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Friday, November 09, 2007

Life, Death and Death...

1st November 2007

You have not seen life if you have not got on the Picnic Garden Minibus from Maidan Metro Station or Park Street at 6pm. The smell of sweat, the pressure of people around you...you don't need to hold on to anything...the crowd itself keeps you standing...the pressure cradles you to your destination...you keep breathing despite the sweat and the suffocation. If you are lucky, you might get a seat and laugh as much as you want at the others suffering. The probability is such that you'll get both sides of the coin. Hence you'll laugh lesser and lesser and instead offer to hold the bags of those others, who are standing...

This is death, compared to the life I was pondering about. You have not seen death unless you have stood up awake all night staring at the ceiling and not being able to sleep, like an owl. I sometimes see an owl perching on a tree brach outside. It doesn't convey anything. Even the crow has taken the form of magpies. They are everywhere and fearless. They draw closer and closer to me if I have food in my hands. Brave and abated. YOu run instead of shooing them...cos' they come in gangs if you underestimate them.

Death is a place where there are more cars than the number of people. They (the cars) stand like beetles and crabs. How I wish they could be washed away by the waves lashing on the shore...

2nd November 2007

I got handed in a letter by the bank asking me to choose an insurance policy ($23.75 per month) so my loved ones don't have to worry about my funeral or liabilities when I die. It's worth $300,000. I just can't help thinking of the movie "Double Indemnity"! Makes me grin...only two days before my 23rd birthday!

My advice to all ye readers: insurance is a death trap. In fact, anything which makes a contract with you for more than 3 months is a death trap. Let the spiders weave it. Just ignore!

Monday, September 17, 2007

Laze around...

it's been long i haven't written anything mindless...disconnected....disjointed...yet meaningful...i want my sentences to do exactly what Eisenstein's montage does to meaning in films...i am sick of introduction, body and conclusion...sick of going by the rule...making my life a summary of the summaries that summarize the one big Summary...

what if i write an idea...and write another idea which is an implication of the former...but not having any conjunctive phrases to link??? what if??? i mean, are the readers of the brain too idle not to pick up the obvious link??? what if i choose to be a little cryptic?

moreover, what use is a conclusion if it doesn't say anything new not mentioned in the introduction??? i mean, whats the fun in writing if u cant surprise the reader in the end? it would reduce the fun to only reading the introduction....damn...

i need to breathe through words...not get stifled by them...

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Some Like It MONROE


Billy Wilder.

He may like it HOT...but I like it MONROE...

Film Genre and Perception

If we could think of films as paintings of different styles and forms, be it history painting, landscape or portrait painting, we would be able to solve only some of the problems of defining “film genre”. It is important to identify genre as a problem, and interpreting it, more so, at least from a film critic’s point of view. In Chapter 8 of his book “Image and Mind” (1995), Gregory Currie speaks extensively of the ‘interpretive problem’. He explores the ways in which film narrative and literary narrative differ. Others such as Noël Carroll and Richard Allen have theorized the nature of moving images in great lengths. Grodal presents models for interpreting film genre by transcending to a psychological perspective from a philosophical one. In this essay, we shall only ponder about film and film genres, and how we, as spectators or film critics, may interpret it.

Genre comes from the French word for ‘type’ or ‘kind’, which was initially used to categorize literary works or paintings, and is now widely used to classify films. The problem arises from the fact that no film of a particular genre can incorporate all the elements of that genre. In concomitant, no definition of genre is capable of defining all aspects of a film of a certain genre. (Langford 2005:Preface)

Genres are meant to be defining but not limiting a particular style or convention of all filmic elements. The building blocks of genre films are reflective of one another, thoroughly patronizing, and not original. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Genre). However, there is no hard and fast rule to that concept. Genres are able to attract a specific target audience and so they exploit our portion of the brain that loves repetition or wants to feed itself with overtures of the same iconography or narrative. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Genre). It is also surprising how the audience enjoy watching the kind and extent of violence that they would normally loathe in real life. (Altman 1996:279 in Langford 2005)

Torben Kragh Grodal has explored some of the important aspects of our thought processes which aid in our interpretation of films. He believes that “emotions are not irrational forces but necessary motivators for cognition and the possible resulting action”.(Grodal 1997) He describes how we interpret film genres from their narrative patterns, thus bringing about emotional effects in viewers. Signals from the screen travel via the visual cortex to the association areas and frontal areas, finally reaching the pre-motor areas of the brain. This process can be inhibited at any point or channeled in opposite directions to bring about a specific response in the viewer. According to his four-step model, it can be theorized that after the initial basic perception of image consisting of shapes, texture and figures, a memory matching occurs. The brain searches for visual cues that are stored in the memory as visual structures with affective values to be matched with the current image. A film which allows it to be represented/recognized in such a manner is termed as ‘lyrical’. The third step of this model involves “construction of diegesis”, which eventually leads to identification with the characters and/or context. This may produce different sorts of reactions, but Grodal stresses on three categories: voluntary telic (goal-oriented responses), paratelic responses (semi-voluntary ones that are repetitive and not goal-oriented), and autonomic responses (involuntary responses such as laughing, crying, shivering, or an increased heart beat rate). (Anderson 1998)

Cinematic images, like paintings, are ‘detached displays’ (i.e. they do not belong to the space and time the viewer resides in), but they differ in a way that in films, something or the other is happening, whereas in paintings there is no question of anything happening. This is because pictures or slides are static whereas films consist of moving pictures. However, this idea can easily be dismissed if we consider films of comic strips such as Oshima’s Band of Ninjas, or films of photos such as Godard & Gorin’s Letter to Jane and Michael Snow’s One Second in Montreal, or films made up of only sentences such as Michael Snow’s So Is This. Yet, the possibility and the expectation of movement in films will always be lurking in our minds, unless we are conditioned into repetitive viewing of static elements in films. Even then, stasis in films is always a stylistic choice rather than a necessity. It is aesthetically prescriptive in nature. On the other hand, describing paintings or slides as static is like stating the obvious. Carroll stresses that a more appropriate synonym for films is moving images rather than moving pictures, as the term image encompasses both pictures and abstractions. Then he goes on to locating the borderline between our perception of theatres in comparison with that of films by citing other theorists such as Roman Ingarden, elaborating on words versus spectacle as dominant factors in theatres and films respectively. He also engages in a fine brainstorming of the focus of performance in the two medium.(Carroll 1996) We may simplify our understanding of the matter as the difference between writing on a paper with pen and typing in a computer using a keyboard. The mental processes that differ in the two instances may be likened to the difference in perception of film narrative and literary narrative.

Richard Allen throws some light on fictional and non-fictional depictions being common in that both can be recognized by looking rather than by reading. To analyze depictions, it is important to recognize patterns without having to process imaginations of seeing the patterns. (Allen 1997). In her article on Cognitive Science and Film Theory, Cynthia Freeland ponders upon the debate of film as an illusion. She refers to two psychologists, Joseph Anderson and Ed S. Tan, who endorse the pro-illusion theory, as opposed to the philosophers Carroll and Currie who are contra. Anderson thinks of film as a set of illusive stimuli that can be run like a program in the viewer’s mind. (Freeland 1997). Contra-illusion theorists believe that the primitive subsystems of the brain cannot distinguish between an object seen and a depiction of the object seen. In such a theory, illusion is something that we can live with.(Currie 1995)

Film genres and sub-genres may be classified as the Western, the Musical, the War film, the Gangster movie, the horror film, the science-fiction film, Film Noir, the Documentary, the Holocaust film, Pornography, Transgenre and Metagenre films. But this is not a fully comprehensive list. When it comes to interpretation of films, Grodal’s typology of film genres is particularly helpful. This includes the canonical narrative, lyrical, obsession, melodrama, horror, schizoid, comical and the metafiction genre. The lyrical genre involves perceptual, nonlinear time, networks of associations, fusion of world and mind, intensities or saturations by proximal focus of attention, no telic enacting, possibly paratelic or autonomic 'motion'. Lyrical elements can be found in many film genres. The canonical narrative expression involves telic voluntary enacting (acting out), linear time, construction of objective world, cognitive and emphatic identification with subject, tension, distal focus of attention; the self is quite absorbed to the situation and the actions arise from intense, external desires or aversions. John Ford’s Stagecoach (1939) and Billy Wilder’s Double Indemnity (1944) are categorized as Western and Film Noir respectively but they can be both thought of having a canonical expression. Obsession involves paratelic/involuntary enacting, often progressive-regressive or non-linear time, some saturations and proximal focus of attention. Melodrama involves perceptual, causal enacting, autonomic reaction, construction of objective world, cognitive and empathic identification with 'object', fatalistic fusion of 'subject' with 'object', saturations and autonomic response combined with proximal focus of attention; one of two response is likely to occur - either positive (falling in love) or negative (tragedy). A lot of different kinds of films can have elements of melodrama in them. Early Neorealist films such as Roberto Rossellini’s Roma città aperta (Rome Open City, 1945) as well as many film noir movies have melodrama in them. Ritwik Ghatak’s Meghe Dhaka Tara(The Cloud-Capped Star, 1960), Komal Gandhar (E-Flat, 1961) and Jukti Takko Aar Gappo (Reason, Debate and a Story, 1974) have high melodramatic elements in them. Horror genre of films (e.g. Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960)) involve causal enacting, autonomic reaction, construction of subjective world, cognitive and emphatic identification with object, aversion between subject and object, tensions, saturations, or autonomic response, proximal focus of attention; the film experience derived from this genre consists of strong feelings of fright, hate, desire, heroic courage are enacted in a subjective world, experienced from the point of view of the victim. Schizoid films involve causal enacting, construction of subjective world, cognitive identification with object, fragmented space, intensities and saturations, proximal as well as distal focus of attention; the response is likely to be alienation, objectivation, the self is cued to take a 'voyeuristic' position. Comics involve causal and autonomic enacting, rejection of emphatic identification with object, rejection of objective world, autonomic response; the response is autonomic (parasympathetic) reception at a high level of arousal, based on a redefinition of the reality-status of the arousing phenomenon, and we laugh at the failures of the protagonists. Billy Wilder’s Some Like it Hot (1959) is clearly a comic. Some comedies of Chaplin are also capable of making us cry and laugh at different point. The metafiction genre involves mediated identification with subjects and objects via cognitive and emphatic 'frames' (personae, all types of schemata), several focuses of attention; the response is mastering, learning, true ideals, self development
strategies for avoiding conflict
idealized self images. (http://www.olavegeland.com/epm37.htm). Many of Satyajit Ray’s films such as Pather Panchali (Song of the Little Road, 1955), Aparajito (The Unvanquished, 1956) and Apur Sansar (The World of Apu, 1959) are metagenre films according to Grodal’s typology, but are otherwise known to be feature films.

All said and done, it is important to appreciate film as a language, with the shots as words, the mise-en-scene as letters of the word, with editing and cuts resembling conjunctions and punctuations. The language of cinema is that of the camera mostly. In such contexts, it would be incomplete not to mention montage: Eisenstein noticed that if different shots, each meaningful on its own, can be joined together, a structured filmic sentence would emerge. If a shot doesn’t have a distinctive meaning of its own, it can be joined to another similar shot or a one completely opposite in meaning to the former one, to make a sentence out of a film. This technique of making meaningful shots directs the feelings and moods of the viewers, and undoubtedly serves to convey what the director actually prescribed.(Ray 1982) Again, we may please to think of the gaps between each paragraph in an essay as a montage. A montage may sometimes act as a brain-breather, especially following scenes which are quite intense. Paragraphs in an essay allow us to tread upon different seemingly unrelated aspects of the same topic or argument. Our mental processes are such that the moment we finish reading one paragraph and move on to the next, our preconceived notions prepare our mind to read a totally opposite, new and/or an elaborated form of the former paragraph. The same aim can be achieved for shots in a film joined together in a montage.

How we perceive film genres may vary between cultures and different regions. But as long as we have film as a language of its own, film makers and film critics will follow a certain grammar to interpret film. According to Ray, Westerns have a more ballad-like quality which is missing in Gangster films, which have harshness and less well-defined qualities. He also likens the twirl of lethal weapon around a finger to a trill or turn in Mozart or Haydn. (Ray 1976). André Bazin speaks of the lyricism in Westerns that the landscape and other iconographic elements have to offer. (Bazin 1956). Interpretation of film by mass viewers may vary substantially between people of the same culture/religion, let alone people of different regional or cultural origin. In 21st Century, the concept of genre is getting more and more complex and we are offered with films that have elements of different genres put together.

REFERENCES

Genre. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Genre

Film experience as a prototype for Self Experience http://www.olavegeland.com/epm37.htm

Allen, R. (1997). Looking at Motion Pictures. Film Theory and Philosophy. R. A. a. M. Smith. Oxford, Oxford University Press: 88-89.

Anderson, B. (1998). "Review: [Untitled]." Film Quarterly 52(Autumun No. 1): 87-88. http://www.jstor.org/cgi-bin/jstor/printpage/00151386/ap040145/04a00520/0.pdf?backcontext=page&dowhat=Acrobat&config=jstor&userID=96cb72ba@anu.edu.au/01cc99331600501c5cccf&0.pdf

Bazin, A. (1956). "Beauty of a Western." Cahiers du cinema 55(January).

Carroll, N. (1996). Theorizing Moving Image. New York, Cambridge University Press.

Currie, G. (1995). Image and Mind. New York, Cambridge University Press.

Freeland, C. (1997). Cognitive Science and Film Theory. Santa Fe, American Society for Aesthetics. 2007. http://www.class.uh.edu/cogsci/CogSciFilmTheory.html

Grodal, T. (1997). Moving Pictures. New York, Oxford University Press.

Langford, B. (2005). Film Genre. Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press Limited.

Ray, S. (1976). Our Films, Their Films. Calcutta, Orient Longman Limited.

Ray, S. (1982). Speaking of Films. New Delhi, Penguin Books India.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

A Lullaby for the CM of WB



Tuesday, March 27, 2007

7:06:34 PM

Why don’t you try all these in Calcutta??? Yes, why not??? Come on, you are the government...come out and rape as many women and children you like…come on, I can see your balls under your white dhoti…unleash all your desires. Just knock at every door. Citizens will be pleased to offer you Rasna and you can relax, cool down your scrotum to just the right temperature and start raping women and the children…you can start with your own daughter as a symbol of incest…

If you think you can’t handle all the voluptuous women all by yourself, employ your followers…give them a chance…they will be more than happy to bask in perverse pleasure…the city waits for you Mr. CM. It wants to be fucked…

You don’t need Tata cars to secretly spend your desires…there’s no need to do all that behind the black glasses of your car…The city needs no Book Fair, it just wants to be fucked…by you…

The whole city has become a brothel…the journalists, the protesters, the young and the rebellious…they all want to be fucked by you, Buddha…just once…see what happens…this whole state is a big brothel, Mr. CM…enjoy it…exploit it…give it an orgasm…just be careful of what you may find on the other side of the orgasm…

Thursday, March 15, 2007

No Direction Home...

Saturday, March 03, 2007

Run Lola Run: A Review


Lola rennt is just another example of success in film-making, which results from the script-writer, director and the music director being the same person. That’s right, Tom Tykwer. Although this movie has ample elements of fantasy and fairy-tale twists, it basically dwells in the realm of metaphysical questions of our existence and fate, and thus, also to see if we can change our fate or not.

