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Unusual Thursday

Unusual Encounter 1: Three men in the park sitting just in a line across each other in consecutive benches. One picking his nose away, the second doing pranayam and the third one sneezing...nose people!

Unusual Encounter 2: While jogging back from the lake, over the flyover, towards the railway station, I see three men walking together, all in white t's and navy blue tracks...one of them has a cap written amazing thailand some year to some year....I forgot the years....and the same person had all the Millennium Development Goals (all eight) printed at the back of his t-shirt....

Unusual Encounter 3: While crossing the railway tracks on foot, saw a woman in sari fallen and rather drowsy, I don't know really...she had her eyes closed and face cribbed...other women helped her get up...and her husband trying to help her...but the man seemed to be a pauper of sorts...she seemed unhappy that he tried touching her to help her out...and he shouted at her, in public, telling all "look what kind of a wife she is"...and she kept insisting on not to touch her....and they glided away to the nearby slums just where the railway crossing ends on the side of the bazaar...

Statement of Purpose, Forsaken and Forlorn...

in scientia veritas, in artes honestas...

It would not be very wrong or outrageous to say that one could treat illness with music, paint a canvas with sulphur and cadmium, write poetry for proving a mathematical theorem and take a photograph with the blink of an eye. Indeed, music IS therapeutic enough to alleviate depression, paint IS made up of chemical substances, poetry comprises of metric rhythms and mathematical progressions, and memories are photographic images of past incidents stored in the brain. Yet, as Einstein quite rightly points out, gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love. Also, imagination is more important than knowledge. New discoveries and inventions would have been impossible without creativity and imagination.

Hence, in my mind, the scales don’t really balance when it comes to science or arts. It’s a never-ending base-superstructure (base being science and superstructure being arts) dialectical leitmotif for me. But however often this recurring imbalance haunts me, I always knew that one reciprocates the other and that there has to be a structure that houses both the disciplines. The boundary seems to get blurred in a post-structural fashion, as if by deconstruction, and the field of Anthropology wins all the votes. But one must look hard for something, sometimes consciously and sometimes even the world conspires and gets it for you when you are temporarily not looking. The moment of arriving at a juncture where a balance is struck is almost like death, which is only the beginning. One gets flashes of the past in a series of linked montages at such arrival points and it makes all the more sense, just like in the Nonsense of Sukumar Ray or in the secret anagrams of Leonardo Da Vinci.

Just like Alice, I would like to keep myself busy in all things human. I would rather indulge myself in social questions and finding scientific answers so that our planet doesn’t get run over by intergalactic bypasses and leave the residual hitchhiking survivors like Douglas Adams’s character Arthur Dent, cursed to forever brood over the planet that was really never meant to be obviously because of the insensible viscous acts of human civilization.

We have done more damage to our planet than the rodents that destroy our crops. If in science lies the truth and the key to technological advances, in art lies the honour in keeping and maintaining such advances. Human beings fight among themselves and in doing so create havoc and leave a long trail of wreckage endangering life on Earth and nature itself. If we don’t act responsible socially and resolve social problems within our communities then the relationship between human and nature will worsen. We get angry at each other and greet each other with atom bombs. But what could we do when the Tsunami washed away several lives, and stripped off the nuclear plants naked? When nature strikes back, we will all be mashed into a coagulation of useless dump that might resemble some 20^th Century Dada art but it needs serious recycling with another Big Bang. It wouldn’t even be funny!

