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…