Money

For Everything Else

I may not have money. 

I may not have a dime, a penny, an anna to my name.

I will still own - 

My body, 

My beliefs,
My dreams,

My rights,

My self.

Because there will always be things that money can't buy.

Dream

I Have a Dream

I'm one of those notorious link-hunters and not very surprisingly, one day I found myself reading about a technique called 'lucid dreaming'. Control your dreaming, it said, by following these easy instructions.

Well, if I could control what I dreamed about, it wouldn't be even half as interesting. 

Reflect

Through the Looking Glass

What if the sky was actually a mirror and of the thousands of twinkles up there, one was the reflection of Earth?

What if a mirror wanted to see what it looked like?

What if you had never seen yourself, would you ever recognize your reflection?

What if you looked into his eyes and didn't find yourself reflect back?

Journey

Just a little Chinar leaf the tree had let gone, fell like a teardrop at their goodbye.

Over the roofs, the multicoloured heads of caps and scarves, over the houseboats and the stone bridges on the river it flew.

Urged and pushed and led away by rain, storm and hail it slipped, slid and fought its way through.

Roam it did, among men and beasts, in curious places and haunted hills, with dust and dirt, sun and breeze.

Never, neither for once nor for ever did it lie motionless, and sigh its uncountable regrets and - no!

End? What end? It knew end was far and never thought of what could, or could not, would, or would not happen... or not happen, in the end or not the end...

Years, maybe they were just moments later it fell into a cackling stream who asked -

"Where do you want to go?" 

The little Chinar leaf said, simply - 

"On."

Colours

My Name is Red

Laal. Rojo. Rot.

They all mean the same thing. But if you don't know what they are, you can never understand them. Because the hardest things to describe in the world are colours.

Have you ever tried explaining to someone what 'red' is? Yes, it's a colour. But how do you define it? It has no length, no breath, no volume, no mass or any dimension whatsoever. How can you know that 'red' is not the same as 'white' or 'black' or 'purple'? 

To a communist, red is revolution.

To an anarchist, red is violence.

To a romantic, red is love.

To a doctor, red is hemoglobin.

To a celebrity, red is the fame.

To a bull, red is wrath.

To an octopus, red is danger.

To a kid, red is his favourite crayon in the box.

To me, red is all this and more. Red is when I am alive.




P.S. My favourite colour is blue. And I HATE pink. 

Shopping

Wedding Sales

Is there special discounts for people who shop for weddings? Something like a end-of-season sale or a stock-clearance sale? With five weddings to my witness (all my cousins mysteriously decided to get married in quick annual succession), I can safely vouch that an immense load of things (necessary and not) are bought. Also, the bride-to-be's favorite part of her wedding is the shopping.

In a Big Fat Bengali wedding, you will end up shopping for some really random but obvious stuff. The respective families buy an absolute array of items for each other. Cosmetics. Clothes. Underwear (!) Toiletries. Wrist watches. Crockery. Travel bags to fit all of that in.

Honestly, the shopping really isn't half as exciting as they claim. Take for example, shopping for clothes for the bride and groom and both the families. One for the mother-in-law. One for the father-in-law. One for the auntie who is the father-in-law's sister. One for the auntie who is the mother-in-law's sister. One for the uncle who is the father-in-law's brother and another who is the mother-in-law's brother. And you're in a real soup if there happen to be multiple brothers and sisters. 

I'm not even going into the picking and choosing. Let's just say, I've spent more than enough fruitless ventures into innumerable malls, shops and kiosks to know better.

Yet I fail to grasp this strange obsession of brides-to-be with shopping. You'd think they have taken the "shop till you drop" motto too seriously. Countless hours of bickering, hankering, sweating, walking and a good few blisters later, the smiles of glee on the shoppers' faces can easily compare with the smile of a fat kid about to jump into a huge slice of mud pie cake. Well, at least there have been other (worse) times I've lost my faith on humanity.

