I risk sounding judgmental, at large, bizarre here, but that won’t be able to stop me from airing my voice. For last one decade, I’ve been completely irritated on an absurd phenomenon creeping into our so-called ‘classy’ class’ minds. I name this phenomenon as ‘holier-isolation’.

To put it in simple words, I take the case of few exceptional ‘Indians’. What about those Indians who always suffer from a colonial hangover? I mean, I’ve met and fought with many Indians, residing abroad, who visit India and at every point of their conversations, try to deny any Indianness in them. They’ll go on saying, how ‘Indian mentality’ sucks, how our societal framework is callous, how our leaders are corrupt, how our future is bleak, how ignorant we’re about the ‘real’ happening world and so on!! While talking to them, many ‘wanna-be’ Indians nod their heads and would say, “Sahi hai yaar… hamare yahan toh kuch nehin hone walla hai!!”

So basically, those NRIs are just not Indians while they are in India. Fare enough! But my question is – what changes when they’re abroad? Why, every time, they face any problem abroad, they take the shelter of ‘Indian’ identity? When an Indian student, studying in any 3^rd grade university of the US, UK or Australia comes to India, he just can’t pronounce English in Indian way!!! Many of them pretend that they’ve forgotten Hindi and stamp it as, “Sorry dude, am grossly out-a-touch o’ the Indzian ways, you know!” Cool enough!

But when the same student faces racist attack in Australia, he keeps crying out his ‘Indian-victimhood’.

An Indian will eagerly, if not happily, wash dishes or clean floors in food joints abroad, but India, he/she just go mad of the domestic help, at the drop of the hat!

An Indian will eagerly, if not happily, drive a cab abroad, but in India, he just can’t stand our transportation system!

And Indian girl will go for a strict 9am-11am study-work regime abroad, but in India, she just can’t wake up before 12.

And Indian would eagerly, if not happily, start running every time he/she spots an immigration officer, but in India, he/she will not even bother to wear seatbelt or hell mate!

Personally, I just can’t stand these jerks. I’m proud of my country and this Indian identity. Yes, we’ve many problems, far too many than many other countries. Many of such problems frustrate me to the core, but nevertheless, they never pose a question mark before my love for this country or for everything that is Indian.

I don’t know whether you guys will agree with me, but I request you not to value anyone, however Indian his/her surname is, if that person doesn’t value our (as a matter of fact, his/her) country! And I hate it when Indian newspapers go gaga about any NRI doing great in life abroad. I mean, give me a break. One day, I read all the newspapers saying – TIME magazine says, “Dr. Manmohan Singh has changed the lives of millions in India.” So? Big deal? We know who Dr. Singh is and what his qualities are. We value him in our way. Why do we have to so excited about TIME uttering the words which are already proven a zillion times in India itself? Funny how anything foreign is so sexy to us!!! Typical colonial hangover! 

The latest case in point is Mr. Amartya Sen, who feels ‘sad’ being called an ‘Asian’ on international ground. Ahan, and we value the same Sen-babu as Indian treasure! Is that why we’ve got a headline today which says – “I feel at home when I’m in India – Hillary Clinton” ???! Think about it!

Guys, think about it, in the history of civilizations, we’ll never be able to take FILMFARE to bigger height if Oscar is all we care about! We’ll never be able to make Bharat-Ratna the biggest achievement if Nobel is our limit. We’ll never be able to make National Games the biggest if Olympics is all that we get awed at!

I’m not saying, India is ready to create such History now. But no country gets it on the platter. Everyone earns it. So will we, provided we set out minds on the right track! If the US could do what it has done, if Australia could become what it is now and in Japan could be what it has become, then we could be what we already WERE – the glorious, the oldest, the grandest, the greatest civilization – India!!! Look back in the past, shape the present, future will be ours. But it all starts with the right mind-set!  

Let’s not corrupt our minds in colonial hangover… let’s believe in India and let’s believe in ourselves! Jai Hind!            

 

Yes, I religiously hate this lady. I mean, she is the only person who kills almost all of my Sunday pleasures. Her irritating, baseless, ego-centric and illiterate columns, published on every Sunday Times of India, as POLITICALLY INCORRECT, are garbage at its best! Just read on few of titles of her columns –

 

Political babes in the woods 

The 'new' desi girl is here, don't mess with her

Bollywood bachao!