The scenes revolve in this trivial set of events that lead to the final result, as Lola runs to accomplish her mission in 20min. Here, the distance between her boyfriend Manni and the 100,000marks is only an excuse that triggers Lola to traverse through a set of seemingly unimportant events, which evidently take shape as defining factors, as Lola plunges into these same chain-of-events for the first, second and third time.

Like a theoretical physicist, Tykwer explores three possibilities of an uncertain future to any given, existing problem of Life. Here, the problem being as ultimate as Death. In a way, he also brings Death closer to show how Life is interconnected to Death only by a set of events. Through Lola’s running, he seems to shorten the span of time connecting Life and the inevitability of Death. Tykwer seems to stress on that in the first of the 3 possibilities, by giving clippings of what (death) will happen to the woman who simply passes by at Lola's father's office.

Surprisingly, the only factor that doesn’t seem to change is Lola’s mother, who keeps on being a telephonic philanderer with astrological obsessions, all throughout the three possibilities. Perhaps, her mentioning of the zodiac sign Sagittarius has something to do with running after any goal/challenge at hand. Tykwer probably wants to catch the film observer’s attention by implying that you can either go about your desired goal blindly, or knowingly, in which case you are more likely to succeed. In the three episodic possibilities, the protagonist (Lola) seems to get more and more conscious of trivial events as deciding factors. Her consciousness reaches an almost supernatural, semi-god height, each time she traverses the same path. This is noted by her ability to break glasses by screaming; each time, her power to do that increases. Her ability to scream and break glasses seems linearly proportional to her being able to control the situation.

As Lola transits from the first to the second chance, and from the second to the third, the events around her take the shape of a space-time warp, that gets more and more spiral, thus setting her free from the circle that seems to somehow bind her to her fate. Visual references to that are seen in the restaurant sign through the glass of the phone booth Manni called from, and also as the receiver and chord went spiraling as Lola keeps her receiver to start running.

There’s also a bit of off-the-hook soul-searching that goes on after Lola dies and after Manni dies, igniting honest and insightful questions in our mind about human relationships. These scenes, just like the tripartite movie itself, tell of other possibilities that are considered in human relationships. The element of uncertainty seems to be recurring.

Another factor that is defined from the very beginning is Lola’s father. That he is not going to help her is fixed, unchangeable. So is the cursing of the woman with the baby: she curses Lola all the three times even though Lola consciously keeps herself from falling onto her the third time.

All the other characters seem to be oblivious of Lola’s journey in the three possibilities, except for the guard at her father’s bank, who greets her as “princess Lola” and seems to almost know that she can make it, in this life or the next.

During the first episode of Lola running, Tykwer probably takes few conscious shots of camera moving in the opposite direction to her running, giving us visual clues of her not succeeding. Likewise, there are plenty of changes that occur in the last episode, especially that of the bicyclist finding the ragged-old man with Manni’s bag of money, and to satisfy it all, Manni getting back his bag from him, may account for Lola starting to believe in omens, and in signs that tell her of the possible outcome. This can be accounted for in the background oriental music in the film as well.

Strangely, we also see that Manni behaved as if nothing happened after Lola came on time with the sum of money after exhausting so much of her determination and will. To have done all that, and gaining new awareness into what keeps time and space ticking, not get as much as an acknowledgement from Manni, sets her wondering quizzically about rhymes and reasons. And there it all ends, as the camera freezes and cuts of in a close-shot of Manni, as Lola doesnt disclose the contents of her bag.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

And He Lives...



Okay...I was supposed to upload pictures of Australia....but, never mind...But it's so wonderful to find a Che-ist organization called Resistance in my University in Canberra here in Australia...could anyone have guessed???


Some things remain...



Modhu da's Canteen...Dhaka University....


Saturday, January 27, 2007

Hola...

Sometimes I like to talk to you this way. I mean, of course you would listen to me if I called you directly, or even sent you an email. But sometimes, I dont know, I get sick of the new tabs, new windows and different account for blog, e-mail, networks etc. If I could do all with one explorer, whether mozilla, opera or microsoft, I would choose this. Yes. More Likely.

And it makes things more interesting, you see. Isn't it fun to look at somebody from the corner of your eye for a change rather than staring directly? But of course, if you tried that all the time, you could turn cross-eyed...then, it surely wouldn't be interesting anymore...

I was just wondering about the movie "Guru". I can't decide whether to praise Abhishek's acting or notice his resemblances to Ratan Tata!

My days are spent in a suspended waiting condition. I'm becoming a couch-potato. It's sickening. You should really see Cyrus's spoof on Simi Garewaal, mocked as Semi Girebaal...It's hilarious to the point of being ridiculous...or vice versa...whichever.

I'm not being able to read books at the pace I should, now that I have so much time to spend in solitude...It's always been that way.

I hate BSS! What does he think of himself? He thinks he can get away with such petty crime? He neither has quality nor grace. Neither honesty nor intelligence. And surely has zero personality. He is disillusioned into thinking he has a penis but I'm sure he has an ass stuck up just there, I'm NOT sorry to say that...His age doesn't/shouldn't call for any respect, cos' he has no self-respect either...I'll barge into his Bank one day, and tell everybody what he did for 200 rupees...I would even spend 300 taka just to make him feel bad...Reminds me of "The Mummy":

Eveline: I would pay 100 pounds to save this man's life...
Egyptian Jailor: Madam, I would pay 100 pounds just to see him hanged!

My keyboard isn't working...the key for letter A isn't working...So am having to type these in some other comp...

I don't want this visa anymore now. I really don't...I want to know what you saw in the last CD of the Woodstock video...

Thursday, January 04, 2007

That evening




On a bandh day...over a bridge...

Where's my cheque???

Damn...I miss those days so much...What is BSS doing??? Why can't he just pay us for our service? Mr. Ghosal, why can't you just threat this guy to give us our earned sum of money??? May be you should contact DSS to coax BSS to give us what we deserve...

Monday, January 01, 2007

Talking John Birch Paranoid Blues

(there ain't nothing wrong with this song...)

Well, I was feelin' sad and feelin' blue,
I didn't know what in the world I was gonna do,
Them Communists they wus comin' around,
They wus in the air,
They wus on the ground.
They wouldn't gimme no peace. . .

So I run down most hurriedly
And joined up with the John Birch Society,
I got me a secret membership card
And started off a-walkin' down the road.
Yee-hoo, I'm a real John Bircher now!
Look out you Commies!

Now we all agree with Hitlers' views,
Although he killed six million Jews.
It don't matter too much that he was a Fascist,
At least you can't say he was a Communist!
That's to say like if you got a cold you take a shot of malaria.

Well, I wus lookin' everywhere for them gol-darned Reds.
I got up in the mornin' 'n' looked under my bed,
Looked in the sink, behind the door,
Looked in the glove compartment of my car.
Couldn't find 'em . . .

I wus lookin' high an' low for them Reds everywhere,
I wus lookin' in the sink an' underneath the chair.
I looked way up my chimney hole,
I even looked deep inside my toilet bowl.
They got away . . .

Well, I wus sittin' home alone an' started to sweat,
Figured they wus in my T.V. set.
Peeked behind the picture frame,
Got a shock from my feet, hittin' right up in the brain.
Them Reds caused it!
I know they did . . . them hard-core ones.

Well, I quit my job so I could work alone,
Then I changed my name to Sherlock Holmes.
Followed some clues from my detective bag
And discovered they wus red stripes on the American flag!
That ol' Betty Ross . . .

Well, I investigated all the books in the library,
Ninety percent of 'em gotta be burned away.
I investigated all the people that I knowed,
Ninety-eight percent of them gotta go.
The other two percent are fellow Birchers . . . just like me.

Now Eisenhower, he's a Russian spy,
Lincoln, Jefferson and that Roosevelt guy.
To my knowledge there's just one man
That's really a true American: George Lincoln Rockwell.
I know for a fact he hates Commies cus he picketed the movie Exodus.

Well, I fin'ly started thinkin' straight
When I run outa things to investigate.
Couldn't imagine doin' anything else,
So now I'm sittin' home investigatin' myself!
Hope I don't find out anything . . . hmm, great God!

- Bob Dylan

Friday, December 29, 2006

Singur Jolchhe...Jolchhe Rajpathh

I wanted to start this writing with "It makes me feel dizzy looking at the so-called 'comprehensive' facts and figures of Mr. Absolutist...", and also exhibit my ability to use phrases with double meanings by saying "...I still can't convince myself to be a 'blind ally' of the Left Front govt. from the lucrative, confident numbers provided by this same Mr. Absolutist" with the 'e' constantly trying to pop in and out of l and y of ally...so on and so forth...but I WILL NOT! I will not do that cos I can't sit back in front of the monitor and enjoy this steaming argument, for I now know exactly what's happening in Singur...It's people's lives that are in question here...Not some debate between a certain Mr. Absolutist and the good number of anonymous individuals patronizing my previous post! And moreover, it's pointless to argue with the kind of morons who are born and brought up in Bengal and claim that they can't understand Bengali in Roman script...whereas these morons claim to understand the underlying genius of the works and life of Satyajit Ray...obviously failing to grasp the detective genius of Feluda or Shanku...but never mind...

I have got first-hand information of what's happening in Singur:

1. Farmers are now pauperized and hence they have no fear in cursing the CM with the worst slangs possible.
2. The farmers themselves informed that the CPM govt. have actually grabbed 1400-1500 acres of land, contrary to their claim of the dwindling 997 acres.
3. CPI(M) is terrorizing the farmers in Singur, going as far as to cut off electricity connections of houses of farmers, who are rebelling.

(The above info is taken from Singur itself on 22nd Dec 2006)

My salutes to the youth who risked their lives in making it to Singur to get to know the actual facts the govt. is trying to hide...My heartfelt congratulations to those who returned alive after dodging the police and the RAF, who were hunting them, lest these youngsters get to know the actual truth. With the true spirit of Mahatma Gandhi, they were not armed, contrary to the popular belief Mr. Absolutist holds and tries to propagate...My advice to my comrades: please carry lighters cos they can help you from the irritation of tear gas. Do not use water, since that will irritate your eyes further...light a matchstick and hold it in front of your eyes...

Forget the lucrative facts and figures...what does your common sense tell you? How the hell is it possible for the govt. to ensure permanent employment to these farmers when the state itself suffers from a high unemployment rate at this very instant? Just, how???

If there had been "elaborate consultations with the local population" truly made, why would the police have to torture innocent men and women of Singur? Please...if these are wild stories, then the story of 40 women and innumerable labourers in "extensive community development projects" is a wilder fiction and extremely alarming.

The CPI(M) double standards are all the more emphasized when the CM gave a speech asking people to go to Singur and find out what kind of 'development' is under construction there...now, we all know there's a bloody 144 out there...how will people go and find out???

Why were the journalists beaten up if the govt. is so clean?

Medha Patkar wasnt armed...If she is considered an outsider, then what was Brinda Karat outside Kolkata?And both Kolkata and Singur are in West Bengal; Delhi and Kolkata are places of the same country...then where does the word "outsider" come from??? Should we say that Netaji shouldn't have lead the people of his country outside Bengal? Should Mahatma Gandhi be treated as an outsider in Barisal? Then Che Guevara must have been a forlorn alien in Cuba, Congo and Bolivia...

And of course this is my battle too, if CPI(M) prides itself in rallying against the execution of Saddam...

The true picture is overwhelmingly fascinating...From the very beginning of his term, the CM engaged the state into building housings in the suburbs of Kolkata...and they are mighty cheap and affordable, we all know...The idea was to attract the 'middle class' people to the suburbs thereby creating a market for cars. The USA witnessed a similar game of politics, commercialization and industrialization when the Ford car factory was established.

The CPI(M) govt. knew all along that they had to grab the lands of Singur, by hook or by crook, sooner or later. In this way, a whole new generation of middle class citizens will be gradually wiped out from the state...they will get richer by the day, whilst the poor will only get poorer and poorer...some of the poor, landless, paupers will die...what a way to replenish poverty with death! The CPI(M)'s idea of "development" is such an unfailing "feel-good" factor...How good-humored of CU to award D.Lit. to Jyoti Basu at such a time, for "standing beside ordinary, root-level people"!

In Singur on 18th Dec'2006, a 17 year old local girl, Taposhi Malik, was gang-raped by the police and the people of CPM, and was burnt alive! What do YOU say to that? Get YOUR facts straight...it's unfortunate that one should never get to know these facts since they are blind supporters of CPI(M)...The responsibility of the state govt. police didn't end there: they forced the father of the dead girl to sign a forged note, which said that the girl committed suicide,but the poor man refused to do so...The dead body was then taken for Post Mortem but the Human Rights Commission wasn't allowed to witness it...ora aro boro 'bohiragoto' kina...All hail to the Left Front Communism and its democracy!!!

News channels like Star Ananda and Chobbish Ghanta are busy broadcasting news that Taposhi Malik committed suicide. Why are they doing this is beyond my comprehension...Are they simply trying to back CPI(M) or are themselves terrorized by the fact that the journalists are being beaten up nowadays?

Who's doing violence? The ultra-Leftists or the govt. Leftists? The govt. Leftists are more powerful in that they can exploit armed forces as and when they feel like, but these ultra-leftists can't...If Trinamool Congress hurled bombs in Singur, they could have kept doing the same...why did they choose to fast then? I personally am doubtful of the ideals and actions of TMC...but I believe that they can spare to stay away from this issue to truly save the people of Singur...That way, the CPI(M) can no longer cover this whole issue as TMC's mindless opposition-for-the-sake-of-opposition against them! The veil can then be lifted from people's eyes that this is a struggle for the survival and existence of the people of Singur, not some political humdrum between CPM and TMC.

TMC can probably care to protest against land-grabbing in Maharashtra, or against Congress in Haryana...But that's for TMC to decide. I can only decide what I can do...

................................

To Mr. Moron Rising:
Yes, I did write this...this is polite way of saying "Think before you speak (or kick!)"...you can't obviously prove me wrong I'm sure and we seriously have no room for debate, cos I am dealing with facts, and you, fiction...just a word of advice: DO NOT ADVISE!





Saturday, December 09, 2006

I Rebel!

Saturday, December 09, 2006
12:52:49 AM

You just cannot take away people’s lands like that just to build people’s cars…because these people who lose their lands will never be able to buy tata sumo vehicles, no matter how cheap they are in the car market…

Communism is not about dictatorship…Those who think so and act and deliver speeches accordingly, will soon be pregnant with an empty stomach, when all the land will be sold to whosoever…They will probably be happy even at their deathbed when they will have to import cereals and animal stock from developed countries…or better still, consume all that is coming from the leftover crops, and leave all the rural people to starve not at their own will…There is nothing as shameful and unfortunate as possessing a conscience that never pricks…

Perhaps, their conscience has no right to prick cos they are so cultured, refined, well-versed-in-the-language-of-Gabriel-Garcia-Marquez, and unparalleled in their “intellect”…

Hitler is much better than the Janus-faced Stalin…Perhaps it’s time we start saying CPS and not CPM!!!

