!“

He looks at her eyes, “No, I am not Shankar – the one who took your phone … I am Suresh – the one whose voice you are familiar with“

She is puzzled … she grabs a glass of water and drinks it … He picks up her glass and drinks the remaining water … She looks at him in confusion, ” I don’t understand … what is going on?” Suresh makes her sits down with an assuring gesture, as assuring as his voice, “Shankar and I are flat mates… We came to Bombay for jobs and we got ourselves into trouble… Shankar found bad company and I got dragged in … That day when you called on this cellphone for the first time, Shankar took off and he never returned ….“

Reena closes her eyes ….. All these days I was in love with the voice and not with those eyes …. Indeed not all roses are red ….

Reena took his arm and rested her head in his shoulders … “Suresh let us go…“

Well, I’m livin’ in a foreign country but I’m bound to cross the line
Beauty walks a razor’s edge, someday I’ll make it mine.
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

Shelter from the Storm Part 1

‘Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

Reena never had seen a white rose and she always wondered what good a rose is if it is not red … She was more concerned about how soon she can sleep so that she can wake up early in the morning and catch an early train to avoid the rush … Forget monotonicity … Forget mundanely concerns .. just a step taken to make life easy …

8 am sharp she catches the Andheri local to Mahalakshmi, so that she can catch a bus in time to Worli. Hurriedly she occupies a seat next to the exit and dozzes off….

Shankar was a sharp student … a student of political science from Madras University … But his aspirations were far from what his father had planned for him. He despised society .. He hates the current state of affairs with the same passion as his mother makes idlis in the morning … He wondered how good education is if it is not put into use for the betterment of society, prevent corruption, improve judiciary and above all for the safety and betterment of his countrymen. His ideals and intent was right, but his steps …

Reena and Shankar met that day under very weird circumstances … It was one of those days when roads get blocked for some reason beyond anyone’s comprehension but since they have to give it a name, the call it Nakabandi… All roads were blocked except for one … Reena was lucky to get an autorickshaw and Shankar was lucky to find Reena …

And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured
I’ll always do my best for her, on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

Shankar needed refuge from them and Reena could see that urgency in his face. She allowed Shankar to come in and share the autorickshaw. Ideally she would never do that … but she was speechless … everything happened all of a sudden … blood, dust and Shankar’s imploring eyes … She did something like this for the first time … the 20 mins ride was spent in silent curiosity and ofcourse pounding fear for Reena … Shankar asked for her cell-phone to make a call and all of sudden he asked the driver to stop … Reena didn’t stop him and he left with her cell-phone … He looked back and gave her a warm smile and a nod that he will …..

Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved.
Try imagining a place where it’s always safe and warm.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

Reena couldn’t recover from it … She wanted to call her cell phone but was afraid … She couldn’t concentrate … She needed to know why he disturbed her? why he came to her life all of a sudden? was she chosen? ….. “why do these questions bothering me? …. indeed it’s not my cheap cellphone”

I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail,
Poisoned in the bushes an’ blown out on the trail,
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

Earlier, Shankar would have finished his task of peril with great agility … but today he was exhausted… He felt tired and lonely … “why am I getting this feeling that something bad is going to happen? … these bastards had never had an one-up one me … I am tired and I need rest … somehow I feel I need to give myself some rest … and God! what could I have done without her … why do I feel that I need her? Do I need her to help me in my quest? ….”

Suddenly I turned around and she was standin’ there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair.
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

Reena always needs closure. For her, the world is black and white – just like the red roses … She called him up later in the evening – “When do you plan to give me my cell- phone .. you know I don’t earn that much to finance your calls and I’m sure you had made enough STD calls … you know my credit limit is ….”, Shankar starts laughing, “Meet me near Phoenix Mills at 7 pm and thanks for your help … you see I am not a bad guy or a criminal running away from police… the blood and my torn shirt was because of an accident …”, Reena interrupts, “Thats ok! Hope you are ok now… Did you apply ointment and …”, Shankar sighs, “Thanks ….”, Reena whispers, “Reena … ok will meet you and don’t waste my money”

Colaba Causeway ….

Colaba Causeway, my wallet, a few beads, a few cheap shirts and a SMS…. How can I forget May 23rd, 2005?

After exactly 1 yr and 8 months (co-incidence), I heard the same words …. was relieving and well my happiness knew no bounds …

Co-incidentally today, I have worn one of the shirts I bought that day, checked that lovely SMS when I was going to office, my wallet is inseparable from me, (well the beads are not with me though) and passed by Colaba Causeway today. I saw the bead makers at work. Somehow remembered the exact location where we found alphabetical beads. I smiled at the vendor (wasn’t sure if he was the same). Then I halted near the shirt-guy and generally browsed through the lot for old times sake. I also found the wallet shop … the shop where they kept my wallet in a glass covered wall mounted shelf. I still remember those words, “Which one is better … which color.. this one or that one? … Ok! this is for you….” I crossed the road for a taxi and then I saw the juice shop where we had juice. It was living May 23rd, 2005.

On the way back, I heard “Agar tum mil jaao, zamana chor denge hum” – a song that was played in Bombay frequently those days and which I liked … all this had a multiplier effect on my memory. I didn’t feel sad. Somehow I felt very happy to have gone through those days … still the memories of those day make me happy – warm and reassuring.

As for me:

I have matured as an individual, my happiness is not very high nor my sadness reaches abysmal lows. It is indeed a good feeling to have controlled my emotions. So when I re-heard those words today (only difference is – this time it is in gtalk), I felt great and happy.

A toast to you…. no matter how harsh the world is, I find comfort in your words, happiness in your sight, and reassured when everything you do makes you happy. I don’t care about anything – the way the world looks at me, you and everyone I know. All relationships are special and shouldn’t be categorized as boyfriend-girlfriend, friends, teacher-pupil, husband-wife ….. Each relationship is unique including ours ….

Memories …

You will be missed dearly …..

“Where is Abel your brother?” He said, “I do not know; Am I my brother’s keeper?”

But, to think of it, how can I hate you? Isn’t hatred blind, the way love is?
There have been a lot of instances when you really made me feel happy – a pat on my back, a good advice, a ruffling of my hair, a childish argument, stealing a kit-kat for me and what not!

Many a playwright writes tales of revenge – read The Count of Monte Cristo – they showed great man rose from the springboards of hatred. But for what ….? They sought revenge and it was over! Now that could have worked for me. But I have had the misfortune of seeing a beautiful side of yours. In a span of 24 months, which ended bitterly, I received more love than I received in my entire life. So how can I be vengeful.

Love can never be vengeance… not in my case. And I wish others also should feel the same. Trust me … thats a limbo you should create for urself … between love and hatred .. initially it will be a perilous journey and one fine day you will see, you’ll forget … you’ll forget everything …. and all that remains will be the memories you want to retain … love will conquer…

For that matter, I wish that even Abel should have received some love from Cain sometime ….