Mind your lingo

Taslima, go home

 

All these columns are full of ego-centric blabbering of a perfect wanna-be Ex-page-3 loser! I fell and believe, her sole aim is to pick up any one of the happening personalities, who gets any kind of highlight by media, and bash that person with typical Shobhaa De venom. If these stupid and irritating titles weren’t enough, dare to read any of her columns; I assure, once you’re done reading one (which itself is a difficult task), you’ll be left with a peculiar sense of guilt in your mind, fueled by one question – ‘Was I really out of my mind that I decided to read her?’

 

This week, she broke all her records and went on comparing the Union Budget presented by Mr. Pranab Mukherjee, with none other than the baseless Kambakth Ishq. In the whole article, she didn’t utter a word about the merit or demerit of the budget and its plans (that didn’t surprise me given the ocean of knowledge that she has). The entire article was on Pranab Mukherjee’s pronunciation-error. No wonder, she finds Mr. P Chidambaram as the ‘sexiest man in India’!!! 

 

Starting from her comments on Jhumpa Lahiri, Taslima Nasrin, Saurav Ganguly, MS Dhoni till her nonsensical blabbering on terror attacks in India – she has proved it again and again, that she is absolute embodiment of a good-for-nothing jealous figure.

 

If Times group really cares about its readers and their opinion (if not its own money), it should immediately cancel the contract with Mrs. De. It’s a national embarrassment to see that stupid lady sharing the same page with great columnists like Swami Ankleshwar Iyer and Swapan Dasgupta. She was at her best as an editor of Stardust. Someone please ask her to blow her dust there. She is a woman who can teach only one lesson to Indian Women - ‘What Women Should Not Be Like’!!!   

 

 

u know... i really like the silence...

i mean, it's so much of me

i really like the ice, and its coldness...

i mean, it's so much of me...

 

 

so, goodbye!

 

 

:D :D

What is it that you can do, if

I take away the little-left life? If

I stand defeated in the mirror, if

I shut my door to myself…

What is it that you can do?

 

What is it that you can say, if

I scream out loud? If

I ask them to stay away, or if

I choose to be silent…

What is it that you can feel?

 

What is it that you have ever done, to

Ease the chocking breath? To

Palm my forehead burning in fever, to

Speak the hidden lies out?

What is it that you have ever done?

 

So, stay away you, stay away, when

I say it’s over, when

I say I don’t need your cover, when

I push you away… so far away…

So, stay away you… just stay away.

 

 

I’m talking to you

Yes, I’m talking to you!

Keep the pain inside alive,

It’s the only solace you have!

Let the ice tickle in your drink

It’s the only cold touch you have!

 

Haven’t you seen how it feels, to

Touch the fire when it’s dead?

So tell me, what it means to be warm

When the blood in your veins is freezing up?

 

Keep the pain inside alive,

Let the ice tickle in your drink…

 

I remember that cold night with you,

You made it warm with your touches,

Since then, I miss my coldness

Even,

When the blood in your veins is freezing up!

 

Give it another shot to make it cold,

You smile has taught you how to.

Let it freeze, chock its breath…

Yes there you go…Make it cold,

Come on, make it cold!

 

Currently, I'm writing all these without thinking whether anyone will care to read these or not! So, I've no intention or wish to make these readers' friendly or whatever anyone calls it! I'm just writing... That's why, if you've accidentally come accross this space and have read these lines, kindly ignore it at your own ease! This part of my life is called MYSELF! That's all.. EnjoY~   

Where are you taking this friend of mine?

I’ve seen him tossing and turning,

But he’s a friend, a friend of mine!

 

Where are you taking this ego of mine?

I’ve felt it poisoning everyone around me,

But it’s my ego, the ego of mine!

 

Where are you taking this night of mine?

I’ve lived every bit of it with darkness all around,

But it’s my night, the night of mine!

 

When you left me stranded at the crossroad,

They’d open their arms for me, to

Sooth my rot, through an open touch…

 

Now that you stand lost,

Is revenge the last thing in your mind?

How long will you paint love with blood on brush?

 

So tell me, does it make you happy, to

Un-skin me through your own nails?

Pardon me, for not laughing on your face,

(After all) It’s my love, the love of mine!   

 

The drops were wondering, what

It takes to be so proud!

The sky was fainting, with

Tears chocked in dark cloud!

I see your face, buried

In dark green laughter,

Is it too late baby,

To start a brand new chapter?

 

You say, I don’t breathe

My heartbeats are wrong,

Ask the stars about, whether

The light is ever gone!

Stars will smile with you

When you reach out to them,

Face the mirror, you martyr

It was never just a game!

 

So, there I stand, with

Eyes diving back in time

The strings go unmissed, as

My lies, intact, are just mine!