Well, well…who am I to state such things…am not even Indian…Ami Karl Marx er baba re… tai bolchhi… Who, then, the hell was Marx to talk about Russia???

"Let me ask you one question
Is ur money that good?
Will it buy you forgiveness?
Do you think that it could?
I think you will find,
when ur death takes its toll,
All the money that you made
Will never buy back your soul

And I hope that you die
And I hope it comes soon
I will follow your casket
On the pale afternoon
Then I'll watch while you're lowered
Into your deathbed
And I'll stand ov'r ur grave
Till I'm sure that you're dead!"

Bob Dylan in "Masters of War"

There’s no point having arguments with those who believe in dictatorship…it’s even pointless to try and prove them wrong…that would be the same as proving over and over again Newton’s Thrid Law to someone who hates science…

Oops, we are not even supposed to compare while debating!!! Baper shompotti naki re debate??? Even the rule of debating is set by dictatorship??? The world is weighed on the basis of comparison…Even the blind and stubborn banda who believes in dictatorship, what does he mean by it??? He means he doesn’t believe in democracy…even that, what the hell, is a comparison…everything we feel, think, measure, conclude is based upon some kind of comparison…I feel like I am spoon-feeding, such a drag it is…

Democracy mutilated and misused is simply a demo of how crazy people in power can become…

When someone agrees on dictatorship, it’s entirely WRONG and UNNECESSARY for him to “justify” why it’s right to grab the lands of the people of Singur… And what audacity to claim that he “KNOWS” everything…The more I see, I feel so sorry…and so happy for myself, that I still possess a mind that’s not selfish and is ruled by logic, reason and humanity…I may not have been able to finish reading “Love in the time of Cholera”, and I haven’t read much about communism either…am almost a moron…but I am proud to be a “human” first, if nothing else…

What would he, this all-knowing person, do if a few miscreants beat him up for no reason until he was almost breathless and what if they took away his house from him, without giving him any official assurance that he would be given APPROPRIATE and SUFFICIENT COMPENSATION? Would he not resist? Would he not fight back or at least try to raise some moral questions in their minds? He may sleep happily now arguing that the people of Singur would be rehabilitated…Fucking hell, NOBODY WANTS TO SWEEP OR STAND GUARD INSTEAD OF REAPING THE REWARDS OF HIS OWN LAND!!! One can’t just build paradise on others’ graveyards…

Why? I wouldn’t give away my land even if I got compensation for a lifetime… It’s MY LAND, or MY HOUSE, if I am the owner, and nobody dares trespass!!! If a government exists, that can and will grab my land or my house without my will, such a government is nothing but a pirate…and a parasite…

And we all know how one should get rid of parasites…and we all know what should be done to those who patronize such parasites and become obligate parasites themselves…

When Fuser Came...


Monday, December 04, 2006
1:20:52 AM

Life can happen at the brink of repairing motorcycles…or at any such excuses…

The alibi had to go and the pitch was theirs…He sat for a while, unsure, scared of unleashing out to the woman-he-met-among-bizarre-mannequins. Could not even look at her or manage a childish hug or something…sheltered inside overt reluctance.

And then Life happened, just like Death.

Truth lay under their very eyes that had to be kept closed, for deep purple scars blossomed out of Life (or Death) have blinded them with wild, ultra-violet rays…It’s so strange to be felt au naturel with anyone, and not a single detail could be allowed to pass disregarded. Suddenly, there’s a feeling of imperfection, until he turned her towards the earth and she felt perfection again…the smell of cotton-wool, flesh, sweat, heat, blood, breath, Death…and Life longed for eternity…as if they had never known Burgmann’s winter even by December…He freed her mind out of leprosy, which had so long waited for its revolutionary saviour…The saviour, who cannot be sought, must come to you…

To savour the saviour is quite a valour…

She made it sure she didn’t have to lose him into thin air, just for the heck of savouring…such was the light, feathery and almost illusive clasp of his…The translucent glass lavished iridescent wavelengths over the historical furniture of the morrow. He revelled at the glimpse of peace, glaciated with the taste of bliss…Peace is a long, dark trail into the microcosm where mysteries rule…a passage, that needs to be hued with purple sky, carpeted with red…And like crafty Persian rug-makers, he left a tiny flaw pompously, for her to pout and wonder and bite nails through till midnight…The Almighty could have almost grinned at his own mischief of creating rug-makers, who fail to offend Him…but even He dared not to prove his existence…

It’s in the ‘guessing’ that he finds his coming, playfully leaving her with a sweet little curse of finding much the same in ‘knowing’. With his tiny flaw, Death was spent and Life was packed in the most sacredly guarded doubt…

The revelation bubbled about in the room and the alibi never returned with his repaired bike…

Friday, December 08, 2006

Ghostly...

Cake Babies

When Fuser Sat On The Grass...

well...ahem...

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

SLIPPED...EXCUSED...

Thursday, September 21, 2006
12:25:44 AM

456? Excuse slip?Present sir…will show my slip in the next class!
……
……
…..
…..
463? Excuse slip?
(same as 456)
464? Excuse slip?
(all the more same as 463)
…….
…….

….
472?
Yes Sir!
474?
Yes Sir!…
….(maybe, 473 is right at the end…I hope, unwillingly…)

….
489?Absent (minded)!

Once again, no 473s in the register…like some elapsed convict, who was either released or have fled from jail…I raise up my arm only half-expecting to be asked for an excuse slip, even before making an entry into the register that had always been reluctant of 473…

HOD writes my name and roll no. in the register and ticks at his own veiled discretion…he is too ashamed to even ask me for an excuse slip…as if such slips can console my pain for always being left out or measure up to my tolerance level for over a year! Not to mention the occasional patience quality control team (BOB) who volunteered almost involuntarily to shuck a grin or express their irritation every time I fought for my number and my attendance, never mind the poor attention I paid in all the classes…

What’s so wrong with the number 473, I wonder…numerology would consider 473 as 4+7+3=14=1+4=5…so 5 is the number…and since I am born on the 4th, 5 is an anti-number for me…so is 3…perhaps, a 4 person is hard to be represented or roll numbered as 5.
Nevertheless, nothing does really stop for 473!


We had our elections and Linux won…any day! With the source code open for all in this laissez-faire world, Linux can win any day, leaving poor Vinay the beaten underdog, for the third and the last time in the history of BSc. Computer Science, Session: 2004-05! I say “poor Vinay” particularly because he had nothing left to even mask his shame, only to be ‘read’ by someone who taught us how to do quality control of software…

But seriously, what’s wrong with 473??? Elections, excuse slips and Vinay’s sob apart, what’s so unreal about 473 in the register??? Does it take a lot of space inside that hideous register?

Didn’t do JGD…couldn’t stand the thought of another missed out 473!

Saturday, September 23, 2006

Turn, turn, turn...

Friday, September 22, 2006
12:23:13 PM

To gripe would be under-doing…he was tired of imagination that was only to be smashed by the prosaic reality…or, was it real at all?

Let’s not think about it at all…let’s lie in the soothing arms of Chimera and alleviate poignancy.

Love rolls over the muddy broken pitch…crawls over evoked mountains and flies off in parachutes…feeds on human flesh, overjoyed by paranoia…cancels itself, and condenses into the singularity of a chocolate…damn!

A forgotten poem…
A half-remembered letter…
A crescent dream…

So much for love…is there another word for it?

Synonyms would scare you: bang, eff, bonk, fuck, passion, screw, hump, jazz, have sex, sleep with…

Sleep WITH…and not sleep OVER WITH…hmm…

Are you sick with love or cloyed with honey in your gullet???

None of the above…none whatsoever…

It’s just his eyes…paired, scorched, questioning, burning, self-evasive, giving, behind locked collapsible gates…and when they meet hers when she least expects it, she doesn’t even know how to avoid his gaze…it’s the only time he sees her true colors, or at least seems to…but then, instead of baring her soul, and instead of avoiding the gaze, she engages herself in the marvelously painful task of masking the fabric that made her, like an expert con artist...and then he talks to her like she was the one who wanted to bare his soul in the first place! In place of paired exotic eyes, she contracts a virulent strain that would make her eyes scorched, questioning, burning, self-evasive...and surprisingly, ruthless!

All of the above…all of them…

It’s strange how much clarity you can get from psychedelic paradox…

High On Grass...

Tuesday, August 22, 2006
11:13:34 PM

He rolled the filter paper and filled it with grass that he tore and grounded on his palm with much care and ardor, like a young man writhing on his beloved…the wild smell filled the nothingness around and the wind blew past them, the small group, which waited for him to finish making whatever it was that would make them lighter as grasshoppers, so that bats could walk in daylight and crows could pair with the pigeons…

The other groups stared at them, making their own grass, as though a non-verbal competition had challenged them. He made it rather inexpertly, but finished before the rest…he smiled at her and she stretched out to smoke some of it…they took turns, the girl, the boy, him, him, the girl, the boy…all destined to laugh incessantly, until they grew tired of it.

The sky grew darker and darker with cumulus clouds… The goddess of Parthenon drew closer towards them and love scattered in all directions…

“I love apple juice…how good the original sin tastes!” she said.

“What??? Are you alright???” asked the goddess.

“Nevah mind…” she answered.

“What do you survive on with such madness?” the goddess asked again hopelessly.

“Grass…my friend…” was all she said, without finding anything more brilliant to say at the moment and resumed her laughter.

She got up to the basketball court and dribbled along witlessly…he watched her with stoned eyes…

“Purotai khepa!” he remarked and the rain poured down abruptly…

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

The Cafe Philosopher

The absurd creatures devoured more of the absurd drink. It was not even evening, and the hysterical trunks came in, devoured and filed out to the invisible world they came from. And in between all the commotion, there was a lot of gaping, blankness and all the discussion of the world. Time froze into coma, and man was condemned to be free, as our surreal philosopher puts it.

He made the decision cos’ it’s all wrong for him. All his life, he took the right decision, and when the time was ripe it proved to be wrong…So this time he is all equipped to make the one wrong decision of a lifetime and evolve it into something very right…

“Am I the right one for you?” he asked.

“No, you are pretty much the left one for me…”, she answered.

His jukebox played on “Love Me Two Times”…and he listed all the non-reasons:

1. It’s the wrong(est) of times.
2. It’s absurd.
3. You don’t have to murder your atheism in the whole process.
4. What the hell…it’s all bloody well too different, dammit! And different for the better, mind you.

He threw the list away…took another sip of the preposterous drink and went on philosophizing the history…like some lousy archeologist digging out a forgotten UFO.

He just couldn’t stand the two women who rambled on about sun signs, moon signs and ascendants…

Thursday, May 04, 2006

BACK FROM THE CITY

Wednesday, April 19, 2006
11:24:15 PM

Ahem…so here I am, transformed…once again…for better. It had been a helluva emotional roller coaster for me this April. I was in Dhaka, my hometown…rather my homecity…and it had been quite enriching from every angle, despite the initial confusion and anxiety due to my father’s illness. Just a couple of hours delay at the airport while flying off to Dhaka, and all was well with the world…It’s just so lovely to fly off in the middle of the night! I could see the stars above and the lights below…what a magnificent view! Only a flight over The Himalayas can challenge such an extraordinary view. It seemed like I was a light year nearer to the constellations…I hated when the lights went on inside the craft after the initial take-off period.

I discovered a new fast food chain-store this time called American Burger in Dhaka…ironically, it had the best chicken sandwiches I ever tasted…toasted bread with the brownish borders chopped off, crisp and highly palatable, unlike any sandwiches here at Kolkata…and the chicken inside…ummm, don’t even want to remind myself about it…it was so damn good, man! I won’t reveal the goodness of the chicken by describing the exact taste like Hemingway…instead I must…and I repeat, I must mention the books I got back from HOME…well, HOME???…huh, well, yeah…HOME:

Chariots of The Gods? – Daniken
Return of The Gods – Daniken
According to The Evidence – Daniken
The Paranormal Files – S.R. Webb & Sons
Alien Base – Timothy Good
Lust For Life (a fictional biography of Van Gogh) – Irving Stone
Classic Folk Tales From Around The World
From Socrates To Sartre: A Philosophical Quest – T.Z. Lavine
The Puma’s Shadow – A.B. Daniel
The Misanthrope & Other Plays – Moliere
Persuasion – Jane Austen
The Complete Works Of Shakespeare
La Nuit Bengali – Mircia Eliad
Inshallah – Oriana Fallaci

I gave away my Robin Cook novels and A Beautiful Mind by Sylvia Nassar to a friend before coming to Calcutta…

And some lovely Science Fiction stories by Md. Zafar Iqbal, Bengali novels by Humayun Ahmed…and the Western thrillers and Masud Rana thrillers from “Sheba Prokashoni”…and much much more…

I did not, and I could not bring War And Peace by Leo Tolstoy (well, duh, who else?)…and Frankenstein by we all know who…I did not make the mistake of bringing “Pride & Prejudice” and “Emma”…And I did bring “Jane Eyre”, but didn’t find “Heidi”…damn!

And I brought “Brer Rabbit Again” by Enid Blyton…lovely stories they are, man!
Let’s not burden ye readers with the CDs I brought…whenever things get smoother for me, I am reminded of the sine curve which depicts the symmetry of everything existing in nature…good times are almost always followed by bad times and vice versa…I installed Pepsi Desktop Theme from an old CD in my new comp…it’s utterly ludicrous…and I love it!

I am so pleased to get back my Sketch Book…I got the Warrior Women sketch I made…did I not whine about it a lot??? Damn! I can’t believe I got everything back…even my guitar! Joan Baez, please shed all your talents at my direction…And I pray to the souls of Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Bob Marley, Don McLean and the rest, living and dead…

Let’s not discuss anymore about what I got…I am through with it now…Just amuse yourself, if you will, when you know about the momentary turbulence I had to suffer inside the aircraft while flying back to Calcutta…The poor F28 craft got itself in the midst of a mild storm, which was skillfully survived by the young, handsome and able pilot (I know he’s handsome cos I met him later at the airport at Dumdum!)…man, I didn’t even spill my cola drink during the incident! And I must mention the smoothness of the landing…what a pilot! I experienced the most comfortable landing in my whole damn life of flying far and wide…I wish I knew the pilot’s name and contact no. Does he have a blog??? Uhmmm…not a possibility…ananya, just get a grip of yourself! I mean, don’t fall for a pilot, at least…they are pretty dumb besides being able to fly that Foker craft…

And just forgot to mention: Meroon, don’t be so excited about my blog…there’s nothing in it except my full-of-incidents yet dull life…so don’t close down your ‘space’ in msn…and I hope we meet like this every-time I am in Dhaka…and don’t worry about girls not falling for you…remember, masturbation is the key to all human loneliness…don’t laugh, it’s true…I mean, I don’t really mean the literal masturbation here…I mean to say that one has to find ways to be happy with himself…and that’s the key to….DAMN!!! When did I start talking like this??? Just don’t listen to me…I don’t talk much sense these days, which is again, a very good thing to develop!

Fooled by Food!

