In honour of the torchbearers (Happy Teachers Day!)

‘Your aim in life’ – had been a common topic for essays during school, and how crazy and ambitious our dreams were! With the guidance of our teachers we’d scribble on about how we wanted to be astronauts, scientists, film-stars, engineers, doctors, lawyers… but how many of us did ever want to be a teacher and pass on the bright torch of knowledge? We are made to dream in a certain way, the way sculpted out by our reputed society, which holds high regards to certain professions while looking down upon others. Ironically, the same is taught by our teachers in most cases unknowingly or unwillingly.

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Have you ever heard a teacher talk about how noble the profession is? But you would definitely hear doctors, engineers, scientists and the like, preach about the importance of their respective jobs. And how did they become what they are; was it just by hard work and determination? The answer is quite well known to us.

Chemistry could have never won my love and dedication unless for Mrs Krishna Chakraborty, who ordered me to go home for breakfast post my two-hour session, and come back after 30 minutes to resume class on a Saturday morning! She made sure I understood the concept of periodic tables that day starting from 7 in the morning, and I did and did not forget till I finished school and several years after.

Great teachers like her go out of their way to ensure that their students have actually learned the lesson. It can be stated undeniably that we’ve all, at least for once in our lives, been blessed with some such wonderful teachers. They are the living embodiment of the phrase friend, philosopher, and guide.

School girl writing on the board

“I learned that a teacher can be your friend from Mrs Satyaboti Nadkar, my Geography teacher. She was very witty; I used to attend her tuition classes along with an all-girls group, and when some other boys would attend the class and check out the girls, she would set me as an example and tell them to be descent like me!” exclaimed an elated Chandramoy Ghosh, advertising professional.

“Her son was a few years younger than me, but she’d scold us the same way. She was very happy with my results, once they were declared, and so was I when I came to know that she topped the SSC exams and joined a different school as the principal. We are still in touch. She had asked me to introduce my girlfriend to her. I’ll do so, once I have a girlfriend!” added a blushing Chandramoy.

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“Gautam Das, my English teacher, was more like a guardian to me. He helped me get over through the toughest times of my life, especially after my mom’s death. He is smart and caring, although sometimes he was pretty strict at times. He is probably the only teacher who ever slapped me!” reminisces Arpan Paul.

It does not matter what subject they teach, or how old they are, the position of a teacher or a guru, one who imparts knowledge, is above all. Every other profession is like a branch of a strong tree, while teaching is the trunk, the foundation of the entire tree, holding everything in place.

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Upon asking around, people had various reasons to love and respect their favourite teachers. While some admired their teachers, some build such strong relations with them that even decades after school they are still etched in the memory fresh. “My favourite teacher? Srabasti Ghosh, our Business communications professor, helped me overcome my fears of public speaking. Once, during a seminar, when I had to speak in front of a lot of our industry important heads, she knew I was very nervous. So she kept eye contact throughout the time and kept giving me encouraging nods, and after a minute or so I gained some confidence. Finally, our team stood second,” said Sampurna Das, Support Associate at MyTasker.

Anya Gupta, PR professional says,”I find my Economics teacher during high school, Mr Sachin the most adorable because he was the most patient teacher I ever had. Everybody used to attend his class and get good marks. The way he used to communicate was amazing as he never gave punishments yet had a push factor to keep everybody on track.”

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With different methods of teaching, our teachers have over the years created gems in different fields of life. While every day we take the privilege of eating away parts of their lives, today, Dr Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan’s birth anniversary had been assigned for our gurus. Brimming over with pride and joy I wish all the teachers in the world a very happy teacher’s day! If not for them, we would not be who we are now.

 

(Had it not been for my mother, the earliest teacher I was entrusted upon by the almighty; my adorable Krishma ma’am; our beloved Art teacher Amit sir; our strict Mathematics teacher Parvez sir; energetic and spontaneous sports teacher Rocky sir; my favourite English teachers IC sir and Prabha ma’am, the evergreen fun loving Mathematics teacher Amitabh sir, my Karate instructor Shihan Mir, my supportive and brilliant professors: Jhuma ma’am, Manali ma’am, Debanjan Sir, Reshmi ma’am, Rakesh sir, Ali sir, Sourav sir, and all the everyday teachers I have come across in my humble years forward, I would have been nothing close to what I am today. Cheers!)