THREE DOGS

The strangest thing happened to me today...I just finished my dinner when I happened to be at my balcony when I saw a dog eagerly staring at me from the street...I motioned it to go away, just like that...but it stared at me with watery eyes...I thought it was hungry and needed food. I went inside to get my leftover rice and went back only to find him sitting and wagging his tail....I quickly poured the rice in a cellophane packet and keeping it open dropped it down. The dog immediately went near it, sniffed and then walked in another direction and stopped as if looking for someone, another dog perhaps...saw left and right and went away without giving me any further glance...I didn't even exist for the dog...then after a while another dog came, this one thinner...went straight to my dropped food, sniffed and then peed on it and left! I was so bewildered! then after a while a third, blackish, limping, oldish dog came over, sniffed and then peed like the second dog and left...HOLY BELGIUM! i mean, really, the food I eat even a dog wouldn't! Is that what it meant? Or was it something very personal amongst the dogs like some underground activity...for UNDERdogs...LOL...See, this is why I never like dogs...or anything that can be made into a pet...they are strange and they pee in the wrong place!

STALKERS BURN IN PLASMA MOCKTAIL!!!

I have lived the most important years of my life in Kolkata...and now I just can't live the life of a criminal anymore...criminal indeed...i need to report to FRO section every time I enter and leave India. And every time I get a new Visa, I need to make a new RP (Residential Permit)...which is not a very happy job. Involves a lot of photocopying, drafting and shit work. Meaningless and in no way of any use...It's for the State of India to feel proud of exercising power. Only the extent of power they exercise varies from place to place.

The Bengal Police had been very generous and kind as to the papers to be submitted for RP...but this Kolkata Police thinks they can find the rabbit hole where I, Alice, came in through...only if they had the imagination...I am in my third year of this course and in my last semester and the officer asks me there is no proof that I am a Bangladeshi student, despite my passport photocopy, and my Bangladesh address in both Sponsorship Certificate AND my college ID card...am sure you don't understand what I am trying to say by all these jargons....neither do I...and let's say I don't want to...I have had enough...

He (Dennis -The Menace as I call), has the whim to ask me whether I know the difference between submission and inquiry...i mean, why should I? why should I have to produce the sponsor's electric bill as address proof when I have the telephone bill to provide? I mean, isn't the telephone bill also considered as a valid governmental proof of address? He wants my sponsor's Voter ID card, AND his PAN card...let's say his whole point is to discourage my sponsor to sponsor me....and how ridiculous, that if a Bangladeshi student doesn't know anyone or can't convince anyone to sponsor him/her, then he/she simply wont be able to stay here for education purpose...is that fair? does that in any way stop infiltration, and illegal migration or even terrorist acts across the border? IT DOESN'T!

But had I not been suffering like this, I really would have pitied all the OC/RP's and DIB officers for having to work in an office that literally reeks of urine excreted in the leaking lavatories by themselves...What you inhale there, is all you can deliver...he inhales urine and delivers more excreta of the State itself...i say he, since most of the officers there are male...

Like Ginsberg, I would love to say to India (the State, I mean)

INDIA, I AM SICK OF YOUR INSANE DEMANDS!!!

When will you sell your eggs to America?

p.s. India, I wish I don't have to be a burden on you anymore...ever...I wish I never miss you...I wish I never have to love you again...or live in nostalgia for you...I am preparing myself to hate you...

Voice of Goddess...

Was listening to Plaisir D Amour by Joan Baez...and it just occurred that I have never noticed how the quality of her voice has direct visual feelings...

"you brought me heaven right then" is like a sharp shiny knife reflecting Cosmic rays

"when your eyes kissed mine" is like the same knife cutting through butter...

"my love loves me" - the knife shredding cheddar cheese...

"and all the wonders I see" - knife cutting the last bit

"of rainbow shines in my window" -knife cutting through soft fire...

"my love loves me" - the knife squeezing in a soft, spongy cottage cheese...

I guess she has a lovely knife in her throat...and not an adam's apple!

I wish I could grow a knife in mine too...

JINXED...

I lost my black bounded sketchbook. If you ever see her, get the pages scanned for me. And upload them on Facebook or any damn site provided you are on my friend's list. I wish there were enemy lists as well...but anyway, they come in the guise of friends...bleh!

I was just thinking a few days back to take photos of my work in that sketchbook...and now it's gone! I just can't believe I have lost it...I have never lost a sketchbook in my life!