 

One more push, back to life,

One more touch, back to life,

Life’s waiting, just one more blow

Yes, there’s blood… Let it bleed, let it flow

 

 

Yes, martyr, welcome back to life

Let it ease, let it glow.

 

Hundred calls go wasted,

But I’m just a ‘hi’ away.

Hundred songs go wasted,

But I’m just a ‘tune’ away.

Hundred thrills go wasted,

But I’m just a ‘touch’ away.

Hundred lines go wasted,

But I’m just a ‘letter’ away,

Hundred points go wasted,

But I’m just a ‘dot’ away.

Hundred changes go wasted,

But I’m just a ‘stroke’ away.

Hundred lives go wasted,

But I’m just a ‘breath’ away.

Hundred answers go wasted,

But I’m just a ‘question’ away.

Hundred tides go wasted,

But I’m just a ‘shore’ away.

Hundred rights go wasted,

But I’m just a ‘wrong’ away.

 

Hundred lives go wasted,

But I’m just a ‘death’ away.

 

Hundred realities go wasted,

But I’m just a ‘dream’ away.

The invisible game has begun again.

I see your hands eager to touch it,

But it’s invisible… for you and me,

That’s why it’s a game, again!

(There) The invisible game has begun again!

 

Why the game baby, just for fun?

What about those inhaled sighs?

What about those practiced excuses?

What about the buried pain?

That’s why it’s a game, again!

(There) The invisible game has begun again!

 

Was it really tough to breathe?

Was I really ready to be back and ease?

Was your shadow not nearing you?

Or did you think it was really late, by then?

That’s why it’s a game, again!

(There) The invisible game has begun again!

 

I love these four walls, with

‘Please disturb me’ on the door,

I lay flat with poison in mouth

I crawl along; after all, it’s my floor.

You say knocking is a pain,

(But) That’s why it’s a game, again!

(There) The invisible game has begun again!

 

Let the smoke fill the cloud,

Let the rain dry the smoke,

Let the darkness enlighten the rain,

That’s why it’s a game, again!

(There) The invisible game has begun again!

 

‘Coz I love these four walls, with

‘Please disturb me’ on the door,

I lay flat with poison in mouth

I crawl along; after all, it’s my floor.

You say knocking is a pain,

(But) That’s why it’s a game, again!

(There) The invisible game has begun again!

 

Hi Friends! Trying to put my past days into words.. Hope you all are rocking the way you always do! EnjoY~

"You bloody middle-class faggot" – the glittery young man shouted at another young man with a laptop bag.

The young man couldn't manage any other expression, except one angry – "You…!"

"You… what faggot? Oh you scared me, obsolete asshole" – glittery young man's class-mockery was too obvious to be ignored.

But the young man with the laptop looked down, controlled himself, turned back, shook his head and started walking away. By the time, he reached the escalator, he received a "You spineless moron", especially packaged for him.

The young man shifted his laptop bag on his right shoulder and stood still right next to the escalator. Busy crowd pushed him a little away… his head was still fixed on the floor. Then he reached the railing and looked up to the roof of the mall. The Rainlover was observing it all from the nearby bookstore. He paid at the bookstore counter, came out, stood next to the young man and placed his hand on his shoulder, "Do you mind joining me?"

The young man was shocked! Alarmed, he looked back with teary eyes and received a gentle smile, "I guess, ice will cool you down. You've already had a lot of heat."

Before he could resist, the Rainlover took his laptop bag on his shoulder and started walking towards the nearest bar. He could hear "Hey, you… what do you want?" from back, but ignored it completely and seized a two-seater in that half-empty bar. When the young man reached the table, Rainlover smiled, "Sorry, I don't generally take no for an answer… sit down, man! You drink, right?" The young man sat down reluctantly and asked, "Why are you doing this?"

The Rainlover smiled, "I like your hairstyle. My spiky sucks… what do you think?" He gave a half-smile and said, "No… it looks nice… keep it." The Rainlover ordered two whiskey on the rocks and a plate of fish-finger. They introduced each-other by the names only and then the Rainlover asked, "So Siddharth, who's elder here? Me or you? I'm 83 born." The young man confirmed, "I'm 83 too… September." The Rainlover was surprised, "Man, you're some 7 months younger than me and you look like 5 years elder. What crap, fighter?"

"Well, as you said – 'fighter' – you can say that my fights of life is taking a toll on me" - he said. The Rainlover couldn't resist his laughter and apologized, "Excuse me, but dude...." Siddharth didn't excuse him at all… so he went on narrating his melodramatic fight-for-survival till they were 3 pegs down.