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Childhood memories

There are various food items that attract children, yet there are numerous weird items, which we adults can never think of as edible, that find a royal suit in a toddler’s palate! And this does not happen only during the phase of developing tiny teeth, but keep on gaining momentum and magnitude with a few years of experience in life, i.e. entering toddler-hood!

To explain the matter and to explore its seriousness I hereby state a few of my own favourite dishes in the first 5 years of life. Yes, my memory is quite strong… I can still see things happening in front of me like a movie.

Salt

God’s finest of creations (humans, in case you are thinking dogs, cats, trees, or others) have a soft corner for sweetness, they prefer sweet over the other tastes, unlike me. I as a little girl (when I had just mastered walking), I would climb up the dining table and attack the table salt container! It was reported to me that I would often finish off the salt container, which had about 250g salt, at a go. Even though I do not have a very clear memory of eating salt, I do remember climbing up the table and sitting with my legs spread out on top when no one was around. There had been a speculation that I probably lacked Iodine for which my body dragged me towards a proper source of iodine.

Candles

I had a fetish for candles, both white and coloured ones. And by fetish I mean I loved to eat them. People use candles while praying or during power cuts, but I collected them to feed on the wax! There used to be a glass cupboard in our drawing room which had a few candles prepared on candle-stands and a box full of small candles as a precautionary measure, as back then Kolkata was greeted with dark evenings every day. I was about 3-4 years old, and one regular evening during a usual power cut I ran down to that cupboard and took out a medium sized candle, and ran back into a secluded room and gorged into my recently conquered treasure. All in the dark, when nobody could see me do the deed, since I was quite conscious that the society would not accept my love for candles! But sadly my running about did make some noise and mother found me with a mouthful as she entered the room with a large lit candle. I felt incomplete for not finishing the tasty waxy dish, even though I had eaten away 3/4 of the original piece and made it unfit for use with lots of tiny tooth marks. I should have been allowed to finish it… I can still see the whole incident happening, but cannot recall the taste… Mother told me that once I was so fast in grabbing and eating a small candle, that when they discovered me, they found no morsel of wax left. There was only a wick lying there alone, robbed off from its flesh! After some such incidents, my family decided to stop using candles for pujas and started using diyas. The ones kept in the cupboard were stacked up in the highest shelf where I could not reach… Sadly my appetite for candles was murdered…

Water

I still remember having drinking-water competitions with my friends. We would finish off a large jar of water at once, as my grandfather used to serve us obediently. As soon as a glass finished he had to fill it up, and we would count the number of glasses we have had. Now, after so many years I find it rather funny when I related our incident with those they show in movies and TV series when drinking competitions happen in bars and the bartender obediently keeps filling the empty glasses!

If only I could travel back in time to watch me grow…

Rewind your life a decade or two back and think of what interesting intakes you had and share your experience and memory here.

City Of Joy-

With the festive season starting, you get so much to look and hear at! Yesterday being Ganesh Puja and today being Vishwakarma Puja, Kolkata went all noisy and busy throughout the week preparing and annoying pedestrians! College goers planned for mass bunks with an excuse of traffic issues, and overload of assignments which they have to finish, but spent the day sitting back like a couch potato and doing nothing. Well, I had planned for a kick off start, and I did start the day pretty good but laziness is more rewarding, as it seems. On the way to the market early in the morning, my ears had a pretty hard time taking in all the noise. Actually they are supposed to be music, loud music. But when you combine several levels of high pitch loud musical sounds, it becomes noise.

I could hear, “Yeh zameen ruk jayeen, aasma jhuk jayeen…”, “Paglu, uuuu, uuuuu, thora sa karle romance…”, “Lungi dance lungi dance lungi dance…”, “Saree ke fall sa tujhe match kiya re!” and the traffic honking and shouting all at once!

Having trouble to cross the road, I, who never watches out for signals, had to wait by the roadside for several minutes to concentrate. These enthusiastic and dedicated devotees were not just contributing to polluting the environment with noise pollution but also had let out numerous not-so-used-to-walking pedestrians on the street, since there are scanty public transport available on such occasions. They walk around aimlessly, halting every now and then to scan the street and to stare around mesmerized at how fast other people can move! They take the whole of the footpath to walk, and do not allow anyone to overtake their strolling speed.