Mahalaya

1500 kilometers from home, some Bengali youths gathered on the fourth floor of the Academic Building of their University at 0400 hours on 15th October 2012. They came in varied attires and night clothes, some yawning, some rubbing their eyes, but all of them intent and excited, for one thing. That one thing was the elocution of Mahalaya.

They didn't have the authenticity of the Akashbani live telecast of the Mahalaya programme. All they had was pure devotion, to the tradition of beginning the best time of a Bengali life - Durga Puja.

For those unfamiliar with the concept of Mahalaya, it is the day when Maa Durga defeated the evil Mahishasur, restoring the world to peace and prosperity. Seven days from this day, the epitome of the good over evil will be worshiped. It is also the homecoming of the victorious, and us mortals rejoice in it to extents a non-Bengali cannot ever comprehend. Maa Durga is not just a deity who defeated evil for us, she is our very own mother and beloved daughter at the same time. The entire battle of Maa Durga and Mahishasur has been retold many times, but this particular rendition by Birendrakrishna Bhadra and his team is aired on the radio every year for all. It is an unwritten custom for many of us that we listen to it religiously, because if not anything, it is a beautiful form of elocution art.

Durga Puja has always been an integral part of my life, like all other Bengalis. This year, away from home, I feel the significance all the more. I can hardly wait to go back. Puja is not just a time for worship and prayer, it is also the time when families get together, friends re-unite and everybody is offered a piece of happiness. 

Every year, Puja brings new hopes. Hopes of conquering evil. Hopes of regaining lost strength. Hopes of a better day. Every year, Maa Durga saves us from the lurking demons -  ones we encounter every day, on the road, in our workplaces, in our homes, inside ourselves.

This year, Mahalaya not only sets off the homecoming for Maa Durga, it marks the homecoming for me too. I'm going home. 

Love and...

Here's my take on the mother of all cliches -

Love is like flying a kite. Sometimes you get cut.

Love is like flying a kite. If you catch the right wind, you can soar to heights you never thought you could.

Love is like flying a kite. It's no fun if there's no distance between the kite and the flier.

Love is like flying a kite. If you pull the string too taut, it breaks.

Love is like flying a kite. It doesn't cost much.

Love is like flying a kite. Even if you don't have your own kite, it is still a happy sight.

Love is like flying a kite. You need practice to get it right.

Love is like flying a kite. It can leave you totally breathless.

Kaleidoscope

Kaleidoscopes have always fascinated me. They are so simple, yet so beautiful. When I was a kid, I spent hours on end just rotating the cardboard tube and looking at all the myriad designs forming inside the cone. I think I still have one back at home. I wonder who invented these.

I like to think of my life as a kaleidoscope. It's made of a lot of ordinary simple things, but it's still beautiful.

The friends who are so weird that you can't live without them.

My family which is the reason I'm this crazy.

The roads I've walked, drove and passed.

The college that ground the brains out of me.

The skeezes who made me realize my own worth.

The poems I read but never understood, only my skin was left in goose-pimples.

The fairs I've been to and got lost.

The cats I cuddled on the road.

The last benches we carved our names on.

The wallets I lost, and lost more than money.

The best friend I found in my boyfriend.

The scars on my legs when I was learning to cycle.

The tears I wept that nobody knows about.

The burps that scandalize but also amuse my buds.

The flowers I picked from a far away hillside and pressed between books.

The autumn sky with clean white cotton clouds.

The smell of a brand new book in a musty store.

The vapours of a plate of warm khichdi on a rainy afternoon.

The old house with vines growing on its walls that I once called home.

The wind that blew tiny leaves in my face and hair.

The forks of lightning I viewed from an open terrace.

The make-believe stories I played out.

The reality which had once become make-belief.

The dates that went bad.

The movies that made me laugh and cry and swear.

The times I loved and lost, but learnt to love again.
  

To all those bits that make up my kaleidoscope every day -

Just Like That

Yesterday was my 22nd birthday. It passed just like that. Being twenty two doesn't feel any different from being twenty one. I don't feel any older, smarter or stronger. It wasn't a landmark point of my life.

