Straight from the Heart

Real Fun , You will miss, at a Funeral. Evil Fast is broken at Festival Dirty Room is not found in a Dormitory . Happiest inscriptions in Epitaphs of cemetery. Nice Love may end in Violence . Woman Hitler is Mother-in-Law in a sense (in essence)! No more stars can influence Astronomers . Bad credit is incurred by Debit Card users . Evil’s agent masquerades Evangelist Direct I pay cash for purchases not availing Credit . Pinched from the column of Khuswant Singh appearing in The Telegraph

This morning, I began to count, One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven.. As many as seven trees lay uprooted In a small stretch of 100 meters. The black road had assumed a shade of green Covered by torn leaves from the trees. While a few had been uprooted in one single piece, Some had their thick stem twisted and broken. Like a destructive child twists the limbs off a toy! Such was the fury of the gale That it claimed human lives too- A son killed in her mother’s presence. A bread-earner snatched away in a sudden twist of fate. A poor rickshaw puller relieved of the burden of lugging people around. Yet, in the midst of it all, I saw the crows hard at work this morning. Picking up the broken twigs scattered around, They renew their effort to re-build their nest among the stronger, stouter trees left behind!

Its back to that wet feeling! The wet roads with puddles on the sides. The coloured umbrellas under which the maidens hide. The car windows, spotted and in a haze. Shields the romancing couple from the city’s curious gaze. The trees look fresh, free of dust and grime. The air is rid of polluted particles too-coarse or fine! Messy staircases and wet elevator floors. A shiver down the spine, at the touch of the lady-wet and cold. The birds are drenched, looking for a place to hide. They sit below the window sill, lamenting on their plight. The monsoon is here, the summer heat bids adieu. Time to switch off the air-conditioners, their rest was long over-due. Monsoon, Calcutta 2009

Lali is no more. The words echoed again and again in my mind. Embarked on the journey of no return; Breaking bonds that to her will never again bind! Two years of suffering. The end came with the dawn on 6th Jan 06, in Mumbai. Memories of Sukinda. Kept flashing on my mind’s eye as I stifled a deep sigh. She was the young bride. Soft spoken and shunning limelight in other’s presence. Sweet as a flower. The smile never seemed to leave her youthful countenance. Stood by her husband. While Anindya strived in search for a better tomorrow. She bravely bore the pain. When cancer cells tore into her body, like a poison arrow. She touched our lives and moved on. Beating us all in the race to become, a shining star in the sky. Had written this long back after hearing about Lali's death. Was reminded of it suddenly when we recently went to attend a wedding very close to the palce where Lali and Anidya (Pal) had got married!

Its time to make a choice- Between the sari and the dhoti. Between a decaying present and a better tomorrow. Between industrialisation and hungry farmers. Between the red and the green. Between need to change and demand for a change. Between revolution and political solution. Between resolution and a stop gap arrangement. Between continuity and a new order. I am happy I don’t have to choose; After all is there a difference- Between frying pan and the fire? Between poverty and unemployment? Between revolution and a struggle for one’s rights? Between the craving for power and the desire to hold on to power? Between pollution and population? Between alignment and extremism? How I hate the shades of grey!

Aaj Ponchish e Boisakh! For people who do not belong to the state of West Bengal, this date or day probably does not have much significance. I checked a few national news channels on TV today. There was no mention on the significance of this day on any of the news channels on TV. Certainly the Indian elections and the clowning politicians currently are more than a plateful for the news channels to handle. The regional news channels of Kolkata however did take some pains to emphasise the importance of this day and carried news regarding how this day was being celebrated in different parts of west Bengal and also in Bangladesh. Apparently the birth anniversary of one of the greatest poets of India and the writer of India’s national Anthem is not important enough to get a mention on the news channels. And why should it be covered? I don’t think this day is marked by any politician offering wreath at the grave of Rabindranath Tagore! Nor does the parliament have any special programme on th...

I have no idea whether one gets attached to in-animate objects or not. I have heard of people, storing away old things in the attic even when they know for sure that the thing has lived its full life and that it may not be of any use to them in future. Purely sentimental reasons I presume. This must be the same reason why a philatelist collects stamps or an antique collector goes around looking for an article that is genuinely old. Perhaps the smell of dust collected in the pores and crevices of old buildings is what stimulates the historians? Do the ancient sites excavated have a story that can only be heard by the archaeologist? It is not easy to find an answer to these questions. Human beings are such that every individual is unique in some way or the other and therefore what appeals to one may not appeal to the other. So many times, we just don’t want to part with something because we develop a sense of affection for it. Someone with a rational mind may find the concept very funny-...