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???
Thursday, May 04, 2006
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.
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…
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…
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…
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)
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…
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…
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…
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???
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…
“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…
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