It's funny how such dated days never brought any real significance to me. As for my birthdays, that one day in the year that's all, legitimately and irrevocably mine, they just seem to pass away like every other day. I wouldn't say they pass badly, but if you were to make a graph with a time line of a week before and a few days after, there wouldn't be a hike nor a dip in the line parallel to the Y-axis.

I don't remember having parties for my birthdays. There wasn't cake or candles or friends or food. Neither did many people wish me. I felt happy distributing sweetmeats to classmates in school and that was about it. If there's anything that Facebook has done good, it's its birthday reminder that makes some 99 odd people wish me on my wall.

In comparison to all that, this year 1st October was nice, if not anything else. Some of my friends did call me up at twelve to wish me. My boyfriend sent me a really beautiful e-card and posted a picture of a cake on my wall. We also skyped after ages. It was sweet. My best friend, also known as Methodist of Madness and a number of my hostel mates hugged me and stuff. We watched The Hangover II which probably wasn't a great idea, because that movie is freaky! The morning and afternoon were drab because the university campus was closed due to a Telengana strike. However then we got The Pirates of the Caribbean marathon started and things started to look up. The day ended with "happy birthday" sung by me best friends with two slices of cake and a candle. My other two best friends actually cooked for me! Cheese sandwich and scrambled eggs! No one's ever done that for me! I was overwhelmed.

And I was happy, just like that.

Independence

I've known a lot of clingy people. Sometimes, it cannot be helped because it's in there very nature. They are like creepers, they cannot survive without a support. There's nothing wrong with asking for help, but it is the whiny clingers that I can't handle.

These clingers will refuse to believe in independence as a good thing. They want you to accompany them everywhere: shopping, travelling, business and even the loo. 

However, it is the ones who can't think for themselves that lack the real independence. These people are so shallow that you probably couldn't drown a fly in them. Very easily influenced, these people are. Also they will take rash choices and make the worst kind of blunders, leaving you and me to get them back into shape. It's kind of difficult to explain this kind of intellectual bondage or superficiality. All these people will care about are clothes and shoes and looks, about how they look, about how to heckle others for attention and about what people think of them. They are incapable of thinking beyond the mundane existence. In fact, I feel they are incapable of any kind of independent thought whatsoever. They cannot even decide what they want to order at a restaurant. 

I really cannot understand this. How can you be like that? How can you not know what you want? How can you not understand what you feel abut a certain issue? I'm sure if you give it enough thought yourself, something will come out of it. May be these people are afraid of thinking alone. They are afraid of the consequences of their independent action, stemming from their independent thoughts. 

Being independent has nothing to do with having a lot of money, power and good looks. It's about the courage to think for yourself. It's about the courage to take your own decisions. It's about making your own choices. It's about the courage to be yourself, honestly, simply, with all your talents and shortcomings and qualities and flaws.

I consider myself independent in this context, do you?

Hate

I've been told that I have a short temper and I lose it often. And I use the word HATE a lot. Also, I mean it most of the time. 

I'll agree that I have a hot head, and my fury reaches boiling point faster than most people, but I don't lose it until it's really bugging. I might be really angry at something but I really do try not to show it unless the situation demands it. However there are times when I lose that self-control, especially if a number of things are bothering me.

Right now, I hate my net connection.It's annoying, excuse my language, the shit out of me. Almost literally too. Having no internet is the worst possible calamity that can befall you. Not only can you not laze around on Facebook, you actually cannot work. Yes, there are other uses for Internet than just fun and leisure. I've not been able to post everyday because of this infuriating lack of connection. I have paper and project deadlines for my university courses which need net assistance. I've not been able to Skype with my parents because the effing net doesn't work. This has been the norm for the whole of last week. If I don't lose my head at this, I would think I don't have a head. Jeez!

Among other things I hate, dishonesty and untruthfulness top the list. Then come stereotypes and people who stereotype, followed by emotional leeches and attention-mongers. And whiners. Also, classes on weekends and trains running late.