When the Rainlover found it appropriate, he asked, "So what was happening there… with that rich kid?"

Siddharth got back his reason to be excited, "That fucker? I was walking past, saw his shirt and kinda liked it. So I asked, 'Excuse me, where have you got this shirt from?' – That's it! He started barking… said, 'Who you think you're… look at yourself, you think you can afford a shirt like this?... bloody middle-class and all… When I protested, he started abusing!" he paused for some air that took longer than usual and then continued, "What the fuck is my fault? Why am I in this shithole?"

The Rainlover laughed again, "Must say dude, if not anything else, you've picked up the abuses very nicely… good job." Siddharth have him a cold look and said, "You also are making a fun of me?"

The Rainlover didn't stop his smile while he said, "Go on… abuse… I'm kinda liking it."

Siddharth shook his head and said, "You… you're also like that asshole.. yes, making fun of someone who is inferior.. You all are the same!" His voice was loud enough to attract few heads around. The Rainlover winked at them with a smile and asked Siddharth, "You want another one?" Siddharth hushed out, "Why faggot? You also want to prove how rich you are and how poor I'm!? Tell you what, I don't spend money like you guys, because I've my parents to look after, a bother with important age, a sister to be married soon, a family to care for, something for which I can sacrifice these momentary shit that you guys love sooo much.. I'm not like you and I don't wish to be like you at all. Now you understand wealthy-filth, I'm a responsible guy, resilient by choice, not by chance!" 

The Rainlover smiled, "There you go!"

Siddharth urged, "You don't believe it… do you?"

The Rainlover said "Why won't I?" The he signaled for the bill.

While the bill arrived, Siddharth said, "Let me pay."

The Rainlover winked, "It was my invitation. Plus, I like your hairstyle!"

Siddharth started laughing. They said 'goodbye' and as both of them were about to move out of the mall and move to two different direction, Siddharth asked, "Why did you do this?"

The Rainlover smiled, "I told you, I like your hairstyle."

Siddharth sighed!

The Rainlover smiled again, "Tell you the truth, I saw myself… in you! Keep fighting, FIGHTER!"

Then they moved ahead.. in two different directions…!

 

HEY FRIENDS, THANKS FOR UR ENCOURAGEMENT.. LOVE U ALL ;)

It’s like missing someone who would never know.

 

It’s like waiting for someone who will never come.

 

It’s like wishing for something that’ll never materialize.

 

It’s like demanding something that’ll never be fulfilled.

 

It’s like imagining the reality that never existed and never will.

 

It’s like praying for someone who doesn’t even care.

 

It’s like writing a song for someone who hates music.

 

It’s like being ‘lonely’ with someone.

 

It’s like being hungry with a plate full of rotten food.

 

It’s like being dressed-up in invisible attire.

 

It’s like touching something without feeling it.

 

It’s like living when you’re not alive.

 

 

It’s like kissing a corpse.

 

It’s like whispering silence.

 

It’s like hiding the light.

 

It’s like smiling in pain.

 

It’s like standing in front of the mirror and cursing the ‘faceless man’.

 

 

NOTE - this is a reflection of 'that' time... not 'this' time

 

 

Dear Friends,

 

Feel free to kill me for my absence! You've all the rights to do so...

But I decided to jump back again into blogging... In these days, I've written and half-written few stories.. Will share the same with you guys very soon.

Don't know if it interests you or not, but I feel like stating few recent changes or developments on my life-scrpit..

 

1. I'm in Kolkata now.. yes, finally, I've shifted from Delhi and have come to Kolkata (working in the same organisation though)

2. I miss Delhi :( especially my students... I can't forget the love that they've given me! They simply rock!

3. I'm staying with my best friend Snehangshu in Kolkata and can visit my parents every week (only if I wish to;)

4. Alcohol has increased, but I'll bring it down.

5. Smoking is as it is...

6. Flirting is full on ;) after all, it'sa city of joy! gotto do some justice to it !

7. Reading a lot, and painting very less!

 

That's all for now!

Soon, I'll post my stories... dying to visit you blogs and read you guys through...

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Just wish 2009 gives you and your loved ones the strength to fight it through and make it beautiful ;)

Love!