On moving the towel...

Ab mujhe koi intezaar kahaa...
The rat ran through the rain
I stared with my purple umbrella
On the terrace
Drenching my towel blue
Twinkle lights on the mosque
Woh jo thha dard ka karaar, kaha?
Wringing the towel, still no drops
But it's ripe with river
Aankh ki ek gaaon mein raatko khwab atethhe
Tak, take, taking it to the shade
Enough of the pangs of river!
Woh jo bahetethhe abshar kahaa???
What happens to those towels
Whose masters sleep asnore
When it rains at midnight
Urte khwabon ka aetbar kahaa...?

shoestrings...

I wish not to write...
For these are not the cruel flowers of April...

Feelings from the Crypt: Revisited...

(painting courtesy: Ruben Monakhov http://rubenm.spb.ru/)

I'm still with my caravan

Wishing you a bundle of joy

That clove sweet cigarrette

Left my lips rather coy

There the shipyard, ahoy!

And the crescent moon

Will be clouded soon

That ney flute playing in my mind

Have left the waves go blind

As they blindly roll over the steps...

Step by step

Tune by tune

I must perish

For these are the cruel flowers of April...

Spreading poison smell till May

While I paint my nails white

Let me sleep now

I shall wake up on Monday...

I see the light come shining...and I shall be released!!!

Image Courtesy: Santhosh Pai aka Sanpaiya

Is it art when men lie and compartmentalise their conscience???

Then it's definitely art to march into the unknown...cos' the unknown can't offer worse than the known...

Truth always brings happiness...in this day and age where nothing costs or hurts more than truth, I embrace truth...for it shall always remain with me and my people around me...

Amen...

be a rebel!

be a rebel!

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mera naam johnnie

mera naam johnnie

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In hateful memory of an Encountered Comrade

I wanted you dead, but
Never on the hands of our commonest enemies...
I would have savoured you alive and wounded
In the mind, not the flesh...
Just as you might think I am one of them
I too feel you are one of them
You conspired with the State
To take my Love away...
I hated you
With the last turn of the silencer
You have become the immortal martyr
Am listening to Raag Tori by Kumar Gandharva
I dont believe there are only three kinds of people
Like you.
He likes you. Perhaps loves even.
You didn't have to defeat me like this
But that you did
I shall gallop along now
You can haunt me and make him love you
Does death make one better?
Even if it does, do I quiver?
But I wanted you dead
Never on the hands of the State
Or of mine...

The Man and the Tortoise: A Prophecy

I love you. Not your tortoise...on whom u painted lovingly...

I know you dont....it's okay...even if it isn't...

The Address

By the busy lane, there is an address. Lives the hearty one. My tooth hurts, but it ain't a sweet one...(I am selling myself to myself...eh!) Have you heard Joni Mitchell lately? Just crossed my mind...so where were we? Bloody address. Bloody identity crisis! Last night i slept in sweat, my fan is filled with filth. But am buying lights, lots of them...spotlines and clear ones, all sorts...even twinkle lights...will they heat up my address? But thats not sufficient. For what isn't sufficient is inevitable. I am preparing for an exam that never frightens, which probably doesn't even exist in this huge blob of a Universe...

They teach us about collective deviance and expect us to have collective obedience (even dumbness) in 30, Mother Teresa Sarani. And in 40, Daley Road, it was cold, really cold, and I could call oranges mandarins, and deans by their names; there this lady slept on my bed while I shivered (with cold not dreams) on the carpetted floor...and the carpet wasn't Persian, though my student was...And there are other roads and alleys that have been alzheimered in my mind...

I can invent words...dont get shocked...i can turn addresses into empires or ruins...and i am only joking, you know...you can leave your hat on! Yes you, am addressing you to take a peek into ur head underneath...

