Frustrated promises-

Of calls

That havn't arrived:

Of letters,

Awaiting replies-

As the lamp of life burns away.

Optimistic bubbles

burst forth-

On frothing uncertainties;

Hopes lie flat,

Battered-

On tossing waves of existence.

I breathe on.

What's On Your Mind
"what's on your mind?" Facebook asks me everyday I log in. And I, which is not very often, as my friends will agree, land up writing something sad, or cynical, or pathetically pseudo-intellectual. Well, and there are people or well, 'is someone' there in the FB world bout whose "impressions of me" i really care about (u see, am not one of those smart, hep phlegmatic individuals who can do without caring). So, i have often done this crazy thing of typing some "of the moment impulse" status updates and then comfortably deleting them before anyone saw them. Crazy, you think so. I wager you're on the right track.

But today, hell ya, lets come out with wht's in my mind.
Joke..that's the word.. i finally got the joke of life and am laughing my heart out. Want to throw a party, have a barbecue, only tht my right leg hurts. Some muscle thought it will play around a little while i was asleep, nd well seems it fell in love with some other muscle nd lo, they are all entangled and am feeling the pain of their love... and whnever i stand up, their love-making picks up momentum.
Well, so mashi, who prepares my food and has kept me alive for four years in kolkata and who is also privy to a lot of of my sulking romantic attitudes, is down with fever. And am following a highly balanced diet, to say the least.. almost nothing by the morning and heavy "butter masala something" recipes by night. Yesterday i tried my hand at cooking..well it turned out well, all that potol-er dalna and uchhe bhaja, but my leg.... it is supposed to be pampered with rest, so no cooking today.. maybe intention is to make the lovers get bored from being in the same position and separate... but errr.. wht if its "true love"... sucks!
Just finished reading some highly philosophical stuff. Thinking of getting on with another book. That's the best way to keep your own creepy thoughts at bay. But FB reminded me of my mind....
And here i am with this essay..
well, i have been missing Mr. Somebody a lot today. we talked for two minutes, i lazying round at the corner of my bed and he in some busy cubicle of his office; i in my crazy tone, he in a rather dignified official tone. The serious reserved tone made me feel nice, assured is the word, of what, don't ask me.. i myself don't know.

Well, and I did this tedious job of actually posting this on FB. And then I was already thinking of deleting this post.. but flip, here i changed my mind as smoothly as i change my numbers every six month. And it remained. And i was flattered by the "likes", self-obsessed as I am.

Don't ask me about my mind, i can go on rambling for ages...
I guess this is my cue.. water will go away, yes, water goes away too.. so I better limp downstairs with the bottles and fill them...

The Insignificant ‘Other’.

Salma and Bobby- they were my companions on a lonely Friday evening in march. After my honours classes had got over, I decided to sit down for a while at the Hedua park, sandwiched between Bethune college and Scottish Church college. The street lights were beginning to flood the busy lanes of Kolkata. There is a man who sells tea inside the park. He gives an inquiring look everytime he passes by you. I do not and will never know his name- he is dumb!

I gave him my usual smile and bought myself a cup. There is a swimming pool inside the park. Yellow dissipated lights kept themselves afloat on the calm surface. People were taking their evening-walks. I had myriad of thoughts flashing across my disturbed mind- real troubles and apprehended troubles. I had slipped into my own world, sipping tea and gazing at the water, contemplating life. The reverie was broken by sharp sounds of clapping hands, asking for money. I looked at them. I heard two boys passing by me remark, “Eh, hijra re. ekhoni chatbe sala! Chol, onyodik-e chol.”(hey, eunuchs, man. They’ll bug us now. Come, let’s go the other way.”). And they turned and walked off in a different direction. Their behavior was pretty normal. Sad thing was one of them realized why the boys had changed ways and stole a smile that you could say as something between a melancholia and a mock. And what else could they have done, in this in-between-ness that fate has thrust upon them?

When they came in front of me, I did something that I could never imagine to have done a few years back. When I was a kid, I did feel afraid of them. But today, I asked them if they would like to sit and chat with me. They looked at me for sometime and then complied. They sat on either side of me. The chai-wala was making his second round. I bought them two cups of tea.

“What is your name?”

“Salma.”

“And yours?”

“Bobby.”

“where do you people stay?”

“Sealdah.”

Bobby asked me, “So, what do you do?”

“I am studying in a college.”

“I see. We don’t have to take up these troubles, you know.” Bobby gave this mocking smile.

Salma smirked and added, “No-one would take us into schools in the first place. And even if they do, others won’t let us survive there, would they?”

And both of them laughed aloud!

I kept quiet, staring at a banana peel someone had carelessly thrown on the pavement.

“I want to write something about you.”

“And what do you want to write? We become neither lovers nor terrorists!”, Salma winked at me.

Bobby added, “And yet they feel afraid of us, don’t they?”

