Saturday, December 09, 2006

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 Bergman’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…

Tuesday, September 26, 2006


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)

Yes Sir!
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


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!


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…


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


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.


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


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…


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's just brilliant!


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…