Saturday, April 01, 2006
9:10:26 PM

Had brilliant food after a long, long time…the chilly roast pork was too good…I am not much of a pork glutton, but it was too good to deny. Thanks to Shubhro. So much better to celebrate shubhro’s birthday instead of April Fool’s day. Interestingly, we were talking of Ham Radio while having pork…

I fooled my mother in the morning…the best way anyone could fool me ever was on 1998. Now, don’t expect me to remember the time…the date is too obvious…Fatty apologized for her little sister who tore my childhood photo that I gave her…I was so upset…it’s just the sort of thing to fool me…when I was nearly sulking to great heights, she produced the photo out of her bag…Schooldays, ahh! They were so lovely. I’m sure everyone would agree on this.

I had a very strange dream yesterday night. Well, ‘strange’ is not new for me…but the dream is…I saw myself in Puri, Orissa. It was nighttime…I saw that I was strolling towards the beach, anticipating the glimpse of the vast ocean…the kind of vastness that can make you speechless…in other words, scared…blissfully scared, to be more precise…but when I went there, a stinky pond appeared, and someone told me that the beach has shifted somewhere else, a bit farther…and when I stroll a little farther, I see a very, very HIGH wave…very high…well, very tall…the kind that can hit you in a Tsunami…I mean, you wouldn’t be alive to keep seeing it…but in the dream, the wave just kept on soaring higher and higher and never seemed to fall on its trough…now, this can only possibly happen if the earth was of an elongated, oval shape…then perhaps gravity would have acted in a different manner…what a metaphysically stimulating dream!

Phew!

Monday, March 27, 2006
10:43:00 PM

I have nothing to write now…there’s nothing I can think of right now…I think I have lost it…just like I lost my sketching skills before…I have lost my thoughts that weave into writing…I am cursed…I am sure somebody did voodoo on me…I will be at a loss of words for a long stretch of time…I have a feeling like that…can u believe how excruciatingly torturesome it is for me? Even if I do write something, it won’t do the blah blah for the blah blah…see, I have lost all means of expression…I have to do with blah blah since I can’t think of an appropriate idiom…in fact, I can’t think of anything whatsoever…

This is of no good, I can assure it…I will only divulge myself into more of natal chart interpretation…I have already started it…it’s utter witchcraft, man…the only thing I can think of right at this moment is I am having a bad stomach…

Are protagonists supposed to be like this? Think of nothing else but a bad stomach???

Note on Sychophant

Thursday, March 23, 2006
11:53:33 PM

Solar-Neptunian, Frogstar-type people. Uninteresting little fellows. And sorta thick! They put me into the Total Perspective Vortex. They didn’t do everything to do ‘that’ for doing ‘this’. They tried to out-weird me by doing ‘this’ and ‘that’. Well, thiz iz very intherezzing…especially now that I have been through the Vortex, I have learnt that I am Zze One…Me, me, me…I, I, I…thiz iz my Universze. I go where I like…After being slightly foolish for not knowing what I know, I now know that I know what I must know to know exactly that, which I have always known…I am just curious if they have an iota of grey-matter inside their Prostetnic cranium.

A.T. People with Prostetnic cranium have a very peculiar habit of staring up at their immediate upper layer of ether from underground and believe that they are ambitious in that they are always looking up, when they are only ogling at the earth and have no idea of the outer-space beyond…wretched petite worms…

Index:A.T. – After thought.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Feeding The Cat

Friday, March 17, 2006
12:21:44 AM

Poor Egyptian cat…who the hell named it Ananya? Ah yes, the baby boy, he named the cat Ananya…Rambo accomplished the experiment of feeding the cat a rotten, hardened chapatti…poor cat…didn’t know what to do, where to go…until it got fed-up with the idea and walked past the omnipresent stick that held the chapatti right in front of it’s mouth…the skinny cat strolled away ignoring all the taunting endeavors…I met the cat later in the day. I am sure it doesn’t need to be reminded of an omniscient, omni-whatever being of its omnipresence symbolized with the stick and the chapatti…

Following The Rabbit

Thursday, March 16, 2006
9:23:22 PM

I have been counting the number of times I received a certain ‘omen’ for quite sometime…it was so refreshing…the number put a smile on my face and I was able to sleep peacefully…I mean, it was easy to ignore the omen, since there had been other omens contradicting this wonderful omen…how do anti-omens work, I wonder…readers might be baffled at what I am saying right now…you might be thinking I am talking about one of those Astrology, Numerology or Tarot Reading books…but no! It’s none of those…It’s something entirely different…and I want it to be as different as it can get…something that is a never-ending challenge in itself…self-persisting…yet changing…well, I am just this gal, ya know…

The number crossed 13 instances…so I am beginning to believe in it…well, no book says that any omen has to cross 13 instances…I only felt that…well, I am just this gal, ya know…

It’s an odd vision, an uncalled for connection, a calling which is not so audible to the five senses…in front of which, I stand a shade less brighter…and I feel no compulsion to compete with that…it’s the revolutionary existence of a small word…I see it in flashes, and I saw them in those omens…thirteen and running, although interrupted by an array of anti-omens…have you? Well, I’m just this gal, ya know…

Sunday, March 05, 2006

The Twosome...

Friday, March 03, 2006
8:50:15 PM

There are two aliens: one short and thin, while the other short and fat, who regularly read my posts…I always wanted to express my gratitude to them, but alas, I don’t have a Babel Fish Humor Translator, and it’s difficult to strike up a conversation with them, especially with the fat one, without that miniature device…What would be the shipping costs of the Translator, I wonder…I wish I could…oh damn I just forgot what I wish…Oh right, the Translator, it’s an essentially useful device, it can convert sarcasm to serenity, and most importantly it can convert words of War to words of Peace…Tolstoy would have been so pleased…

But do these aliens exist? Who can tell…who can tell…would they sing songs to my cat? Oh damn, do I have a cat? I think I don’t. Well, how do I know that I don’t have a cat? I just say what it occurs to me…

COMFORTABLY DUMB!

Sunday, February 19, 2006
1:14:54 AM

ACT I

He stared and stared…he stared so much that he forgot his eyelashes…what’s happening? He couldn’t feel anything but his eyes.

“Oh no, what’s with the anesthetic?”, she motioned at the nurse.

“It’s alright ma’am”.

“What alright? Can’t you see he’s staring???”

“But you asked for a local…”

“Well, then I asked for the wrong thing! I can’t operate like this”, she said.

The nurse went to look outside, puzzled and feeling generally queer.

He felt a rush of compulsion to close his eyes as he saw the doctor-like being injecting some potion in…oh no, what the hell, in his butt! He let out a last, frantic plea just before drowning down into a pool of unconsciousness: “Where am I?”
“Poor thing…”, sighed the doctor.


ACT II

Tradam is sick of the white room…everything is white in there. The bed-sheets, the curtains, the door and even the wrought iron is painted white…He was half expecting that an albino doctor would arrive with an equally albino syringe with needles painted in white, when the nurse entered with a transparent syringe with a silver needle, her hair calling jet black even if it was dyed heavily…what a white room!

“What’s your name ma’am?”, he asked. He hasn’t talked to any person, let alone a woman for ages since he last fell off the cliff.

She went about her usual business injecting some transparent liquid, this time not in his butt but in the saline bag.
“Wait, let me guess, does your name have the word Nightingale anywhere?”, he asked again. She gave him a forlorn, zombie look, trying to fix the flow of saline in his blood.

“Perhaps I am mistaken…It’s Teresa, isn’t it?”

She knew about a knowing smile, which she smiled generously and left the damned, white room.
A moment or two went by with the usual whiteness. Even the thoughts must be reflecting and not only light, in such unheard of whiteness…

(……………………….to be continued)

Monday, February 27, 2006

ANONIMITY

Tuesday, February 14, 2006
8:46:06 PM

Anonymity is a good thing…it makes one guess a while…and the moment you think you know this person, that very moment you begin to doubt that it’s someone else…and the funniest part is, u become absolutely independent of social stereotyping…

Whenever we know it’s a girl or a guy writing, our brain automatically blinds us with some preconceived notions…it’s pretty complicated and interesting…but dear Mr. Anonymous…ahhem…arrrm…Ms Anonymous (no other connotations hidden here), you seem to be keen on kicking me out from your country…don’t worry, there are plenty of able and devoted citizens out here literally kicking me hard reminding me that I actually don’t belong here…and that I am simply a guest…so I should limit myself to the boundaries of guest-hood…

“I am living in a foreign country
But I am bound to cross the line”
- Bob Dylan

It feels a bit weird being a guest, cos’ you know your host will whisper separately with other members of the family about what food to offer…

There are also other interesting ways people treat me here as a guest. Some of them think for no apparent reason or incident that I am a big attention-seeker…well who isn’t? But on the contrary, I am not really a person who would feel comfortable with a lot of attention…I just feel better if I can be with a small close knit of friends, which seems to be a bit difficult here except for a few exceptions…I believe in intimate close friendships and it gets a bit hard for me to maintain light passing companionship with too many people…I am not too social…I find it hard to believe if a ‘friend’ remarks rudely “nobody-wants-to-hear-you-here”…I mean what kind of a friend would say “nobody-wants-to-hear-your-story”…but this world is a strange place, perhaps such behavior is allowed in friendship…what can I say, may be I haven’t been able to come out of the cocoon of high school and I still live in the delusion that friends are…forget it, who cares anyway?

But really, what kind of a ‘friend’ would say such a thing?

“Good friends we have
For good friends we’ve lost
Along the way…”
- Bob Marley

I need to put a disclaimer right at this point about a previous post of mine:

I seriously don’t have anything against Indians as might have been wrongly portrayed in my earlier post “Indians…”. Things said in the post were simply repercussions of a chain of frivolous events that happened to revolve around my little yet disastrous world. It’s just that I have gone through immense pressure due to prejudices held against Bangladeshis by many people here who have subtly hurt me in various ways…I don’t feel like a guest here, I almost feel like an intruder. But I am not one of those intruders who are living here illegally like many others, which is why I have to go through extreme scrutinizing sessions and checking while I cross the border. I am asked for bribe both in the Indian and the Bangladeshi customs…see any difference between the two? Only that I am compelled to bribe the Indian customs for no apparent reason, I mean I don’t carry smuggling goods or anything, I barely have my money to survive; but I question a hell lot in the Bangladesh customs office, I don’t pay a single buck there even if I am held up…and I make sure to insult them as much as I can until I get their names down and threat them a bit and somehow finally step into my country…But then, I never hurt anyone here saying them how corrupted their government offices are, and likewise I don’t appreciate it if anyone hurts me by pointing out the faults of my country. I already know what our failings are…and nobody likes to suffer from prejudices held against them…

My point was not about how well anyone can speak or write in English…that’s bullshit and outright hilarious, at least at a cosmic level…I just meant to put forth an instance of how Indians (not every Indian though) feel unwarranted prejudices against Bangladeshis…and generally think very low of us…when we are only neighbors and barely have enough differences between us…

When I was in school some communal elements used to tease me by saying that I am Indian…that my home is in India and not in Bangladesh…that being a Hindu by birth entitles me to be in India…but I had so many other good friends who outnumbered those communal elements…and now that I am having to incidentally live here in India, I feel like an intruder…I like to put this in true Shah Rukh Khan fashion, “Arey hum tho kahika nahi raha”…well excuse my Hindi grammar…I pray you all not to judge all the people of a nation by their government…look deeper, you will find more things in common than differences…It’s interesting how I defended India whenever anyone wrongly said anything bad about anything here, and now that I am here, I am having to face all these misconceptions about my own country, that have sown the seeds of prejudices in some of the people of India…incredibly ironic…who am I defending anyway???

Maybe I am a cause-hungry person, never mind the effect…

Hmmm

Friday, January 27, 2006
11:36:44 PM

I have got some hideous books piled up beside my bed:
Computer Architecture and Organization – by Hayes
Digital Logic and Computer Design – by Morris M. Mano
Data Structures using C and C++ - by Tenenbaum et al
Operating System Concepts – by Galvin et al
Computer Architecture and Organization – by Morris M. Mano
Electronic Devices and Circuits – by David A. Bell
Discrete Mathematics and its Application – by Rosen

I so wish there were Microbiology, Genetics and Evolution, Physiology and Cytology books instead. But what’s the use? I have lost any residual urge for studying nowadays. I HATE THIS EDUCATION SYSTEM. Period.

If you call it any system, that is… A system has three parts: input, process and output, which this so-called system evidently lacks. People just expect loads and loads of output with negligible input. Or rather negative input. Negative input is when teachers misinform you and eradicate all elements of interest from the topic.

I am not confused. I have never really been confused. I am so definite now, that studying is not for me… I always had an aim… and I still do. I know exactly what I want from life. It’s just that I can’t have it, at least for the time being… I am just waiting for the day I would blurt out to every wannabe mentors in this college: DO NOT DARE TRY TO TEACH ME WITH SUCH LOUSY TECHNIQUE AND YOUR PEA-SIZED, STAGNANT, DULL, INFERTILE BRAINS!!!

I am at my wit’s end…and I am also at my servitude’s end! I am wasting my life with this useless BSc Computer Science…with Honours! With fucking Honours!!! Why am I doing this? Just cos I am poor and I need to earn good amount of money, do I really have to do this?

So from now, I have to start doing what suits me best… I am going to be brave and foolish enough to spit at the very face of this dying system. I am going to march into the unknown, armed with…well, nothing! And that’s how I am gonna reach my goal. At least I would be Don Quixote and not Sancho Panza. I don’t mind being Rip Van Winkle or Jack The Ripper either!

Outlaw is the code name...

This farcical pressure of exams is ringing bells that it’s time. Time to quite. Break all ties. Break all artificial, meaningless bondages… and follow the Rabbit! And see where it takes me…

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Positively 4th street


You got it lot under,
You say you are my friend.
When I was down,
You just stood there grinning!
You got it lot under
If you say u gotta helping hand to lend.
You just want to be
On the side that’s winning!

You say I let you down
You know it’s not like that.
If you’re so hurt,
Why then don’t you show it?
You say you lost your faith
But that’s not where it’s at.
You have no faith to lose
And you know it!

I know the reason
That you talk behind my back.
I used to be among the crowd
You are in with.
Do you take me for such a fool?
To think I’d make contact
With the one who tries to hide
What you don’t know to begin with?

You see me on the street;
You always act surprised.
You say, “How are you? Good Luck!”
But you don’t mean it!
When you know as well as me
You’d rather see me paralyzed
Why don’t you just come out once
And scream it!

No, I do not feel that good,
When I see the heartbreaks u embrace.
If I was a Master Thief,
Perhaps I’d rob them!
And though I know you’re dissatisfied
With your position and your place
Don’t you understand?
It’s not my problem!

I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes.
And just for that one moment
I could be you…
Yes, I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
You’d know what a drag it is
To see you…
- Bob Dylan

I don't understand how can Dylan even connect his personal poems with the mass...it's just brilliant!

Indians...

Thursday, January 19, 2006
12:14:03 AM

“Amar English Bangladeshi der moto hoye jachhe…”

I wonder what made him say that…such insensible, crass, thoughtless remark…but he spoke his heart though…well, I know he is great at committing a faux pas…such a gaffe on his part to actually verbalize it in front of me…whether he can be forgiven is debatable and is greatly dependent on his solar afflictions…

I know nicer people than him who would think just the same… It’s just that they don’t realize that they (most of them) originate from Bangladesh…and just because they migrated to West Bengal years back, doesn’t take their origin away…I mean, look at all the wannabe West- Bengalites…it seems even more pointless if we look at the world map as it was before 1947.