I gave them an embarrassed nod. A chana-wala was passing by. I asked them if they would want to eat something. They said ‘yes’. So, I ordered for three mixed-chhola. Salma paid the bill to an astonished chana-wala!

They did not stay long. They said they could not. Before we parted ways, they shook my hand and said, “You’ll be a great person someday.”

People say that eunuchs have powers of prophecy! For one moment I was really happy, and then I hated myself for any kind of joy that had made its way into my heart. Am I so selfish, so indifferent to others’ pain?

Salma and Bobby are two of those insignificant ‘other’ who are not recognized by the society – they have been barred from education, job and life. And what is their fault? Who are we to disown them as part of the society? Who has ever said that only those people with biologically-logical sexual parts are eligible to participate in socio-political-economic affairs of the society? Who are we to jeer at them? It could have been anyone of us!

Politicians raise cries of love for the so-called religious and communal minorities. Where are the ‘other’? Do they vote? Is this our democracy? The “other” are looked upon as jokers in this circus of the world- as the mystical ‘other’ whose curses come true and are looked upon with awe, sometimes fear and often, disgust.

I wonder why Gandhiji never thought of the other harijans who are very much a part of the society! Maybe some of them would make it to the army, someone would come up with the genius of a scientist, someone a teacher, someone a doctor!  What a waste of human potential!

The Government can open schools for them, train them in art and crafts, sports. Why can’t they play cricket?  The government has made reservations in educational institutions and jobs for the physically challenged. And what with the eunuchs? They can walk, hear, see, talk, write- but nothing is done to improve their situation, and all because they lack sex-organs!

The world is funny, ain’t it? And we obviously don’t care, do we? We do not have time, ain’t it? Yeah, no time to think about them and do something about them, but enough time to make up jokes about them, right? C’mon then, my friends, let’s sit back and share a laugh, shall we?

A piece of  memory  from school days…

The last class of Thursday brought sir Mathai back to the environmental studies class. He seemed weird, not only because of his partially bald head but also because of his plum features and extremely short height. However, that wouldn’t have evoked much laughter from the naughty depths of our hearts had he not spoken wrong English with such great confidence!

So, ever since he had delivered his lecture on the extinction of dodos, the students learnt the term ‘shotten’, for that is what sir had said, “Dodos became extinct because they were shotten dead.” Sir Mathai’s chief concern seemed to rest on the unfortunate ‘ jatropa’ plant. He had, someday, probably dreamt of making a lucrative fuel-business out of the plant and turning into a millionare. However, his dreams remained confined within the four walls of the classroom as his words echoed in the ears of the students either completing homework or playing a game of cross-and-circles or omitting numbers to a ‘BINGO’ or busy penning down in a rough sheet of paper all the grammatical errors that he made in his speech, only to be turned into a butt of jokes later. Sir, I suppose, on his part loved our class for he lived under the illusion that we were busy taking down notes on “earth-dying-of-smoke”, “we-throwing-out-carbon-dioxide”, “a world minus pollution” and so on.

However, that day the boys at the last bench had started playing a new game. For this they had collected all small pieces of chalk and preserved on the lower shelves of the desks. The game was simple- they were setting up a new aim each time and throwing a piece at the prey. Each time a chalk hit a girl or boy, he or she would turn back only to find a bunch of innocent faces engrossed in the jatropa plant! This would have continued without any disturbance had not Prachi placed her complaint, “sir, somebody threw a piece of chalk at me.”

Sir stopped his lecture.

“Who throwing chalks at Prachi? Stand up or I going to check you.”

The attention, which he otherwise failed to posses, was now completely his! Shreya and I lowered our heads to conceal the amusement. So, with another twenty minutes remaining for the bell to go, we knew our environmental studies class for the week had already come to an end, replaced as it seemed by sir’s frantic enquiries to find out who dared to play throw-a-chalk in his class!

“Who telling me honestly? I never liking such things in my class.”

Everyone kept quiet. Finally, realizing that he wasn’t born with the mystery-solving capabilities of Mr.Holmes, he thought it was better to return to dodos, plants and water, “This happening last time, I warning sincerely.”

After a small murmur, which mostly consisted of regrets that the boring lecture would resume, the most shocking incident happened- a piece of chalk bounced back from sir’s forehead and fell on the table. The confusion had not allowed anyone to see who the dare-devil was! Though amused, we indeed regarded it as something which shouldn’t have happened. I looked back at the so-called hooligans of the class- Rajeev, Sumit, Rohit and Dweep with quite a what’s-wrong-with-you-guys look, but they seemed equally puzzled, and frightened, I would add.

“who was that?”- sir spoke short sentences properly! With this, before we could quite discern what was happening, sir walked towards the back-benchers and started checking their desks. At last, the investigation-officer in him! People never get down to action unless it affects them, you see!

He found the pieces under Rohit’s desk. The class thundered as he placed a hard slap on his left cheek.