In case you ask them to excuse you, either they’ll be deaf to hear you, or they will take a full 180 degree turn to look at you in misery (not understanding the cause of your haste), or they will throw an angry look as you which might say, “How dare you ask me to make way for you? I’m the fat king/queen of the footpath. It’s my, all mine.”

Hence the new generation hasty people like me, are forced to walk down the road to reach every destination slightly quicker than usual. And continues the head banging noise in the background, all the songs screaming for attention. Done with my grocery shopping I headed back home. On the way, something tells me to look up at the sky- ‘Bho Katta’ shouts a little boy on a field, he has successfully beaten his friend on the kite battle. A bright red kite comes down floating and another boy runs around to catch it, while the defeated friend looks on with a long face. Kolkata hosts the kite festival, in all lane and by-lane every year on the day of Vishwakarma Puja, (17-18 September).

The colourful sky is sure to make you forget all the sorrows of life, and all the work that you have probably lined up for the day. Yet again I became lazy witnessing the beauty, and got back home and invested all my time in listening to music (one at a time), and sleeping!

‘Bho Katta’ – an exclamation of joy on winning a kite battle.

Space management!

Do you possess good management skills? I’m not talking of holding an MBA degree and managing a corporate house, rather I’m hinting on managing home and your own belongings. Sometimes, I’m messy. But my mom claims me to be the world’s most irresponsible girl who doesn’t manager her room, or help her family with the household chores! Always.

But it is this messy, grown-up good-for-nothing girl who de-clutters things!… Once in a while… And then the well organized lady, walks into my room stealthily and shoves in a few laundry or grocery bills, cardboard boxes (investments to help you earn a few rupees from the kabadiwala), an old wall clock (which may be used later on in life) or other supposedly important stuff, on my desk or under my bed. Then one fine morning, she will yell about, how dirty my room is!

During my school days, whenever someone accused me of wrongdoings, I attacked back to prove my innocence. But age and experience has taught me, that the key is to keep calm and drive people crazy. They will howl and grudge about everything, as their motto is to ignite violence in you and start up a ferocious fight of accusations. Once you master the art of keeping calm and displaying a poker face things automatically cool down around you.

There are a few hilarious incidents that I got to witness among my not-so-good-at-space-management friends. This beautiful and talented sample I shared a room with during my internship season, had a mountain of clothes by the end of her bed, but whined everyday about not having enough clothes, while getting ready for office. She felt too lazy to fold the clothes and search through her amazing collection. Suddenly one day, I notice her doing the unthinkable job! Why? Because the previous night, one of her favourite shirts had rolled down the mountain and over her face like a huge spider would, and that scared the hell out of her! Not only did I burst out laughing, but also felt good that mom’s continuous complains had made me a good space manager.

During some evening snacks at another friend’s place, the jar of cookies overturned from the peak of books and newspapers letting out the contents in mid-air! The moment was full of suspense and action, as I could see things in S…L…OOO…WW….MM…OOO…TI…ON. The friend jumped forward, hands stretched to catch the falling cookies (They were our favourite), and he saved them risking his back on which he landed grabbing all the cookies. Perfect timing! But poor space management skills, that caused the accident.

For years I have tried to keep such events from happening, and yet just a few days ago, I dropped a fat book from my desk, that was busy providing space to my desktop system, cell-phone, watch, loose sheets of papers (definitely stuffed by mom), nail-polish, water bottle and of course my hair clips!!

History repeats itself, in different forms and situations!

Chair Cheers

Do we always use this wooden or metal instrument called chair to sit? Rather we use it for other purposes, may be for standing on it to peek up at the tube light’s choke, or to hammer a pin high on the wall for a picture, or some of the aggressive us use chairs to bang them on glass tables, or hit innocent people or rivals with them. Some little girls also use chairs as the multistoried building for their Barbies!