Don’t they realize that their own nation is full of Maru, Tamil, Bihari and Punjabi way of speaking alternative English? And they can’t even decide for one mother language… there’s a huge chunk of the people in India who detest Hindi, which is their official language…At least, we Bangladeshis are devoted to our language…we don’t have 10 other languages to choose from, ignoring the colloquial dialects…we are not so confused and utterly diverse about our language…we are so focused on Bangla, that we don’t mind sacrificing our own blood to keep it…

Generalizations are more often than not a fiction…

I don’t know one single teacher who can speak English perfectly accent-wise and/or grammar-wise in the whole college except for Dirty, who is not even entirely Indian… On the contrary, back in my small school in Dhaka, we had Mosharraf ma’am, Rafiq Sir (“You mustn’t do that”, he always said that and everything else in a perfect British accent), Tamara Ma’am, Rabeya ma’am and Haroon ma’am who spoke perfect and distinctive English…wrote even better…one could argue that they were all English teachers…but what about Shahnaz ma’am (my goddess-like Biology teacher, who was so full of humor, analysis and information…and all that in perfect English…many a times she corrected my wrong English…), Fahmida ma’am, Momin Sir (our eccentric, dynamic chemistry teacher famous for his flowery language…he is even good at inventing new verbs in English, like scissored!: “These topics have been scissored off from the syllabus”, he said…), Muntasir Sir (our ‘basically’ British brother…who taught us almost every science subject) and Sabrina Miss (our hottest science teacher with a perfect Canadian accent and the daughter of a diplomatic cipher…always warned us from making crank calls to her number since her dad will always find out!)? Even Kalam Sir (our Physics teacher, who boasted of having read all the translated-to-English novels by Russian authors…has a mildly obnoxious habit of scratching his itchy body parts in the class) was better than any teacher in our department over here…it’s sad that I complained his way of teaching that time…
I could go further and further on with the list…but never mind…

I can say this proudly now, Dhanmondi Tutorial always had teachers who spoke perfect English in a distinctive accent and students who had an American accent by default, considering that we all grew up watching MacGyver, The X Files, The Girl From Tomorrow, Dallas, The Wonder Years, Small Wonder, Due South and Dougie Howser, MD. Period.

I don’t know what pleasure these Indians have in debasing my small but valuable country…Just because they helped us a bundle in freeing our nation from the West Pakistanis, doesn’t mean that they have the right to remark anything intellectually illegitimate about our nation… We may have poor economy at the moment…and we might be just a small peck in the atlas…but there are Bangladeshis who are scientists and researchers in NASA and Bell Laboratories and the like…

I knew many people from my school getting admission to Oxford University straightaway…not if they spoke or wrote pathetically in English, I presume… But considering the way our NASA-ferot professor speaks in English, even that might be possible, one could argue…but it would be futile nonetheless…

Pure Curiosity

Wednesday, January 18, 2006
1:03:21 AM

I don’t understand why sometimes it’s such a drag for people to believe that a question may be asked out of pure curiosity and not out of any emotional inclinations… For an instance, I never got it out of my childhood crush the reason as to why he ditched me… I never got any answers that I can call remotely decent… and my pure, sacred curiosity remains duly insatiable for just a simple answer… The very act of asking falsely implies that “Why did you have to ditch me? I mean why me…am I not good enough?”…How can I explain I don’t mean any of that… I am not even hurt that he ditched me… why is it so hard to believe that I can be interested in psychoanalysis and not accusing the poor guy who was saved by leaving me? I am just plain curious as to what exactly made him make this lovely decision of leaving me? I mean, it could be me or anybody else, doesn’t matter who… It’s not personal; it’s curiosity!

Let me try again: What makes a person decide not to be in a relationship? It’s pretty obvious, but I just want to know what made him think of ending this relationship and not why me…damn! I am bad at convincing…

Last try: I just happen to be the author of the futuristic best-selling, self-improvement books “100 reasons why men ditch women” and “The Philanderers Guide to Ditching”… You can be frank and straightforward you know…

Will I ever get an answer???

Monday, January 16, 2006

Back To Posting

Arright…I am back on track. Right now, I am a bit sick of something…something, which feels unnecessary, stupid and ridiculous right after it happens… What is it? Meanwhile, as you ponder over this conundrum, I am enjoying the theme music of Pink Panther… I am loving it! Makes me wanna dance, wearing Morpheus-type cloak…Now it has changed to “Hit the road Jack…”
“Build me up buttercup”, The Foundations…
“Turn Turn Turn”, The Byrds…
“Don’t worry, be happy”, Bobby McFerrin…
“Ain’t no Sunshine”, Lighthouse Family…not the one by Billy Withers…
“You are so beautiful”, Joe Cocker…
“I saw her standing”, The Beatles…
“The way you look tonight”, Frank Sinatra…
“I love a rainy night”, Eddie Rabbit…

I have been contemplating on spreading some handful of paint on my craving canvas…but can’t think of something at the moment…Wanted to paint Dylan…but it’s a bit difficult, considering my still novice skills…
When will I start studying??? Never mind, I’m still a bit enchanted with what happened to me a few days back…I traveled across the border alone… Felt so great…midnight journey…and my olfactory was in charge of “Diamonds and Rust”…good thing, isn’t it???

“She can kill with her smile
She can wound with her eyes…
And she can ruin her faith
With her casual lies…”
- Billy Joel

Did you know that once it was heard that a little girl asked her father to stop singing in the house? Guess who the father was…not **ton…he was Billy Joel…I read it on an article about kids always getting embarrassed whenever their parents are singing or dancing…they think their parents are outdated no matter how crazily sixty-ish their parents were in their teens…
I am going to be left alone soon for being rude and uncaring…I must be a horrible person…a terrible one too, as some say…cos I take things for granted…Innocence? Who invented that word? Anyway, I guess the following would require four tablets of Hajmola to digest:

“Where were you…I did not see any of you from morning…”
“We did not have any classes. I just had something to do in the Cyber Room.”
“What will you do now?”
“I am gonna go now… Somebody’s waiting”
“Your boyfriend?”
“Well, yeah…”
“You never introduced him to me”
“Come along then…”
“What’s his name…isn’t it Sasha?”
“He is not Russian…”

“Farewell Angelina
The bells of the crown
Are being stolen by bandits
I must follow the sound
The triangle tingles
And the trumpet play slow
Farewell Angelina
The sky is on fire
And I must go.

There's no need for anger
There's no need for blame
There's nothing to prove
Ev'rything's still the same
Just a table standing empty
By the edge of the sea
Farewell Angelina
The sky is trembling
And I must leave.”
- Bob Dylan

Time to read…Time to write…Time to record…Time to paint…time to hone those different strokes of brushes…tired of being the last in class…I never knew competition until I came to Calcutta…I was so used to being the best in anything and everything…I was so used to the adulation all around…I could relax and be myself, cos whatever I did was fine…now I am never recognized…and the thing is, it’s so stupid and farce, this make-believe competition…a ludicrous drama you are acting every single day…takes the juice out of you…and now, I am getting used to it too…

Monday, December 19, 2005

January Calling

Tuesday, December 20, 2005
12:04:07 AM

I am so sick of condoning the mindless, ruthless, frivolous bantering…it’s strange how people interact when a certain level of frolicking thresholds and time limits are crossed…even myself!

Osiris intervention, I gather…

Meanwhile, I am deeply moved (honest…) by the burgeoning bard…carry on, my wannabe girl

(*chuckle*chortle*chuckle*)

But I doubt whether CD really comprehended the real meaning lurking behind those poetically challenged phrases…Hats off to the bard, once again…may Homer shine upon you…

I am now soothing my olfactory with Morrison (not Van) and Dylan (not Thomas) and Baez…so the jazzy buffoon can no longer keep my mind engaged with the crass ramblings of his pulverized, xenophobic cerebrum.

I wish I survive my trip and remain in one piece, scuttling and skating through my deltaic land, endangered by bombs and walking, talking, human mines, till I get my copy of McRae’s creepy, chilled, voluptuous music…and The Doors live videos…that too…

This will probably be my last post for this year…and I resolute upon making a new blog next year, with more verve and enthusiasm…and this time I promise to upload images to get rid of any residual bleakness forever…

To people who love me and hate me, and those who know me and do not know me, plus those who would comment and not comment on my posts:

Merry Christmas and A Joyful New Year!

P.s. Loony, I will try to get u a sketchbook like mine…do u want a bigger size???

Evening At The Fulcrum

Sunday, December 18, 2005
11:14:02 PM

They strolled along the woods with hands around each other’s waists, exchanging warmth, each step conjuring up romance, longing, and fear of the next step.

Left, right, left, right, left…

“How come we still keep pace with each other?”, he asked.

“No, no, no…this makes no sense…we keep pace with anybody we walk with…this is no magic…”, she answered, pulling him hard out of the deeply rooted illusion.

She pointed at the navy blue sky surmising the stars from the planets…

“Betelguese…Bellatrix…(ouch!)”, falling off ineptly as her feet met the uneven ground with friction and doubt. He held her firmly and resumed the consonance of their fateful steps.

“Mars and Venus…”, she concluded, as he pecked a swift kiss on her forehead.

The advent of dire consequences foreboding, the resplendent constellations rhapsodizing, she allowed the zephyr to alleviate any discordant thoughts. The tryst was about to end and they would soon be lost in their vapid worlds.

They have run out of soliloquies, confounded by the conundrum of surprise…There was no need to cogitate further; the end was about to emancipate from its diffidence…

The forlorn minds lingered along through the harrowing moments. The future was fraught with mist and the present was too abstruse…only the past remained diligently fluent and blissfully sanguine. Serendipity was fading away from their interface…lights no longer went off as they passed across light bulbs…not anymore.

“When can I see you again?”, she asked.

He was crestfallen, craven, debilitated to the size of raisins…He wanted to lament with music, lament with pain, anger and contempt…but it was too late…or too early, perhaps…She smiled at him with unknown foolishness, and they strolled along incessantly…

Thursday, December 15, 2005

BUSTED...

Wednesday, December 14, 2005
8:48:38 PM

What a day, man! (“Do you know the transistor, man?”) The otherwise mute, motionless librarian of our viscous Computer Centre suddenly got busy having animated conversations with my mom…finding nothing else, he complained about me not taking any book from the center!!! IS THERE A PROBLEM IF I OWN THE BOOKS AND NOT HAVE TO VISIT THE LIBRARY??? I mean I know I am poor, but is it sacrilege if I say I own my textbooks? Anyway, apparently I am being exploited by my present friends’ circle, according to our HOD…In fact, when my shoes got torn, Fubu gave away his shoes to me so I would be on someone else’s shoes and get exploited in the process…

And what’s this business about my day out??? I mean is it new that I have a day-out-story to tell??? Isn’t it dull already?

Our HOD also emphasized that my mind remains somewhere else in class…as if he can tell…If I were to show that I am concentrating and in reality I don’t give a damn, he would never get to know about it…If I had anything to hide, I would hide it with expertise and art…On top of all that, my shoes got torn halfway to Fubu’s house… and it looked like a crocodile opening and closing its mouth simultaneously as I was walking… guess who saw us while we were at the underground Metro…HOD of course…

Lunatic interventions of the full moon…or maybe a real life Airplane – Sequel II.

And oh, I lost my mother’s Floppy on the way somewhere…it fell off from my pocket probably…The only things good about today were Fubu’s wonderfully disheveled hair, the disheveled pictures shot by Anchoo, a lovely shot of myself taken by papa paddy, food offered by Fubu and his mother, Fubu’s den, FRIENDS season 10 episode, and the meatwhore musical connotations…even all that were part of the exploitation by G’s gang!

P.S. And my socks were stinking!!!

Moonstruck!

Wednesday, December 14, 2005
1:02:41 AM

“If you miss this train I warn
You will know that I have gone
You can hear the whistle blow
A hundred miles………………..”

I never knew my college had so much beauty hidden in its enclosure… this blend of déjà vu: the Dirty fella’s choir music and the little guy almost resembling an elf by the moonlight, the light just beside shadowy corners and the winter…the non-existent Giant… leaving me more eve-struck than moonstruck…Moonstruck has a bit different mushy kind of meaning in the Oxford Dictionary, which I don’t intend to refer to…

Have I come such a long way for this, and this alone??? I must keep walking, though, like Johnny Walker (I know that’s a very bad pj, but couldn’t help it)… this can’t be all…

I pretend that I am 500 miles away from home… “Is it that far???” Well, it’s so far that it’s pointless to even estimate… Do I have a home anyway?

No, no, no…I don’t mean I want a family…hell, no…I just need a place to call my own…with no one to dictate, no one to advise, no one to roll their eyes and no one to order me around…so I can sketch, sing, or just read a book whenever I want to, without any interruption…or simply write…or just delve into motionless activity of the mind – think!

I wish they didn’t linger their talk about Ayn Rand at such lengths…it was frustrating, and didn’t keep pace with the cadence all over the field and the sky… I wish they could talk of how Dirty looked so bright… I wish there was a stormy Caribbean sea just outside the back-gate, so our Dirty could deal with the pirates with exquisitely flowery usage of English… I wish the moon would really magnetize the poor guy who rocks and would take him away with a large spider-web so I didn’t have to live with his never-ending urgency to be absolutely right about anything and everything…It’s so annoying that it can put you back to senses and ready for an argument even if you are high on LSD…you could even get annoyed right at your deathbed… Death can wait so long as there is an argument to continue…

Argument makes death nervous…

I know there’s someone not too far who would interpret all of this as a reflection of my sadness deep inside (no ‘sad’ implications puhleez, no pun intended)…but trust me I am happy and privileged…than many others starved of Life and Twists and Surprises…Surprise always brings happiness, even if it’s inside a packet of sadness…
Delacroix’s portrait is looking good…there’s not a man like that in college so I can pass my time staring at…and really be moonstruck, with all implications of the word in the big fat Oxford Dictionary…

Monday, December 12, 2005

Rumours in the air...Riders on the storm...

Monday, December 12, 2005
9:56:41 PM

Today I have heard the most brilliant thing ever…it’s like a dream come true…Sam just suggested me that we don’t need to have a net connection to be online…that it’s simply possible to be online if I have a PC…huh, this is something I used to always daydream and also dream in sleep years back in my lovely city…Like every computer has a mind of its own and is connected to every other computer in the city…

Strange things are happening all around…people are at cross-purposes, messages are going astray, in the midst of which some messages manage to hit the bull’s eye…A commotion of emotions all around…Eyes wandering, philandering, dripping, wringing, empathizing, or maybe just checking! Some eyes are lovely in their own right, but can’t wait after the veg food is offered…and also manages to be ruthless to jokes thrown at him quite harmlessly and without any evil intentions. I was only asking him to look through the works of Delacroix, with a pinch of salt that seemed to hit him so hard, I couldn’t imagine…otherwise I wouldn’t have asked…

My so-called seductive voice failed to seduce the microphone once more, and I am just consoled by Mirinda and the same old Monginis food…I think I am burping and smelling of Monginis even now… Some people are outright felicitous that I screwed up the song… The one devilish woman in black… Don’t know how she will contain and savourrrr the pleasurrrrre of my failurrrrre… She was even trying to “jest at my scars” in vain…poor bitch!