Yet, thankfully, being an inherently detached person, I've found it is possible for me to detach myself from my hate for things. I write about it and swear and get it all out, mostly on paper. I have found my ways to deal with it. It wasn't easy, yes, but it could be done. I'm glad for that, because being angry is tiring.

Hate is quite an active emotion for me. Maybe it's wrong to hate things, but I've always been an opinionated person.

God(dess)

My boyfriend gave me a book as a goodbye gift when I shifted to Hyderabad. It is called My God is a Woman. Honestly the book itself isn't as smart as its title which was the aspect that interested me the most.

Who is God?
Where is God?

Is it god or God?
Is it a 'he' or a 'she'?

As an India and a Hindu by birth, it's difficult for me to grasp the concept of a single masculine god, because for us there isn't one. We have an absolute array of deities (not gods, mind you) both male and female. But this post will not deal with religion per say, as that would be a separate topic altogether.

What I do want to talk about is the concept of GOD, assuming that it a singular entity.

How do you define God? Gamers use phrases like god-of-the-game. We often say an impressionable personality to be god-like. Hotbods become Greek-gods. But who is he/she? What does he/she look like? How old is he/she?

Where does god exist? Is god a concept or a reality? Would he/she continue to exist without the human consciousness? Where is this being, if he/she exists at all? Where do they live? Is it really possible for a single being to create, control and charter the entire universe?

I've always also wondered whether God is male or female. The primary public instinct is to think of this apparently all-powerful being as a man. At least, the newer religions that are primarily monotheistic propagate this viewpoint. I had gone to a Catholic Missionary school all my life. When I was young, I didn't mind the prayer services and attending the masses. Later I started to feel a conflict within me, because, even if my family isn't very religious at all, I had entirely different notions about God and divinity than what we heard in school.

All this questions and queries should suffice to indicate my agnosticism. And these questions stem from a confused childhood. I didn't know what to believe. My parents did not force me to be religious. I'm a non-follower of rituals, idolatry and scriptures. Yet, I'm not entirely decided about God. I don't know if they are real. I don't know what they are. And I like it this way.

But there is something I do know: My god is a woman.

My god is my strength. My god is my will power. My god is my good judgement. My god is my trust. My god is my honesty. My god is my endurance. My god is my gratitude. My god is my generosity. My god is my sense of justice.
No, I haven't met my god yet. I'm in her pursuit.  

Fish

I'm a Bengali. By heredity I love fish. I love eating it. I even love watching it swim around in the glass bowl.

Of all the things I miss from my hometown, fish is right up there on the list. We Bengalis sure know our stuff when it comes to fish. It would probably take me ages to list all the dishes we make with fish - curries, fries, roasts, paturis, ambals, jhols and jhals. We even treat prawns and crabs as fish.

Hilsa, or as we call it, ilish, is one of my favourites. Ma makes an awesome oli-free ilish-bhapa, which is steamed hilsa with mustard and green chilies. The mere thought of the deep aroma of the dish makes my mouth water.

We use up almost everything of a fish - the flesh, the head, the bones - except for the scales and fins, I guess. Murighanta primarily uses the head and bones of a rui or chital (or a similar big fish) and it still remains one of the best delicacies I have ever tasted.

It's kind of sad that I cannot think of fish other than as food. The irony is that one of the things I'm actually scared about happens to be a fish too. Sharks.

Fish can be beautiful too, when I look at them in an aquarium. All multicoloured with intricate designs. I remember I had a fish bowl once. It had two fishes, one black and one orange. Unfortunately we also had a cat, who, god knows how, managed to scoop the orange one out and devour it while we had been away. The other one, I assume, stopped eating the fish-food from the trauma of the whole incident. Also, when I was cleaning the bowl, it took its chance and leaped into the sink and disappeared down the drain. I think it felt the cat would get it too and I won't blame it. I was really sad though.