What I did as a kid was even more unconventional! Of course there isn’t a doubt that my activities left a mark on me and others around. Literally. I have always had a hunger for adventure deep within me, but no one could sense from which side the attack could appear! I would sit and stand under the dining table as long as my height permitted, and play games underneath, imagining it to be a cave or a tiny shoe house or other such products of fantasy. I had an annoying habit, as my mom would term it, to hang on the back of people’s chairs. Now I cannot recall what happiness or adventure that activity provided me, but I remember very well what happened to stop my hanging from the back of people’s chairs!  One fine evening when my family was seated around the table for tea, I galloped into the room and wondering what to do next, jumped onto the back of my mom’s chair. The chairs were wooden and quite heavy, and as usual I clung at the back of the chair and started swinging to and fro rhythmically, without mom having noticed it. Once she had finished her tea, she got up from the chair and I still hanging, fell flat on my back. My head was the first thing to touch the ground with a bang and then my whole body. I fell with a massive thud… Wait the story doesn’t end here; I had the heavy wooden chair bury me under it! I felt like I was Tom who had just been squashed flat like a paper by a huge piano smashing on him! For a moment everyone in the room stood like a statue, since no one had noticed me enter the room or swing behind the chair, and my sudden fall had scared the hell out of me to even make me cry! Mom said I never tried that adventure game again.

Several years later, I had a tiny friend downstairs in our building; the only friend may be at that time in the whole locality. She was quite a lot younger than me, and everyday coming back from school I would go to visit her. I wouldn’t do much, other than  helping her gather her toys or letting her sit on my lap or telling her stories she never understood and hearing her stories which I never understood. On one such visit, she was very restless and was going about pulling things from everywhere. On the go she pulled a chair from the back, nothing happened. She tried again, but in vain. Then with all her might and both her hands she pulled it from the back, and notwithstanding the weight of the chair her hands gave away. She kneeled down, with her hands up holding the chair, and finally she let herself be buried by the chair. Then she let out a panicky cry.

I couldn’t help but laugh hysterically, for a couple of minutes, while all of us where trying to recover her from under the chair. I was suddenly reminded of my own chair incident.

Just a few days ago, I discovered some photographs of genius activities around the world and guess what, a chair had to be there. Someone had a scooped up sofa, and the person had inserted chairs in between the seat and the back rest! My heart yelled out, that’s called a Chair cheers! Well if you are wondering what that means, I would rather suggest you to stop thinking, because even I don’t know why I said that.

Life in a Metro.. Suicides!!

Kolkata Metros often harass its commuters in various ways… well I should not blame the Metro authority, but rather the commuters who buy tickets, enter the platform and then pounce in front of an incoming metro and finally bring the whole system to a halt! Yes, I am talking about the suicide attempts. Once, my English teacher had expressed, “As it is they are committing a sin, on that they are getting cursed by thousands.”

Yesterday, I had to travel quite a distance for some work and while returning I had plans for some shopping and followed by a meeting. On entering the Metro station of Rabindra Sarovar, I heard whispers that said Metros are out of order. But I furthered in to find out the truth, and there were small groups of people gathered around the ticket counter and an announcement that informed of a suicide in the previous Metro station due to which “Metro porisheba bondho thakbe shimito kaal er jonno”(Metro services will be temporarily unavailable) And the area was full of “Tch, tch” from the irritated passengers. I waited for about 20 minutes, and the “Metro porisheba” was back into action. I hurriedly got up in the first Metro that entered, since I was getting late for the meeting. Getting off on my destination, no sooner than I started running up the stairs, there was another announcement, “Kabi Subhas Metro Station a r ekti suicide er ghotona ghoteche, ae karone Metro porisheba Noapara theke Mahanayak Uttam Kumar porjonto hobe, shimito kaal er jonno.” (Another suicide in Kabi Subhasb Metro station has occurred, due to which Metro services will be available from Noapara station to Mahanayak Uttam Kumar station.) The place was full of annoying “Tchs” and “Uffs”.