Feelings From The Crypt - II

Monday, December 12, 2005
1:28:51 AM

Right, here we are…in the middle of acres and acres of barren, abandoned land…stretching far and wide on both sides of the interminable highway…no traffic, no lights, zero warmth…I look at his eyes…he doesn’t want me here…or may be, he does…I can’t tell, without any lights…A sudden beam glows up in his eyes, telling me “Here we are”.

“Where are we, Dark Lord?
Pretty damsel, strike a chord!
Hello, ain’t we bored?
Will the rain be poured?
Don’t you make me real
There’s no time to feel
Come on, give me a chill
Make me a nice red pill”

The black sky started where the crops let out their last bit of inflorescence, as though a thick curtain lifted only halfway, and the stage-man controlling the strings have collapsed for no reason and forgot to pull them further… and the fog, as though the dry ice have just been sprayed by somebody back-stage.

The swift breeze swept away his otherwise settled hair. He has no clue how we got there. We were in some busy office floor in a conference room, sipping through coffee…and now, we are in the middle of nowhere. Whichever way we run, desolation welcomes us with open arms… I see myself standing in front of a sign… it has its arrow in a weird direction…up…

The label looks foolish and incomprehensible:

FUL

How can the upward direction be full? How can upward be fool? Is there a fool hovering up above??? Doesn’t make any sense…I look at him and there’s a sudden spark all over his face…He thrusts his left hand towards me…the watch at his wrist has stopped functioning…Hell no, the time hasn’t stopped… the crops are still swaying back and forth with the breeze…time has not stopped for good…

I am fighting hard to get out of this stagnancy, but Neo is nowhere in sight. “Time flies by like an arrow and fruit flies like banana”.

I can see him now laughing like a lunatic, without ever stopping for an after-laugh…

Thursday, December 08, 2005

HER, MYSELF AND THE SEA HORSE

Wednesday, December 07, 2005
7:58:05 PM

“People are strange
When you’re a stranger
Faces look ugly
When you’re alone.
Women seem wicked
When you’re unwanted…”
- The Doors

Have you ever seen anyone trying and working on being superficial? I have seen one and trust me, once you have had enough of that, you won’t mind spending protracted hours with the sea horse…oh, lovely lady, this sea horse… she has a fairly high need-for-affiliation, which is far, far better to connect with than to try and act nice to any superficiality thrown at your direction. At least, this lovely sea-horse lady is REAL and spontaneous about herself breathing with the camouflaged gills on her head…

And I also know this person whose sensual feelings are centered on the head, pretty amazing, innit? She needs to hide it with a Reebok ski-cap. Amazing lady… I idolize her. She is bored by the winter, even if she finds her winter clothes interesting. She is crazy about singing in public, although she keeps herself at bay at all times, so as not to look stupid. She loves Kati Roll, and loves Joan Baez without ever owning a single record by Baez, just cos’ she had been Dylan’s companion. She has a hard time concealing her eccentricity…That’s just about all I can say for now…There was more…so much more that it would be prosaic to mention it here at this moment…

SIMON SINGH: Knight of Wands (Consult Tarot deck, not Harry Potter!)

Monday, December 05, 2005
11:55:43 PM

Simply umazeeng! This fellow, Dr. Singh…I half expected this man to be coming with a turban and looking old and all, and what I see is a cool guy with chhimply umajing hair! I think it’s more of a statement that papajis can be absolutely eccentric and replace their turban with anything else, if they wanted…but anyway, never mind…His communication skills are unparallel, compared to whatever we encounter here…I don’t think I would be able to attend any college lectures after this. I have never seen a man as confident as him…of course, there are many in this world, but it’s just that I haven’t met…He just knows his thing so well…He didn’t scribble esoteric equations, which was such a relief…But poor Simon, some aged “spherical b*******” pestered him with stupid questions like “Is microwave radiation coming from space harmful?” after he was talking of evidence for The Big Bang theory. The first, last and middle part of his lecture were all so interesting and fascinating…the way he put it…I have never seen anybody so consistently humorous…and so consistently intelligent…His was a musical, humorous, substantial, brief, terse lecture…very neat and well controlled…the frequently ringing cell phones made no effect at all…And he said he couldn’t argue with me! That really will make my day every day for the rest of this month…I am phlatarred!!!

The coffee was perfect, though I spilled my second cup in the whole excitement…

GUERNICA

Saturday, December 03, 2005
9:02:43 PM

I had this strangest dream ever. I saw myself walking into a garden in the evening…the lighting was very soft and in the night sky I could see figures and holographic screens like as we see in planetariums. The garden had a feel of Alice in Wonderland and Finding Neverland. Suddenly I see a picture and recognize it as Picasso’s Guernica…it had very vague resemblances to the painting itself…There were other people I don’t know confirming me about the fact that it was Guernica indeed, in the dream. I left the place, and when I came back again I saw an owl flying in the garden, but only now that the garden had a little pond over which the owl was flying. Suddenly I see that it’s not a real owl, but a puppet whose strings are maneuvered by some 4/5 struggling grown people standing up on a large, leafy tree.

I did see other stuff in the dream but I don’t remember anything now…

Pretty “atel” …

But much better than the so-called movie I was forced to watch at a friend’s place which had nothing but still shots…seemed like an ‘atel’ remix music video footage to me…or correctly put, the pictures seemed like the video supporting the music in the background, and not vice versa.

The voice-over was surely inspired by the “Amaron-lasts-long-really-long-ting-tong” ad.

Girl, Interrupted

Friday, December 02, 2005
9:59:11 PM

I can never practice anything, or do my own thing in the vicinity of my mom. Period.

SERENDIPITY?

Thursday, December 01, 2005
8:43:36 PM

I don’t know if I should really call it serendipity or not, but I guess there’s no other word for it…I happen to be gifted with the opportunity to notice a single sign many times in different situations and places, simultaneously.

First, it used to be any random, catchy words…I used to encounter them often after having it read for the first time. In a certain English Comprehension test in school long back, I couldn’t comprehend the meaning of “harlequin”. When the test was over, our teacher told us the meaning. And then, on my way back home by car, I spotted a new fast food restaurant that had just opened, named Harlequin! Next, I went home and as I was lazily flipping through the pages of a children’s “People & Places” mini encyclopedia, I found Harlequin again, this time with a picture as well…

Sometimes, my dreams are also linked with such activities…I had a dream two years back about a desert where I was stranded with my friend Fatty, having delicious Lebanese food nearby an oasis…A few days after dreaming that, I accidentally got hold of this book “Alchemist” by Paulo Coelho and it talked of deserts mostly and the main character happened to meet a girl named by the same name as my friend in the dream, near an oasis…In the book, there was also mention of the place Tangier. When I finished reading that book, I just happened to listen to one of tracks of “Blood On The Tracks” by Bob Dylan for the first time, where he happened to be singing the lines:
“If you see her, say hello
She might be in Tangier…”

There, I see a fine thread going along the words desert, Fatty and Tangier…

Again, very recently I was reading Harry Potter, where I was reading a certain chapter called “The Deathday Party”, and on the same day I got to know that a friend’s grandma has passed away. The very next day I go online and find out that another friend’s father has passed away too. He was suffering from Parkinson’s disease.

Should I call this serendipity?

Monday, November 28, 2005

The Non-Conformist

Monday, November 28, 2005
9:33:01 PM

Is it so bad that I fool around so much…may be bug a little…or even accidentally throw away in the process of taking away somebody’s much protected, longed, last chunk of chocolate bar??? Would the world be happier if I turned sane overnight? I would rather be sane than see my insanity ruined by extremely misjudged thoughts and words. What can I do if I can’t behave like all girls do (i.e. never bother anyone…rehearse calculated, controlled, beautiful smiles and perform just that in front of others…never act like a clown) and can’t think twice before asking something from somebody? Would everybody find peace if I never say ‘hi’ to Jerry?

Then so be it…it’s just that I would find myself immersed in so much boredom, that no amount of stimulation would compensate…but then:

Let the world never see me blabbering any non-sense ever again. Hey, will that make me pleasant and great to be simply tolerated? Ooh, am I curious to see myself with an altered self! So, let them be undisturbed until it is time for me to absolutely have nothing to do with anybody whatsoever…

Mute…

Amen…

RETROSPECT

Friday, November 25, 2005
8:20:16 PM

This is the best time of the year. The college is almost empty, with four people sitting at the left corner, one loner at the back and a twosome (guys!) in front, of Arunda’s canteen. I am sitting at the center round table. Fortunately the radio is playing the ‘FRIENDS’ title song in some sensible FM station. Classes are called off, what a relief and I’ve still some time to live with myself until my classmates show up.

More people are coming in right now…The first to enter was our foolish third-yearian, who grabs at every opportunity to demonstrate his classical singing skills. The last one to enter till now was Mr. Peter Pan, for once, without any girl along with him. Lots of schoolboys have filed in.

They don’t remind me anything of my schooldays. I had a rather bleak, restricted school-life. I had nothing much to do other than falling in love. No, come on, it wasn’t that bad: I had my two best friends with whom I always hung around…We threesome always intimidated the teachers in some way. They made every effort to separate us by putting us in different sections, but that didn’t stop us from teaming up during the break or pass cryptic messages across the classrooms. We skated through trouble almost every other day. We were famous for the terror we caused by jumping on the sofa placed inside the Principal’s room, stealing school supplies from there and of course, we have photographic evidence of taking out facial tissues in style from the tissue box on the Principal’s desk…I remember making frivolous phone calls from the Principal’s office itself. Stealing Jules Verne’s “Journey To The Center Of The Earth” from the library was just as easy.

I feel proud to say that I never returned “Space Stories” from the Russian Cultural Center library. It had accounts from the diary of Pavel Popovich, Yuri Gagarin and other astronauts.

Anyway, let’s get back to my school-life again. Smoking in the teachers’ staff room…aah, a fairly good act of juvenile bravado. And guess who accompanied me? Fatty, of course… We have been subject to the effects of mutual Michelangelo phenomenon and now she is more like me and I am more like her. We sculpted each other’s symbolic self-awareness. Hey man, are you reading this??? Man, I miss our lovely times together… The times we blurted out the same thing, in the same tone, at identical timings…the times we delivered dialogues from movies and serials…Due South…remember, Fatty???
“I owe him”

“You owe nobody. He’s gonna get u killed”

Man, I forgot half the dialogues…most of them actually…
“In the name of the Royal Canadian…..(shot guns fired)”

“I don’t think he heard you”

Man, I forgot the most famous dialogues of them all…what was it???? Dammit! Damn the memory!
There are strange things done
In the midnight sun
By the men, who toil for gold”

“Moil Ray, not toil”

“Aah, moil toil who cares?”

“Robert (something), apparently”

“Who’s he?”

“The poet”

Feels good to remember them all back again. Damn man, sign up in here so you can leave comments, so we can finally TALK! Like the old times…

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

CALLING HELL

Monday, November 21, 2005
7:55:32 PM
Why am I doing this to myself? Why? Making a fool out of myself, dammit. I shouldn’t have sung the song, really, when I don’t stand a chance…Anyway, what’s over is over. It’s always fine to look forward: the perfect mantra of this Aquarian Age.

Something threatening has come up. Was the dream I had about Mars a premonition of this threat? Mars in Aries stands for everything drastic, like as in travel and change…Anyway, I am not surprised. Disappointed, yes. But not surprised. I am seasoned over the years.

I am a really bad singer. I can sketch just okay, I guess. I can’t play the guitar, piano, cello, drums etc. I remember being good at mouth organ, but I lost it. It was a long maroon-red one. I know where it is, but access denied.

Oh yes, I never knew the spelling of planchette until today (although I don’t know why the MS spell check is still making a red underline underneath the apparently right spelling…u wouldn’t notice that in this blog…since I am typing in Word and guess what, the spell check has also put a red underline under the word ‘blog’!). Something’s wrong with my pc, really, files are getting corrupted out of the blue. Some virus maybe, even AVG couldn’t detect. It’s fine now, though a while ago weird things were happening. I guess my pc goes berserk once in a while just like me. I am still high on the Cosmic Plane. Don’t know what the hell that means…

I might lose my place again…and I am numb about it, cos there’s nothing left to do. I don’t want to end up in Malaysia please, although I know it’s a nice place. Canada is even better. But what the hell…I always wanted to study abroad. Always. Still do. But what the hell…
I never knew I was so weak at heart. Very close friends of mine revere me as being strong, intelligent, artistic, witty, tubelight, stupid and vulnerable, all at the same time. Hell knows what that means…

SLEEPING PILL

Monday, November 21, 20051:36:22 AM
I wrote this poem months back…last year, if I recall correctly:

She couldn’t hear anything
When words kept blowing
Looking up, far at Orion
And the signs of neon
Hearing nothing but the wind,
Perhaps the calling.
“Was it a calling?”, she wondered.
After all, her hiking hindered.
Then the road led nowhere,
Back and forth somewhere,
In-between the mud and snow.
All but stopped,
Her compass dropped,
And she broke into a laughter.


I named it Exodus. Strong name for an otherwise naïve non-poem, I must say.

BLACK AND WHITE

Saturday, November 19, 2005
9:40:16 PM

I am high on the Cosmic Plane. Hell knows what that means. But it surely means something or the other. It had been a busy week: zero studying, assessing human behavior, watching movies in the Film Festival and all that. I am finally reading Harry Potter, I don’t even believe myself. It turned out to be a lot better than I apprehended. Don’t know why I am not being able to read it faster. Maybe I am just plain lazy.

Something just came up my mind. The whole idea of black and white seems all very clear to me. From years of preconceived notion that black stands for the dark, which is related to mourning, fear, death and the like, we have it deeply rooted in our memory that Black is anything negative, bad and mournful. White, on the contrary, is preconceived to be the color of peace, tranquility, and life. Is it exactly why we are all so prejudiced? Is it exactly why the Whites think they are superior to the Blacks? I have a sneaky feeling that it’s exactly so. In many cultures, black clothes are worn to mourn for the dead. The Spades cards are considered to be unlucky to cut in fortune reading.

What would happen in a society, which firmly grew up on the idea that black is the color of dignity, knowledge, wisdom, aristocracy and the sorts? Whites would be first taken as slaves and eventually, when the Human Rights commission would form, the whites would still be considered as inferior. Biologically speaking, the color of our skin is only a variation, and to be honest, black people are less prone to skin cancer due to natural resistance conferred by melanin.

If people were grown in a society where we considered Mongoloid features and broad lips as a sign of beauty, perfection and attractiveness, then beautiful men and women like Jude Law, Meg Ryan, Julia Roberts and George Clooney would be considered utterly ugly.
I love to be in the dark. Too much sunlight makes me irritated and uncomfortable. Does that mean I am drawn to the evil, dark forces of Nature? And what does it mean anyway to be drawn to these so-called dark forces???

LABORATORY BLUES

Wednesday, November 09, 2005
11:31:11 PM

I did not attend physics practical class today. Although the real reason was that I had to go somewhere to collect some documents and also because my lab partner was absent today, but I like to put forward some outrageous reasons as well. First, the staff in the Physics lab is corrupted. Have you ever heard of such a thing as apparatus-involving corruption? That is exactly what we encounter here. If you break a beaker of Rs 5, you will be charged Rs. 100. That’s 20 times the actual price! These people should join the Government.