Some addresses lament...They lament on the bare bones...I have a hard time filling forms...they always ask about addresses. Permanent and present. Correspondence of late. Am out watching a match between Mohammedans and Abahanis...you can watch Mohanbagan and East Bengal instead...I'll catch a swine flu just so i dont have to fill up immigration forms...You get masks from the medicine shops, yes that's the address...call me if you die...i lost my sim...but i can buy plenty...dial any number...try 666...or else, don't let a key unpressed. Anonimity will triumph; at last, an unknown number will get you through to the other side...Alice is waiting...follow the rabbit...

Man-Woman Dialectics and Winter

Winter first. Global warming has robbed us off the chill of winter here in the tropics...The smell and memory of winter are 10, Paribagh and songs of Mehedi Hassan...films like Silsila, Lamhe, Ashiqi and much later, 1947 Earth...it's a nostalgic concoction to which later concoctions have tried hard to sink in only to be immiscible...oh i forgot to mention 1971 spirit, Kajal mama, my parents, a houseful of student activists, left-wing politicians of Dhaka, Masud Rana, bhapa pittha, Memory bakery pastry and love...

"dil-e-nadaan tujhe hua kya hai/akhir iss dard ke dawa kya hai..." - Ghalib

"....hum hain mushtaq , aur woh bezar/iya elahi iye majrah kya hai"

woman proposes, man disposes...man proposes, woman composes...disagree, disagree! help yourself. Who said I am preaching here man-woman dialectics? Who's saying that I have the answers? It's not my job. Ghalib, Neruda, the like and the unlike have done their job well. Am only stuck in the negation of man by negation of woman and vice versa. I don't understand it one bit. So shouldn't you...

Read At Your Own Risk

KOLI YUG....ghor Koli Yug...am sure of it! Something is going to happen, like some Nuclear War...or something thousand times more hideous than that! Or maybe a stagnancy will occur that would make people be like that Farmer guy from SIN CITY...

trust, simplicity, honesty, warmth, everything is dwindling away...KHOY KHALI KHOY...Changes are also bad, nobody seems to agree on that....everyone jives in, CHANGE CHANGE CHANGE!!! Does it really change???? Does anything REALLY change? Whose intentions are what, you never know...I feel dizzy in this flimsy warp of a city...

I am sick of everything being connotated to sexual pleasures, physicality blah blah...I like to call it Seification, just like reification...Everything arty and crazy and free and open invariably has to have some seified concept or the other, according to intellectuals and big people!!! As if salvation lies in polygamy, and how creatively u can lie....I heard somewhere " A hypocrite is one who starts believing in it"...or something like that, I dont remember the exact words, but i can remember the essence...why is it important to lie creatively? WHY???? Just, WHY?

Why should I live in a world where i have to constantly doubt the intentions of every and anyone brushing past by in life???? Why do I have to live in a world where people laugh at others' miseries??? Worse still, why do people spend their time spontaneously or strenuously to make others feel miserable? Why is it important to save your brain from diseased teachings? Why is everybody looking for profit??? Why can't we all seek peace instead of pleasure???

Hedonism, I abhor...The answer is not blowing in the wind...the answer surely lies in chequebooks and credit cards...just like "Workers of the world unite! You have nothing to lose except your ROLEX WATCHES"!!!

Competition is like a plague...standing like a giant Nosferatu...I can never get myself to feel the pangs of competition...yes I have mourned for not achieving something, especially when things dont turn out as expected...but that's a human condition....and that's not the point really...I can fill a page advising on doing this and that to eradicate problems, obliterate the foes and turn forlorn lores into chores, but I shall refrain...cos am myself in this "TOTAL PERSPECTIVE VORTEX"

There have been too many conflicting deeds done and with all the hatred in this world, it's impossible to pull us all out of this viscous circle...even Hope seems like a weak advocate...The blind lady with the scales now wears a Rayban sunglass...Life is fun! Fun and interesting and happening, but insensitive, ruthless and cruel too...We should stand in front of mirrors for hours...