Completing my shopping and meeting, I stepped into the Esplanade Metro station around 5:40pm. The platform was unusually crowded, more horrifying was the fact that the expected time for the arriving Metro was blank. I enquired a lady standing near me whether Metros were on time, she gave me a surprised look and asked, “Kyu? Koi problem hua hai kya?” (Why? Has there been a problem?) I narrated my experience to her, and her face lost its colour. A man was eavesdropping into our conversation, and commented, “Uff suicide korar r jayega payena era.. poisa khorcha kore morte ashe.. jottosob.” (They don’t find any other place for committing suicides… spending money to die… disgusting)

Three Metros passed by on the opposite route, while only one overcrowded Metro arrived at our platform, as soon as the doors slid open breathless passengers fell off from within. Some of the commuters waiting, tried to fight their way in while I waited for the next Metro. The successor came another fifteen minutes later. Just before that, a short young man came out of nowhere and stood right in front of my nose. His little tummy protruded from the green t-shirt, his shades were tucked over his forehead, kito shoes, and his chinos were somewhat purplish-brown. The accessory that caught my attention was his belt! It was studded with diamonds of varied shapes that sparkled enough to dazzle you for a moment or two, though some of these precious sparklers had already fallen off. The second Metro arrived honking loudly to announce its arrival and to prevent any further suicides. This guy with an extraordinary sense of fashion expressed his surprise “Mai Gawd… So Kuuul.” I still wondered what was so cool about an overcrowded metro. I had to let go of this train as well. Finally I fought my way into the third metro which arrived at 6:21pm.

About 5 minutes later, a dispute broke out between two female voices, I couldn’t see them but my ears did a good job of listening. One accused the other for pushing her, and not letting her stand comfortable. To this the younger and extremely calm voice replied, “aaarrreee, aami kii apnaakee ichhe koore dhakkaaa mereechi nakii? Bhiiir Metroo te to ektuu touch lagbee ee”

“Motei na, Apnar chul ta amar pithe lagche, kut kut korche, apnar bag ta samle rakhun, ami darate parchina.” Replied an agitated voice

“Kii mushhkiiil aami kibhabe chul kaatbpo setaaoo ki aaapni bole deben naakii? Apnaar naa poshale neme janto.” I couldn’t make out how someone could quarrel so calmly.

“Nambona” replied the older voice firmly.

“Taaholee chechaben naa.. Lokjoon otheo kichu metro te… Uff…”

I wanted to laugh out loud at the tone of her accusation and the way they were quarrelling, but I was hungry, thirsty and energy deprived, hence I could only manage a feeble smile. Seeing my reflection on the black glass window, I felt good. It seemed as if I got recharged like a battery!

Mommy matters classified

I don’t call her Mommy, but Maa and she’s often cranky. While sometimes her actions and comments make me roll over laughing. She doesn’t particularly display a very good sense of humour, but when she exhibits one it keeps me delighted for years. I would like to narrate some incidents here:
When I was about ten years, one night while dining, she was accusing me of something I haven’t done or may be something which I had done that had offended her. She was folding the dry clothes and bed sheets standing on the doorway to the bedroom facing the dining table and shouting at me. Obviously I was sitting with a face painted with guilt, trying to be as invisible as much as possible and was wondering when she would shut up. Then a miracle happened, suddenly her accusations turned into fearful screams. It was a flying cockroach that had decided to land on her shoulder and save my night of humiliation! She dropped the accusations and the bed sheet and was rotating and scratching herself, while the screaming continued. My dreaded face suddenly turned into a victorious one, I could sense it, and I was laughing madly. My trauma was over, and it was now her turn to face some amount of embarrassment!
One day, several years ago, mom and I had a controversy over something, (we always have controversial thoughts, our choices never match) and she was so angry that she started to hit me with a very old wooden stick, kept at one corner of the door for reasons unknown to me. She hit me once on the leg and successfully I prevented the blow from harming me, the pressure was shared between my hands and the poor victimized leg of mine. But with the second blow, the stick broke into two pieces! One was in her hand while the other flew out and rested on the floor a couple of meters away. Her expression was priceless. She looked angry, puzzled, bewildered and she paused for a while to think what could be done next. Whenever I think of that face I just can’t resist myself from grinning with pride. Pride over what, I don’t know, because I cannot claim that I am so strong that the wooden stick gave way. But it was due to age, the withering age of the poor stick, little did it know that one day when it was old it would be used as a weapon against the mighty Lahari!
Recently, one day we had decided to sell off the old newspapers and plastic bottles at a store nearby which buy these stuff and send them to factories for recycling. Maa had some knee problems for which she couldn’t walk very fast, or carry heavy things. I had taken out the bags one by one and kept them at the staircase landing. We had to walk down the steps to the road and take a rickshaw. Then I went upstairs to lock the door, when I came back, what I saw :