EnjoY~

 

The Rainlover ;)

11am, July, 2005

 

He was inside the elevator… on his wheelchair… smiling!  He asked, “Are you new?” I said, “Good guess!” He asked, “Do you want to meet somebody?” I said, “My sister!” He asked, “Why are you talking to me?” I said, “Because, you want me to….” He asked, “Are you gay?” I said, “No… why?” He replied, “Just a time pass question.” I frowned, “Are you alright, my friend?” He laughed, “Does my wheelchair say so?” I shrugged off and moved out of the elevator on the 2^nd floor of this campus of Calcutta University. By the noise behind, I could make out that the wheel-chair guy also was coming out of the elevator.

Anyhow, it took me some 10 minutes to figure out my Bonu’s (sister’s) classroom. When I went inside, I could see some 10 boys and girls gossiping. Bonu spotted me with an instant shout, “Bhaida, bhalo hoyeche esechis. Janis … (Brother, good that you’ve come. You know what….)” Oh yeah, that’s typical SHE – she has always something “You know what…” in store for me! After I heard ‘what happened’, I could see the wheelchair guy coming inside the class… this time I half-heartedly started, “You know what… this guy…” Bonu grabbed my hand and took me to a corner of that large classroom. She said, “Shhh… don’t talk about him.” I nodded without understanding. Instantly a voice came, “Oh, that’s your sister? Cool! Arita, won’t you introduce US to your brother?” Reluctantly, Bonu said, “Hi everybody, this is my dear Bhaida. And Bhaida, these are my friends.” Even before I could finish my shy ‘Hi’, the wheelchair guy smirked, “And I’m Tanmoy.” I was confused by his over excitement, yet managed a “Hi Tanmoy” somehow. Tanmoy came forward with his wheelchair and said, “You know I’m not a gay.” Everybody was laughing. I managed, “Good news… congratulations!” Tanmoy laughed, “Hey, you are a funny man! Can we be friends?”

“Sure!” I said. We shook hands.

 

7pm, July, 2005

 

My cell phone rang – it was an unknown number. I picked up, “Hello!” Other side spoke, “Tanmoy this side. Where are you, man?” Surprised, I said, “I’m near Park Street… why?” He said, “Take the Metro, come to Tollygunj… my car is near the metro station. You’re my guest tonight… ahan, don’t deny, you won’t forget this night ever. See you in 20 mins.” I was perplexed. He had kept down the phone! I, with hesitation called Bonu up and asked, “Hey, is this Tanmoy guy a gay? He wants me to go to his place now? Is he alright?” Bonu mocked, “Or do you wanna know if he is SAFE?” I said, “Shut up, what should I do?” She went on smiling, “Don’t worry! You won’t forget this night ever!” I was wondering, what is this… a game or something? But somehow I managed to convince myself and within 10 minutes I could see myself at the Park Street metro station’s booking counter asking the window man, “One Tollygunj please…”.

I entered inside the Santro to see Tanmoy smiling…. On his way, I remember myself asking, “What is it all about?” and Tanmoy replying, “Don’t worry! You’ll not forget this night ever!”

Tanmoy’s rich dad head the reflection of his money all over the house… so damn polished. He didn’t speak to anyone present in the house… he domestic help took us to his room and he asked, “Whiskey is cool with you?” I nodded. He ordered, “Kamal-da, whiskey for two of us. Leave it here and please close the door once you’re done.” He read the sense of doubt on my eyes and said, “Don’t worry, I told you, I’m not gay… relax!” I gave a smile of relief.

He went on showing me all his paintings and writings… his explanations reached touched me. What a great talent, confided into a wheelchair… yet I managed to keep my sympathy to myself… and after some 4 pegs, he spoke what he wanted to say for so long, “What the fuck man! Why the hell it has to happen to me? What’s my fault? Every damn fucking person I meet has sympathy for me. I mean, do I deserve it or what? Can’t I be treated like a normal human being? Why the boys I meet have to sound over mannered with me? Why the girls I meet have to so fucking easy-going with me? Why the elders I meet always have to praise me for the talent I’ve? Why? Why? Is it all because my dad fucked my mom when he was drunk and I was created by that? Is that what I deserve to get?”

There was a long yet comfortable silence after this and then I finally said, “Let’s paint together.” His silence said it all and we painted…. and we named it, WINGS!

 

11pm, 11^th September, 2008.

 

Bonu was crying on the other side of the phone. I went on asking, “What’s wrong my dear? Tell me… please… please, tell me!” After she was done, I didn’t know what to say. I heard her saying, “Yesterday, Tanmoy died of a heart attack! They burnt him today.” Then I heard Tanmoy’s saying, “You’ll not forget this night… ever!” Tanmoy, my friend, you’re right!

 

I know saying sorry isn't enough.... but sorry friends, got really tied up! I'll try to be regular... Hope all of you are having a great time!