I also like animated movies about fish - Finding Nemo and Shark Tales always make me smile. And as much as I am scared about sharks, Jaws continued to be a captivating thriller. The music spend a spark dowm my spine.

One of my favourite books is Ernest Hemmingway's The Old Man and the Sea.

I've never been able to try my hand at fishing, but I'd like to do that some day. It ain't easy, with all the lakes and pond disappearing under buildings. My grandma told me stories of her catching fish in pieces of thin cloth in her village when she was a kid.

So, yes, I'm a fish person. And proud of it.

Eternity

Time is considered a dimension. It's one of the most relative things I can think about. 

Eternity is a very weird thing. As humans it's impossible to grasp it's meaning, as the span of our consciousness is limited. However, all of us will vouch that we have felt it at some point or another, in some form or the other.

Time, for me, stretches into eternity when I'm waiting. Wait does seem to stretch itself out, doesn't it? 

Times when I wait for friends to arrive so that we can go shopping or whatever. 

When I wait for the two hour classes to end. 

When I wait for the sun to go down. 

When I wait for that special call. 

When I wait for the washing machine to finish churning my clothes into a soggy mess.

When I wait for the night to break into light.

When I wait for the food to be served while my stomach rumbles and growls.

When I wait for the download to finish.

When I wait for the power to come back on.

When I wait for the vacation to go home.

Even if we say that some of our waits never end, that they are for eternity, they actually do end when we do. It's a good thing that we don't get to experience the real eternity. It would've been mega boring to wait for that long.

Dog Pound

There are a lot of dogs in my University campus. The strangest thing about these canines, and mind you, they ARE a very strange lot, is that they hardly bark.

They're just so used to people petting them, feeding them (from chicken leftovers to curd-rice) and cuddling them, they just don't feel the need to bark at anyone. They know very well that no one's ever going to hurt them. It also probably never occurs to them that some people are actually rather afraid of them. If they recognize you, they will quietly trot up to you and graze their noses against your feet or shins. Sometimes I almost expect them to actually say, "Hello! How are you today?"

Of course like humans, some of the doggies are more popular than others, like Lelu and Tommy. Lelu is your mutt-next-door. He will not mind if you pull his ears or make him wear a paper hat. He will still come wagging after you next day. Tommy, on the other hand, is a regal one. He is definitely well aware of his prowess over the other dogs and is proud of his bushy tail. But you should see him when he stares at your food while you are eating. He can make the saddest puppy-dog eyes you can imagine.

There's another one, we call him Lelo. That one's totally bonkers. He runs aimlessly, then stops  randomly, sleeps on his back with his limbs in the air, lolls his tongue out all the time. Sometimes he will come to you for a cuddle and just refuse to leave. At others, he will not even see you, even though he's looking your way.

Them you will find all over the campus. And when I say all over, I mean ALL over. I've seen Lelu in the corner of my washroom. I've seen Tommy on the first floor of the Men's hostel. They are the cafeteria too. The strangest encounter yet was the time when, in my Twentieth Century American Fiction class, in strolled a dog. No one was much bothered to chase it out. It sat quietly in a corner and listened to the rest of the lecture. And then it came out with us, wearing the expression "what're you looking at?" on it's face.

It's not a dog-eat-dog world out here. We all are living peacefully. Besides, they are really good entertainment.

Amateur

If I was asked to list things I'm good at, I'd be lost. It's easier to list things I can do. I can certainly do a lot of things, but I don't know if I'm good at any of those.

I write.
I sing.
I paint.
I'm into art and craft.
I can dance if I want to.
I collect stamps.
I read.

But I wouldn't call myself an expert in any of these fields. Maybe I have low self esteem, but it's true. At best, I am an amateur.

I like it though. I like thinking of myself as an amateur rather than an expert, because it keeps my options of improving and learning new things open. I like not being satiated with what I am. This way I can pardon myself more easily, can start again without embarrassment or shame. It wouldn't worry me much if I sucked at something, because I would always know that I would be starting as a novice.

I like being amateur at this.