Maa pulled up one heavy bag from its place and placed it on the first step, she turned to tell me something, and I saw the fat bag glide slowly down, before I could shout out a warning down it went “Dhap… Dhap… Dhap… Dhap…. Dhaasshhh” rhythmically, the bag rolled down and all the papers fell out of it. I didn’t know whether the situation was serious or funny. The falling was definitely funny but Maa’s knee ache was serious and that she had increased the workload by herself was even more serious. Anyways I burst out giggling, and the staircase echoed my giggles and someone downstairs opened the door to find out the cause of the sudden outburst of laughter. Then looking at the fallen bag for a moment she started laughing too. Guess what, it seemed I was waiting for a permission to laugh out even louder, and so I did.
Maa does not like pizzas much, she only tasted pizzas every time I forced her to. Just a few days ago there was some pizza advertisement in the television which said you could get the nicest Pizza there for ‘only’ Rs 50, now of course we know, there were extra added taxes… And Maa muttered while chopping vegetables on the table, “er cheye bhalo ponchas taka chibiye khawa!” (It’s better to chew on a 50 rupee note!)

A Colourful Holi

My Holi started yesterday, when I went to the market with mom for regular shopping and watched with awe how colourful and happy the streets looked. The first thing mom stopped for was cucumbers, the man selling cucumbers had a lot of vegetables laid about him, and one of them was a majestic looking pumpkin. There were other people around, and a man asked the price of pumpkin, he said it was ten rupees per kilograms, the buyer happily asked him to proceed with cutting a wedge of 500 grams. As soon as he started to cut out pieces the buyer screams, “Not that.. I wanted that one over there, the beautiful one…” he pointed out to the majestic pumpkin. The vendor’s replied “that’s fourteen rupees per kilo”
“Keno (Why)” came in the swift and confused question, cause he had just said ten rupees per kilo was the price.
“Karon eta pumpkin ar ota kumro (Because this is Pumpkin and that is kumro{Bengali word for pumpkin})”, came the intelligent replied from the humorous vendor. The so called Pumpkin was bright orange and huge and I guess a few kittens could easily fit into the center once that was cleared, while the Kumro was a bit pale and not so huge. That’s all the difference between the Pumpkin and the Kumro!
Later on while peeping into some of the shops selling colours my eyes caught a very vibrant punk head! I don’t know whether that’s a proper word or not, but this guy had a multicoloured wig placed firmly on his head. The wig had every colour of hair in it. Okay, not real hair but it seemed very soft! And the false hair was well combed and done so that it stood out only throughout the middle on the head. The hair was too long and when he moved his head it almost brushed against my face! There were many such shocking display of colourful hair all over the market; what colour would you want – they had yellow, golden, green, red, purple, blue and everything!
Today my day started very late, but it started with a bang. My student called to inform how her English exam had been. Then gradually recovering from the sleepiness I realized it was 10:30am and children downstairs have already started splattering and smearing colours everywhere. ‘Oh God! I am so late.” I hurriedly had my breakfast and prepared for different coloured Abir that I had, to smear my fellow players’ face with. I got painted with red, yellow, orange and fluorescent green! No wonder I was laughing madly, just like Rani did in the film Queen on her own silly jokes. The colours were followed by tasty colourful Lemon rice of course cooked by me, but without any supplements.

Following the Trend? Not My thing..