How can they still work with such ancient apparatus, I still don’t understand. I don’t think anybody will gain any practical knowledge here, because nobody looks forward to this class, far less get enlightened by it. If they think I should be content using such ancient apparatus, they must be aware of the fact that I am not Lara Croft and I don’t like working with ancient dials (hell knows why they insist that those are galvanometers) when it comes to Physics lab class. Nobody ever complains… Not even the students…very strange… Why don’t they just settle inside caves like our nomadic forefathers used to do? And guess what, you don’t have to bother about clothes too: Flintstone-style barks would do and I am sure some of the girls in this college can do without them as well (no offence to vagabonds, their idea of not wearing any clothes is completely different from what I write here).

And oh, I almost forgot to mention… The lab itself. Aah, what great architecture and maintenance: a natural spring flows out of certain parts of the ceiling healing us Myth Units of Greek origin and Norsemen as well. The spring and the gong-like sound of the Sonometer create a perfect symphony and enhance concentration of students working in the lab.
So, what do you put on the front cover? “Back to the ancient caves, dials and the barks” I guess…

This is surely becoming a pretty mournful, scornful, rebellious blog… so much so that it is dangling at the brink of getting entirely boring… and stop I must… until I actually think of something good to write about.

DREAMING, AS USUAL

Saturday, October 29, 2005
8:38:22 PM

I woke up from a weird dream in the morning today…I saw a great scientist of our country confronting my father. When my father started defending himself, I shouted back at him, “You are not a man of science! So don’t dare speak up…All you do is stupid calculations of commerce…plus and minus…. And now you don’t even do that, all you do is sign… You are not a man of science!”

Then I saw myself leaving the scene and climbing up a stair with a little difficulty cos’ the stairs were too narrow and the steps were too high. When I climbed up, I saw a friend of mine (Deep Blue Sea) wearing a maroon full-shirt and off-white trousers.

I came down, cos somebody asked me to come down… When I got down, I found my aunt and my mom conspiring with my father…As soon as they saw me, they put an end to their hush-hush conversation and giggled away at me…I was mad at all of them, and was pretty disgusted by the steel-box my father was opening where he kept his betel-leaf and betel-nuts…I don’t remember anything else after that…I probably woke up just after that…

Sunday, October 30, 2005

Tuesday Blues

Tuesday, October 25, 2005
7:22:14 PM

People. I am so sick of them. All they talk of is other people. And not about great people mind you… All they get to talk about is ordinary, stupid people with equally stupid ideas and leading equally meaningless lives. More irritating is that when someone talks to me about ‘people’…I mean, have they nothing else to talk about? I recall a friend of mine wondering where are all the elves gone from this world…At least, we would then have some other topics to talk about. Elves. (Reminds me of Elvis…damn, included in the set of people again!).

Where are all the ideas gone? Or events, for that matter. Carnivals are great events, I tell you. And nobody talks of that either. I can’t lead this bleak life, lack of Revolution, full of limitations and failure and frustration. Sometimes I wish I could change my sex. Really. I don’t like being a girl sometimes. Makes me feel so stereotyped. And hey, that’s not me. I feel comfortable being a vagabond… Are there any female vagabonds out there??? I don’t think so. Even if there are, they can be grossly misunderstood and hence misused as whores.

I have finally started sketching…finally got hold of it again… I am looking for a model…any volunteers out there with Greek features? I don’t understand why I don’t identify much with abstract art… It’s too personal…but you can actually pass abstract messages through impressionistic art, somewhat like Leonardo (not De Caprio, especially if Hugh Grant is by any chance reading this post)… That’s much more intriguing than directly painting something abstract…you can conceal and reveal so much in impressionistic art at the same time. But as a starter, my intentions won’t be so grand and colossal…I’m just a novice.

Friday, October 07, 2005

Tagged!

Well, that's exactly 55 words of rubbish too...

Long ago, some entities were tagged to “write” in 55 words, causing mass failing in exam, a heretic act of murdering creativity, (=which is the only means of survival at present). The chain of events has followed till today, where certain individuals were born with a recessive allele Factor M, making them mushy by nature.

Monday, October 03, 2005

Just Being

Tuesday, October 04, 2005
1:06:53 AM

How is it that it is more important that I sleep less and keep my bed done when we don’t know a thing about how big the Universe is or why it exists? The Ultimate Question seems to be less important than what I actually do or don’t. It’s not even funny, man.

I like to be untidy. No, no, I luuuvvvv to be untidy. Gives me more time to do all sorts of things. I don’t need to spend time in keeping things orderly. And there’s so much fun in finding out stuff, cos’ you know exactly where something is. The complex structure of untidiness reminds me of pre-impressionism, post-impressionism and everything in-between. There’s a certain sense of aesthetics which we can only see in the paintings of Van Gogh, although I don’t like his paintings much. He has a signature in the piece itself, which makes him so special. But I can’t take my eyes off Renoir’s perfection and Cézanne’s glowing details.

Just a while ago, my mom came in for inspection, thinking I was typing a love letter. Thanks heaven that I was only being assertive of my limited knowledge of Fine Arts. Anyway, I wouldn’t be typing a love letter, I would rather write one. What’s the charm in writing a love letter electronically? The depth, pressure and flow of handwriting as par your emotions are lost.

Am listening to Dylan Unplugged. I wish I could be like him. I wish I could be Dylan, Jim Morrison or Bob Marley, any one of them. Then I could curse anybody on the microphone and people would find it quite interesting, and even aesthetic. Plus I could be untidy without show-cause. I could travel from place to place, and read any book I wanted to. There are a few lines in Dylan’s “Simple Twist of Fate” that I often ponder:


People tell me it’s a sin
To think and feel too much within
I still believe she was my queen
But I lost the ring
She was born in the spring
But I, was born today!
Blame it on, a simple twist of fate


Watch the rhyming...it’s so lovely! Dylan is still alive, unlike Marley and Morrison. I wish I could meet him someday. I wish I met him accidentally, like I won’t even recognize him when I come across him, and he would simply chat on with me...and I would only know it’s him when we bid adieu to each other. I wish I was born in his time, and that he never knew Joan Baez.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Rushing Thoughts

Friday, September 02, 2005
9:13:41 PM
I am a number 4 person…no, no, no I don’t mean I am cunning, deceptive or live illicitly (although I am not sure if I haven’t done anything I ought not to do or not)...Its just that I was born on the 4th of a certain month…so I am a number 4 person, or so it seems...according to Cheiro...which makes me very much fated to destiny...even if a little less definitely than number 8 people, which makes them painfully fated to destiny...but all the same, the letters of my name makes me a number 8 person...so there u go again! Try harming me any time, u will be successful, guaranteed...but wait! Why would anybody harm me for no reason...or even if they wanted to, why would they buy my invitation??? Well then, try that for a good cause- such as crane me away as human subject for research on regenerating nerve cells…cut up my spine and extract all those fluid and nerve fibers, ultra-centrifuge them, or dispose them off to CERN and keep your fingers crossed till my cells give rise to anti-particles in the humongous synchrotron, do anything...u will surely be crowned with the Nobel Prize.

I don’t know what Destiny has in store for me...well, duh! Nobody does…but it leaves me awestruck when I find myself ‘destined’ to take up this surprisingly alien subject (at least for me) instead of Genetics, Medicine or the like, of which I was so sure of landing myself into...nothing intrigues me more than a karyotype of a trisomy 21 Down’s syndrome human cell or the microscopic photograph of blood containing cancerous cells...or even the physiology of the Nervous System… “The” nervous system…Heavens! How much I revere what I passionately love to study about...and oh the microscopic devils: Salmonella typhi causing typhoid; Candida albicans causing Candidiasis (commonly known as ‘thrush’) in humans…and hence associated with commensalism…I don’t even care if people think I am trying to ‘jahir’ (couldn’t find the English word for that! I won’t even apologize for that) my knowledge by naming all these organisms...(by the way, I just remembered a sickly pathetic joke some hooligans cracked about hearing “orgasm” when I was talking about “organism” in the biology class in school...u can laugh your heads off too and sign the hooligan membership)...so as I was saying...or rather rambling on and on...right, RNA retroviruses, involved in both AIDS and Cancer…and a rare symptom, Kaposi’s Sarcoma, a certain tumor seen in people with HIV positive...And those lovely variety of proteins, I was mostly interested in tropocollagen and tertiary structures, which include the haemoglobin molecule...and all that...huh, I am hungry for more details, but who cares! (hey wait! I forgot the organism causing tuberculosis...I know now, that’s exactly why I’m not into Bio anymore...WHAT A LAME EXCUSE!)

I wish I knew somebody, anybody (straight, gay, lesbian…with special preference to all three), as passionate as I am about biology...anybody out there in this vast web of virtual insanity, trapped in dossiers with fancy names such as Cookies, History and Temp, addicted to Biology? (This is cheapstake beckoning, just like the ones who call up Jimmy every Friday after midnight in some forlorn FM station to put their pseudo-sensitive, artless, so-called ‘feelings’ on air...and not to mention the even cheaper beckoning (or coaxing?) of the jockey to the listeners to pour out their pseudo-tales of woes and ‘feelings’...squeezing water out of hard rock)

Now, I am tired of the nested brackets I am delving all ye mortals to strain your eyes into…speaking of mortals, I always felt that there are always immortals at any given time, prying into blogs and chat rooms…I definitely had such a feeling of déjà vu when I entered into this oddly named chat room in MSN years back...yes, when they still let us mortals this side of the planet to log on to MSN chat rooms...and I was sure they were not mortals, cos they had electronic and/or lord-of-the-rings-and-mortal-combat genre of nicks and they talked in a language I had no way of comprehending, albeit they were in English...the language of the colonizers...But anyway, I miss access to those chat rooms cos I used to be a regular chatterbox at a room named “Philosophy” at one point of time...not that people talked of Bertrand Russell or Socrates...plain simple people, simply chatting...no slang, no stupidity whatsoever...they had disciplined Bots, and even cared to give their Bot-ship away to other deserving people joining the room. I remember explaining to a Swedish what “shon papri” sweets look and taste like...hay-like and all, grainy and sugary, with a soft crunchy feel on your tongue...And then there was this chat room where a middle-aged guy talked of a book called the Matrix with its url, which has the same theme and philosophy as in the movie, but not the movie itself...he also advised me that it wasn’t healthy for nature to let births to babies in “the matrix” cos in “reality” there are not many souls...most of them are rotten, exhausted and don’t want to enter the Matrix, i.e. be born in our eyes, which is embedded in Maya. The man showed me his picture, which I had no reason to believe as his...and even if he was being true, I couldn’t care...but anyway, the picture was weird...he had certain kind of eyes which compelled me to think of those aliens lurking inside human-skin in the movie Men In Black...He might have been an alien, who knows...I am an alien too, to some could-be creatures in Epsilon Eridani and also to the homo-sapiens of this planet...if NASA keeps secret documents of homo sapiens living in outer space, to them too...


Monday, September 05, 2005
7:52:11 PM
This is a strange planet...it indeed is...people are busy spreading anxiety and bad vibes all around. It gives them immense pleasure to keep asking questions...and mind you, not any important questions like “Why do we all exist at all?”...but it’s more like: who fucked who...I am compelled to quote a few lines from my diary:

This is all so weird…the whole damn idea of existence. When we are so illiterate about all these enigma, we fight over simple matters and turn the whole life into an albatross. People blame each other, they are too poky, and both dictated at and dictating themselves. The equilibrium of yin and yang seems too dull a concept. I mean, it isn’t that simple; can’t be. The Cosmos is filled with mysteries to be unraveled and we spend our whole lives solving the non-mysterious and idiotic social problems. It’s all a big farce! It all is…(7th June’ 2004)

I don’t know how I succeeded in building up a fiery image of myself in front of many people...I mean, am I really hot-tempered? Have I not been extremely unlucky? Some even think I am outright devilish and a culprit, and worst of all, that doesn’t even make me famous! It’s like Laden (as in Osama bin Laden, no pun intended) without any publicity...Some think I am dumb and stupid, which is a big relief...that way, I don’t have to live up to any expectations...If somebody asks me, “Why couldn’t you do it?” or “Why are you behaving like that?”, I can manage a broad grin and say, “Remember I am dumb and stupid???” I also have a good laugh when I think of some who fall into my trap and go beyond their limits to establish that I am dumb and stupid...I can give a censored version of an instance:
“Are you interested in PEEEEEEEEEP?”
“No, I don’t really understand...I am so dumb...hehe”
“Oh yah (somebody else goes on)...she doesn’t know a PEEP about PEEP...and she is PEEP(dumb) and PEEP(stupid)...well, blah blah blah PEEP PEEP...she peeps peep from peep...”

Anyway, some people are so lucky that they can spare time for such a foolish pursuit...Meanwhile I will get back to my Tarot cards and eventually to Galvin...I need to plan ahead, you see...lest I tumble and topple one more time for the n+1th time like The Fool...which I surely will...again!

Tuesday, September 06, 2005
5:55:40 PM
I keep asking the same question myself over and over again...I mean this whole business of life and being born...The first things I remember when I gained consciousness into this world were two vivid memories of my childhood. I remember once when my mother came home from Calcutta (where she went for her dissertation) after 7 days, I was pretty mad at her...but at that time, I hadn’t developed much of a vocabulary...I remember her bringing to the bed where she rested while I kept on pulling her hairs so as to hurt her and cried out of anguish...and second, I remember once running just out of a bath naked and suddenly this strange feeling of embarrassment enshrouded me...I don’t know how I got the feeling...I was just a kid, and there were no signs of maturity both in my mind or physically.I also remember clearly climbing on the stairs of the flat we were living and at the very last step my mother caught me and brought me down...she came to me as silent as a tigress to her prey...I was climbing the stairs without anybody’s knowledge to the forbidden rooftop, without any railings...

I shouldn’t have been born...With all the mess around me... “You have a messed up life” they say...And I read somewhere that the feelings associated during conception determines from which cosmic channel a soul would be born in this world of Maya...I guess that did it...I don’t think I come from a very high level of cosmic channel...no wonder, my whole means of existence is a big question mark.

But there’s no end to my dreaming big, far and wide...I sometimes savor the thought of living in a house all by myself...I would have a bedroom with attached study room and of course nature’s call has to be answered nearby with style and décor...the dining would be with a couch and a TV, with an espresso machine at one corner and a smuggled guitar...and of course the kitchen, although my culinary skills would only compel me to visit the MacDonald’s more often than not (carcinoma would have just about no problem in finding their way through my blood stream).

