Straight from the Heart

It’s the journey not the destination that’s important. Every minute passing by is therefore GOD-sent. Love the feel of the world round you, the wise men say. And the joy of living be felt in your deeds, every single day. Let the eyes be open to the colours that surround. The ears be patient listener to all the melodious sound. Let the soul share the passion of all the humans around. It’s the perfect recipe for happiness to grow by leaps and bounds. With erect shoulders and chest filled with pride. Lets walk on, taking the rough in its stride. Stop at times, to marvel at the rainbow in the sky. Or simply hasten when troubled rains lash with all its might. Dance like the butterfly, float like the vagabond cloud. Like the birds in the forest, shrill and singing aloud. Jump over obstacles like that swift gurgling brook. Passing like the breeze, through every crevice and nook. Forget we must, to worry for the future unknown. Trust in God for leading us to the ultimate home. The world’s a st...

“Feluda needs to Change….Its time that the director considers a complete makeover of the character”. These words screamed out of the newspaper, a day after a new movie, the 3rd in the series, based on a novel by Satyajit Ray was released. Nonsense, I thought, as I finished reading the article. Satyajit Ray’s Feluda stories have literally been a part of our growing years. It was the Puja time, when one used to eagerly wait for the annual offering from a reputed Bengali publication house, simply because it contained a new adventure of Feluda; the private detective who was always a step ahead of even the smartest criminal in the world. Even when the son of the illustrious father had decided to re-start the Feluda movies with “Bombaiyeer Bombete”, it was quite a success. I was reminded of the earlier Feluda movies that I had seen. I was a young boy, 10 years old then. The movie had been made by the great man himself, Satyajit Ray. The photographs of Sonar Kella is still vivid in my memory,...

The sea came to greet me. The waves spread its arms And crushed me down on the sandy beach, As if in a joyous embrace. The surf spread a foamy carpet of welcome, Before the bubbles popped around the feet with a soft sound. The gurgling water seemed to say- “Goodness, you have been so long away!” The sand and the salt clung to me, As if they loathed to part from a long lost friend. All around me could be heard, shouts of glee, At the friendliness of the vast stretching sea.

The blue knotted tie peeping through the buttoned jacket front. The slight chill in the morning air heralding the onset of winter months here. A desire for warmth in the morn, to cover the naked bodies that lay inter-twined all night long. Muffler clad figures of old, coughing, continue their morning walk in the cold. The morning misty sky, gone is the sweat, lips beginning to dry. Circus in city, fairs at maidan, attracting crowds, dozens pouring in noon day sun. Park street decorated, time to be merry Yule tide spirit, cheers- driving away every worry!

“Seven days ago, I had been a perfectly normal happy man, immersed in my work of discovering the new idiosyncrasies of Bertie for the sake of my beloved fans. Now no-one will talk to me.” Through the closed door, I could distinctly hear the man lamenting to my secretary Molly, as she clicked the door open to usher the next patient into my chamber. A reflex action, just like what Pavlov’s dog had been used to, my hand involuntarily reached out for the register kept on the left side of my desk. Surprise was what was in store and it took some time for the vision unfolding before my eyes, to register in my mind. The next patient was none other than the Monarch of humour, Sir P G Wodehouse himself! The door opened and in walked the great man himself, into my chamber and sat down in the chair reserved for the patients. What is the great man doing in India and that too in my chamber, I thought bewildered. A polite English “Good Morning” later, he leaned forward, in a conspiratorial sort of w...

Bullets to the left of him, bullets to the right, Bullets in front of him, bullets from behind, Whizzed and spat. Yet the boy, refused to be put on the mat. And kept battling with the country’s black cats. Cold blooded killer, hounded like rats, Cornered in a room and bombed by the black cats. Hundred to one, was the ratio unjustified? Or did it speak volumes of the lad’s fearsome might? Driven by hunger, unemployment and abuse. He enrolled in the holy war and learned to shoot. Adept at war skills and proud of being called a soldier. He walked tall, confidence oozing from his posture. He walked deep inside enemy lines. Maximum damage was what was in his mind. Spraying bullets- left, right and centre. Executing orders, fearless and as cool as a cucumber. India stood paralysed with fear, till they shot him dead. Scarred by fire, riddled with bullets, blood oozing from his head. No burials for him, no one to grieve for his soul. For the whole world, he was a murderer, a man most foul!! Co...

His face, according to me, was his biggest asset..…it made the other person speaking to him, smile. With four top incisors deciding to grow unhindered and therefore protruding well beyond the boundary of his mouth, his upper lips always seemed to be stretched, giving the sudden appearance of a smiling face. His face was a perfect ellipse, the way an egg would look like if it managed to grow some hair on its top because of a genetic disorder. When he came barging into the room with a bewildered, lost in transit look on his face, one couldn’t help looking up and taking note of him. “Sir, Click for Jesus Christ’s Saturday! I bought for everyone sir. Please eat!” So saying he would go around office distributing slices of cake to everyone present. What he meant to convey was that he had brought cake for everyone to eat on Christmas Eve. His dentures, unfortunately twisted the words making them an object of some mirth and laughter at the office. The serious atmosphere inside our office would...