When someone is forced to follow the trend, they end up committing silly mistakes. Once I met an old friend on the street, and incidentally we started chatting but I have to admit he was looking awfully ugly he was looking. Well, he never did look very pleasing or handsome but somehow kind of decent, but that day’s appearance couldn’t hold me back from calling him ugly right on his face! I know it sounds rude to behave that way, but if I can narrate to you the conversation some of you might think that what I did was just!
“Hey! How are you?”
“I’m fine. How are you? Which school are you in now?”
He replied the name of his school, and started reciting gossips of the past year which I had missed. Then suddenly I noticed a horrible misfit on his face. “What’s that?” I asked with a horrific questioning expression. He stammered and paused to understand my sudden gesture and then looked around to find what I was talking about and gave me a puzzled look. I explained, “Why are you wearing these ugly glasses?!?!”
He looked as if he had just been slapped in front of a room full of people, I felt sorry because my outburst but couldn’t help it.
His expression changed suddenly, and he took to defending his extraordinary sense of style, and said, “What’s wrong with it? I love my new specs..”
“But they are not good looking….. in fact you are not looking good wearing them..”
“This is fashion honey!”
“What fashion?? Why wear something which does not suit you..?”
“Arree.. This is the trend, I am cool with it. And come on, it’s Fastrack, dude.”
Firstly I am not a “dude”, I wondered why people use terms which do not go with the person they are referring to.
“What Fastrack Shastrack!! How does it matter if it makes one look horrible?” I had logic, but he did not. His reply suggested that.
“You won’t understand, this is fashion. You are too simple for this…” and blah blah!!
“But it’s… ugly”, I muttered.
This is what people mostly do, when they are out of reasoning and sense, they talk rubbish! They try to prove their helpless, senseless and logic less decisions by proving themselves stupid instead! Just like one of my friends, Pratik Lahiri, posted in Facebook, yesterday that “when you are dead, you don’t know that you are dead. It is tragic only for others…It is the same when you are stupid” I often find live examples, of such cases where, when they have nothing else to do, they decide to prove their idiocy by any possible means. Why can’t people respect individualism? Why not make your own choice and be the leader rather than following the mass?

Fashion is one thing which really doesn’t intrigue me, wearing weird clothes or pieces of fabric for show, doesn’t grab my attention, and that too when done for the sake of following the unannounced trend! Another thing that escapes my understanding is the inappropriate usage of the word “sexy”. I can’t really follow it when someone says “Sexy eyes”, “Sexy hands”, “Sexy dress”, “Sexy nose”, sexy this sexy that… But it gets worse when the noun form following this controversial adjective changes. For example- “Sexy Voice!” “Sexy Bag!” “Sexy Hair”, the heights was when I heard “Sexy Headphones!” Really?? I know that sometimes talking nonsense is good, but isn’t this too much of nonsense? Calling everything sexy!!
All I could do was sit bearing a confused look, and ponder on the oxymoron. I mean how on earth can you call a mere headphone sexy? Can somebody please elaborate the thought process to me??

The Pleasure of Writing

The pleasure of being a writer is you can change everything about you but still remain “You”. You can change your form, colour, gender, race, religion, being, everything, yet think in your way, write in your way, laugh, talk, shout, scold and debate in your own way! How else on Earth can anybody get this happiness? We often think “What if I was a boy/girl?” or “What if I was to fall prey to this situation?” or “What if I was a princess?” or “What if he was mine?” And so the list goes on… “What if…?” While you write, you can be a cat, a mosquito, a free bird, a lion, may be an elephant if you’d like to sit on someone, a film star, a doctor, a flowing blue river, a car, a diamond ring, a banyan tree, or even a five rupee coin! No one can stop you from being what you want, and the best part of it is you can carry out all you unfulfilled desires through your pen!
Are you angry on someone? Go kill him in your story. How else would you solve problems in life so easily? Want to travel underwater? Just take a plunge in your ink, start scribbling whatever comes to your mind, you do not need to care whether your information is accurate; all you need to do is write to your heart’s content. And the happiness you receive when your friends tell you, that you are their best writer is priceless-ly indescribable! That was a huge compliment I got yesterday from a friend named Anurag Deb, whom I had promised to write about, but till date haven’t got enough info or incidents to write about.
I have always wanted to do a lot of things; I wanted to be a writer, a journalist, a singer, a sports star, any form of leader, an actress etcetera etcetera . I have had many plans for adventure sports as well, and I want to travel the world. But frankly speaking I never really tried or applied for the acting thing, guess I was too shy, and neither did anyone call for me, so what? I ended up making films and acting in them! So you see, you just have to keep on dreaming, and then fulfilling them is your job, no matter who says what, you should live your dream. Whether you complete it by writing or by action is up to you, but never expect others to understand your dream and carry it out for you, for then you’ll become too lazy to dream! This friend of mine Anurag, tells me “Get a boyfriend and add some spice to your life.” I say, “I already have the spices, just need to cook them.”

*Anurag, though I couldn’t write much about you, I guess mentioning you did lay an initial step on the process…