I want a reading lamp...and the study would overflow with all the books I have bought and want to buy...I would own a bike...as in a bicycle...so that I can go off anywhere at a moment’s notice, putting the nice helmet on my head...I would always have a backpack ready with all the dire necessities, including a compass and an atlas, and maps and cash...and of course, Patrick Moore’s guide for star watchers...my star dial...My stock of pencils, pens and markers should never run out...and paper too...lots of fancy envelopes...and more papers still...And the telescope...yes, it has to be there...without it, life would be so bleak and unfinished...and a microscope, that too...the telescope would be mounted at the rooftop...and the microscope in the study, just near a centrifuge machine...and slides, petri dishes, beakers, graduated pipettes, suction pump, cylinders...an aquarium of some fishes and crabs...and oh, I need the refrigerator...a small one would do...loaded with Pepsi, Cadbury, cartons of Iced Tea, some samples that need to be at low temperatures...in short, the bounty of supplies...The pc should be companioned with lots of hardware, junk and useful...with CDs lying everywhere...Well, that’s my den...and I prefer to be alone without any distractions...occasional company is understandable and somehow tolerated...in times of sickness, I can romanticize pessimism like wine savored sip by sip...wrapped in a piece of cloth, wondering if this was heaven...then my pc would ring, and I would just be informed of an alien landing and I can rush to the spot with my backpack riding my bike, shoving a tablet of Nise under my tongue...

I want my studio at the rooftop, where the smell of turpentine oil would enamor me and linseed oil would please and grease the canvas...Brushes of all sizes, with extra large tubes of White and Ultramarine blue...and Prussian blue, and Cobalt blue...The bedroom can have charts of important formulae and theorems hung on the wall...and a big sized skeleton, standing and mocking me at times when I would become totally useless...

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

WRITING WITHOUT INK

Saturday, August 06, 2005

I wanted a telescope when I was in class-1. I was told that if I stood 1st in class, I would be gifted a telescope. I topped but no telescope came to me.The next year I was in class-2, and the same thing happened. Thus I stood 1st in a row till class-8. Afterwards, I never became first till now. Once I was taken to a telescope shop, given false hopes for the nth time, but still no telescope at my disposal. I guess I’ll have to do it with my naked eyes. It’s okay by me, I guess. As long as Alpha Centauri and Proxima Centauri keep sending light waves to my retina.I once observed a certain kind of planet, which moved quite fast, in retrograde motion up in the evening sky. I noted down each detail of the event, believing it was a UFO but later learned it was in fact an artificial satellite.



Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Sometimes I don’t understand myself. The statement is in no way meant to raise any importance, and neither is it rhetorical. I really don’t understand myself, and the more I try to, it gets me nowhere, so I resolve in understanding others. The great thing about that is, you don’t even need to know if what you think is true or false. You can mercilessly flirt with the idea and take no sweat about what anybody is thinking whatsoever, but with yourself, you always have to look for clarity. You can lie to yourself, be as illusive and confused as The Hanged Man (consult Tarot Cards), but you can never be sanguine about it. You expect so much from yourself, you see….you don’t expect so much from others. You may really understand others and it doesn’t matter even if you don’t, but you must give a good try to understand yourself….now, now…am I drunk or what? I am repeating the same thing over and over again. What else am I supposed to talk about then, Harry Potter? I don’t know what to do with that book…I mean, I never read it though, but that’s beside the point…someday I will write ‘Hari Puttar’ and read it myself….I think my nose has started running, wonder where my cod-liver oil tablets are….seven seas….why did they name it Seven Seas??? Cods from all the seven seas of the world were butchered, their livers ripped out and oil extracted? Or, a single cod whose oil travels far and wide across the seven seas, I have no clue…meanwhile, the viruses are finding their way through my immune system…wish my lymphatic system did not lay any red carpets for them…I once read a story about an aspiring doctor who could talk to viruses…he felt happy to host for them coz that’s the only way they can really live…poor viruses…

We all try to know so many things…most of us are so curious, yet we never think of death. It’s so much better kept sealed with the deepest fears of mankind. I really wonder why I do things I do. Does it really mean anything, whatever we do? I have an uncanny feeling that it’s all farce. But more important, as of this moment, is that I should really go to sleep now…perhaps, that’s similar to death. Once in 1994, the day we had carnival at school (I had a stall and sold many stuff, and I remember I did have a runny nose that day, might also have had fever…oh and I also remember I bought the audio cassette of the movie Rangeela…that time, I used to listen to lots of A. R. Rahman music…I still do…oh dammit, I even remember the clothes I was wearing that day…It was December, and I was wearing a white cardigan on top of a maroon top with a black crepe long skirt that had prints of western cowboys riding horses…it was my first real carnival, or more commonly “meena-bazaar”…I had a crush over a really stupid guy, six feet two inches, who even treated me phuchka for free from his stall…) I was sure I would die as soon as I would fall asleep…so I was afraid to sleep…I kept awake as long as I could, but the next morning I woke up from a safe sleep…sometimes, you can be so sure of something, but it never happens, which basically means, never be so sure of anything…



Tuesday, August 16, 200511:51:30 PM

I saw a wonderful movie today, Ella Enchanted…there’s so much fantasy into it…I just loved it…I haven’t seen a purely fantasy movie for a long time…I loved the elf in the movie, who hated to perform, and wanted to be a lawyer…but his fellow-elves won’t let him…and there’s Ella whose fairy godmother gave her a gift, as good as a curse, which made her obedient by default…and there were the Giants…

I am also reading a book called Life of Pi…The style of writing is good…I mean, I can read on without having to skip lines…I have become so impatient these days…I want to bite more that I can chew…I once read a comedy novel by Stella Duffy called “Eating the Cake”- it was pretty hilarious…a woman trying to find meaning in life, tries out everything from infidelity to homosexuality…then realizes none of these meant anything whatsoever…The author is Brit…Are all middle-aged Brit woman somewhat like Bridget Jones?

I did manage to squeeze some time for Data Structures…for the first time in my life, I actually opened the book by Tenenbaum…For once I have been able to erase any resemblances with hashish to Hashing. But it still seems pretty obscure to me, at a certain point. The thing is, I understand the language of Biology so well, but it’s difficult for me to adapt to the terms and language of computer science…or mathematics, for that matter…strangely though, I am beginning to find some interest in that recently…moreover, I might really miss on something really important about Life, which only mathematics can probably show me…but of course, I can’t forget my Lingua Pura, the language of Biology.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

ARE YOU A 'BANGALI'?

“Are you a Bangali?”, the security guard asked me, trying to put up a conversation while I was waiting to meet a distinguished official in the Writers’ Building. I was very puzzled to hear the question. I just told him I was from Bangladesh, and now he is asking me if I was ‘Bangali’ or not! Wasn’t I speaking perfect ‘Bangla’ to him? What kind of a question was that?

For a moment, I thought he was implying if I was a ‘Bangal’ or a ‘Bangali’, but that seemed a bit too far-fetched. The fact that I am a citizen of Bangladesh rules out any possibilities of me not being a ‘Bangal’, as we know it so fantastically from the anecdotes of Bhanu Bandopaddhay.

I answered him yes quite nonchalantly but he asked me again, “Maney, Bangali Bagali tho?” Very strange. ‘Bangali’ itself is an adjective and a noun in itself. Why add a redundant adjective to an all-encompassing noun? I turned around at him and told him the fact that Bengali is my mother-tongue and I was born in a country where ‘Bangla’ is the national language, how can I be anything else except a Bangali? He seemed a bit impressed with my answer, still leaving me confused as to why my explanation was at all impressive anyway. I mean, wasn’t it pretty obvious?

“What’s your name?”, he asked me, trying to dig out every bit of information about me, as if my name was in his dossier! I began wondering if my accent was anything like Marwaris or not. I told my name and then there was this sudden glow on his face. He told me, “I am also ‘pucca’ Bangali. Brahmin.” Now I was alarmed. So, is this what he was implying? That I actually answered all his questions made me feel so fooled and ashamed of myself.

It is unfortunate that Bangali is used for referring Hindus who originate from Bengal. Isn’t that selling the word too short? This guard wanted to know if I was a Muslim or not, since majority of people in Bangladesh are followers of Islam. But does that take away their right to be Bangalis? Does that mean people of Bangladesh are not Bangalis? And what about all the Muslims who originate from Murshidabad or any place else in West Bengal, do they lose their right to be identified as Bangalis?

‘Bangali’ is a regional and a lingual classification. It has nothing to do with religion. In fact, the word ‘Bangali’ has no room for classification religion-wise, for there are no synonyms for ‘religion’ in the Bengali Language. The word we use mistakenly for religion is ‘Dharma’. But the word ‘dharma’ is derived from the Sanskrit ‘dhree+mann’, which literally means the vessel, which contains our mind. Or put simply, it means the way our mind is or our nature is. To be precise, the English word for dharma is ‘properties’ or ‘characteristics’ and not religion.

I feel helpless and unable to do anything to stop this mindless propaganda of a word, which is so dear to me. What will I answer to the insatiable souls of the martyrs, who died for this language refusing to accept Urdu as their national language?

For all we know, four names- Salam, Barkat, Rafiq and Jabbar- will be always engraved with gold, first and foremost, in the history of the Language Movement, among all the youth, who bartered their blood for ‘Bangla’ on 21st February, which eventually baptized my country as Bangladesh from the then East Pakistan.

Thursday, July 28, 2005

Tuesday Morning

Tuesday, July 26, 2005
It’s strange how simple things can piss one off right from the morning. I wake up late at 8 o’ clock, when I should be having my shower at 7am. I always set an alarm for 7am and a reminder for 6:30am (that makes two) the night before. But every time the cell phone vibrates, I conveniently wake up, put it off equally comfortably and resume my slumber. The next time I find myself awake and finally alarmed, I barely have time to attend my 9 o’ clock class…especially Da Silva’s English class, as of today’s.

Anyway, I brush my teeth, rush for a quick bath taking only 10 minutes. I iron my white top, which earned me quite a scolding from my mother for not having done it the night before. I leave out the drier considering the rush, and in the process forget my punch clip. Then comes the real part. Food. Sad and revolting, early in the morning, when you are served boiled egg with rice. I somehow manage to squeeze them all down my sleepy and not enough dilated oesophagus.

When I think I have forgotten nothing to take, including the keys, I am vexed by the perpetual dirt, which had accumulated on my shoes. I take one moment to make the wrong decision, wear my new shoes, the one with the funny keys and step out into the unknown. And the unknown bolts into a drizzle from the heavens and also under my feet, the muddy water ever malicious of my shoes, and it starts raining harder. It’s now 8:30am and I am still trying to hail an auto or a ricky. Finally, I get on the rickshaw, cursing the rain like hell, because it only drills a hole through my wallet, as the pullers always charge you extra when you need their service the most. I get to the bus-stand and when I am waiting for the goddamn bus, some zealous driver splashes the filthy water on the streets all over my clothes. I wish I was wearing my raincoat, no matter how much I am teased for wearing it and making an entrance of sort.

The bus takes me to Kasba Post-office stoppage, and I run to chase another bus, which will actually take me to my college (not quite though, since I still have to walk a while…) and when I have in fact run to catch the bus, I discover that it belongs to some other route. The bus can be deceptive, you see. The bus with the same name may have two routes.When I find my bus, I find difficulty saving my white top and my bare hands from being brushed by a filthy oil-head, who would not budge an inch. I am lucky to get a seat though, after a while.

The grand finale is inaugurated by three ‘loochchyas’, who made the mistake of walking close by me and eyeing me top to bottom. I shout at them, threatening to dump them at the police station. I seriously don’t understand how men can manage to be horny at any random girl, when the road is hustling due to the office-going passengers. I mean, what a way to start a day: get molested by any random guy on the roads! And not to mention the interminable vista of ogling B.Com all-male students in the college, who refuse to acknowledge that they really don’t know me.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Feelings from the Crypt

Saturday, July 16, 2005

“Are you going to Scarborough Fair?”, could I not ask him that. This seething urge fills my very depth of abyss. Really, could I not ask him that? Could I not tell him that my hands are of no use anymore, I can’t paint anymore. I see him clearly. Lucid, and sparkling with rays, that dance out effortlessly from his holy aperture flanked over three-sixty degrees with drapes of brown iris.

Click and flash.

Say hello to illusion.

I offer him a seat and play about, wondering if I am wandering for a decade or so. I can’t think anymore, as I am completely left out blank. Thought is a ship, which is always sailing through, and often carried away by pirates. I try to light a fire on the water, hoping to scare the pirates away. What time is it now? Good or bad? Slow or fleeting? Could I not ask him all that. I could be sitting with him right under the gorgeous saucer, bathing in the beam that the UFO blessed us with. I see us running into a bar, the wildest thing to do. I could take only a sip of gin tonic, take a furtive glance around the rest of the people, throw away my drink and act as if I am helluva drunk. I could gaze at him shamelessly and pull him to dance with “I wanna get close to you”.

Fizz. The champagne bottle is uncorked and there’s no letting go off.

I see him now staring at the center of his field of vision, the concrete- his bed and the book- his pillow. It’s all the same from every angle. Isotropic. Concealed by the sharp edges of objects in space. He sees electrons drifting in space, with his X-ray vision. Funny that he is not Superman. I see his hands, which can create love at the slightest provocation, a living, talking example of order. Makes me want to have freshly made chocolate cake from those human tentacles, which strictly follow the chaos theory, and can lift me up in the air, the sandy breeze floating beneath me.

The ship is fighting through a storm, and Noah is nowhere in sight. The flame flickers vehemently on the salty water, cries frantically for some wax, and dissolves. I can see him now waiting in absolute darkness, with a pair of searching hands and a burning heart.

Thursday, May 26, 2005

SANDWICH AND TAMARIND DRINK

Monday, May 23, 2005
The lights shone everywhere. Twinkle lights. It was hard to tell twinkle lights from the twinkling stars. Darkness. With lights thrown in sparsely. Makes one think of a moon covered by a thin sheet of clouds. So thin, it might as well be that a non-existent spider wove a fine web around our very own satellite. Nef had been sailing for 4months 22days. She was tired of so much water all around, but yet today was different. She looked up at Antares with pure ecstasy as she heard the tapping of a pair of shoes approaching her. Funny, even the tapping sounded lovely. As she turned around, a delicious pair of tuna sandwich lay on a tray with a glass of tamarind drink. She felt contentment like never before…‘No, no not tamarind juice in the middle of the night’, she said.‘I couldn’t think of anything else today’, said Void from void.‘But did I ever tell you I love tamarind juice?’‘I thought I know…’‘So you do…Void, do you ever sleep?’‘I don’t need to. I never get tired. Do you want some kind of a food drink?’‘It’s ok. I am happy with these.’‘I’ll be back in a moment with a dish of lobster’, said Void and left.
She wondered if Void ever ate. Or drank, for that matter. Oracle never talked to her about it. She only told her that on one twinkling night, Void would appear with a pair of sandwiches. And tamarind drink. She didn’t even talk about the tapping of shoes, but only that Nef would hear or feel a sign when Void would emerge from the land of the void. The Oracle didn’t give her any further piece of information. She was at her deathbed. After that, Nef didn’t waste a second. She ordered a ship to be made out of Belgium glass with silver framework for support. And now here she was 4 months 22days…
Void never came back with the lobster dish. She knew it. But the tamarind had made her imbecile and the sandwich made her wiser, all at the same time. Since then, it’s not clear if Void appeared again, but a strange thing happened every dawn. A pile of fish, crab, squid, shrimps and lobsters hopped on the deck every dawn and got themselves fried by the Sun of the noon and Nef didn’t have to bother to sail on for eternity.
She never found any land ever again. Once she had read about Xanadu, the never never land of imagination. She never found that either. Or may be if she did, it was largely unnecessary. Antares always shone upon her.