“sir, I threw the chalk at Prachi but not this one at you.”

It is in human nature that when they are accused of bigger crimes, they confess their real crimes, which seem smaller in magnitude compared to the accusation.

“shut up! You coming with me right now. When I small, we worshipping teachers, and this what you do?”

Sir dragged Rohit out of his place to take him to the principal’s office, all of us fearing the possible consequences when Pilby (the great Pilby whom I have already introduced to you in my first post ;-)) stood up, “Sir, it was me who threw the chalk.”

The whole class felt silent as all eyes turned towards him. It all seemed so unbelievable to me, because Pilby was the quiet kind of guy, you know. Even sir, quite taken aback by his bold confession, let go of Rohit and kept staring at Pilby at a complete loss of words.

“Sir, I wanted to throw it at Prachi for making that silly complaint of hers. I missed the aim and it hit you.”

Prachi always sat in the first bench, which is why his explanation seemed pretty plausible plus his bold confession and honesty drew our complete sympathy towards him.”I am sorry, sir.”

“Go stand the blackboard. I talking later to you.” (read as:go and stand near the blackboard. I’l talk to you later).

Sir resumed the lecture and for the first time, we seemed to listen to what he was trying to explain. I occasionally looked at Pilby who kept hanging his head all-time low. Finally the bell rang the death-knell of the class and all of us fixed our attention on sir and Pilby.

“I definitely punishing you harder, but honesty deserving reward as well.  Doing such things anymore?”

I bet I could have cried down from relief.

“I am sorry sir. I won’t do it again.”

Like small kids all of us started clapping at sir’s clemency!

Sir must have felt very good at this as he added as an epilogue, “when somebody confessing, you must forgiving. But if doing same thing again, then never forgiving.”- and all of us broke into a huge roar of laughter with a renewed sense of respect for sir that students generally develop for a buddy-like-teacher!

P.S.- that day Pilby and I were the last ones to leave the classroom. I told him with an angry-mother-like   voice (;-)), “don’t do this again, Pilby!”… with a small grin playing on his lips, he said, “hmmm, yes ma’am.” And then well, Pilby got my first kiss on his right cheek, for his honesty, you know… ;-)

Mother Earth, a human body…

A thought engulfs me today-

“we, the living creatures, are all cells of ‘Mother Earth’ to perform a particular function and that we are all inter-related and united by one mystical force.”.

The thought gradually spreads its roots to the depths of my conscience. If Earth be compared to a human body and we to the cells, then it would hint at the fact that disharmony between any two cells could disrupt the functioning of earth itself.

Just the way conflict or rather disorder in a single cell goes unnoticed, so the conflicts and little brawls we have with our friends and other people do not really affect earth on a large scale. Now, just as biological properties ascend from the lower to the higher order, i.e-

Cells àtissuesàorgansàorgan systemsàorganism,

So even the constituents of earth are classified accordingly, where:

Cells                     - individual human beings,

Tissues                - communities and interest groups,

Organs                - states in the country,

Organ systems  - countries, and

Organism           - earth itself!

Thus, it goes this way that conflict between two individuals goes unnoticed as they do not pose any real threat to earth, i.e., to say, damage on a large scale to the parent body. Likewise, when conflicts arise between two communities (say, religious) or interest groups, some notice-able disruption does occur. Inter-state conflicts are to shatter the workings of an organ system while conflict between organ systems shall shatter and crumble the organism itself- destroy the earth itself.

A number of cells die everyday just the way a number of individuals die everyday. Nothing is permanent. Everything is bound to face the brunt of oblivion. Even earth shall die someday, grow cold and lifeless. We all shall die someday. But does that hinder us from indulging in comfort and trying to live a healthy life? If the answer is no, then a pertinent question that’s hangs in the void of dubious speculation is, “why then do we put earth in so much of discomfort and disease and disorder?”

Earth is now analogous to that age of a human being which marks the transience from adolescence to adulthood.  The early ages were filled with the innocence and ignorance of a new-born baby. And then man started learning new things, invented fire, beliefs and as the innocence of a child began to wane, crept in evils like jealousy and insecurity.  This was followed by questions and answers, scientific inventions and developments- the Renaissance, the education of the child, the dawn of its rationality! Just as emotions start budding as the infant crosses a certain age, so also earth has passed through changing emotions which has ultimately found its finest expressions in the great literary productions through the ages. But as a child grows up and starts forgetting the innocence and brightness of childhood- lured by the irresistible temptations around, so also earth has fallen into chaotic hours of adolescence and corruption- adamant like a teenager, often displaying futile courage, fighting!

We have often heard of stories when young boys and girls have wasted their time and life in the wrong things; that they have fallen into love and been betrayed; that they have done something wild under the cunning of surging emotions, little knowledge and ignorance of the higher truths of life. Earth has had a bad adolescence! The world wars showed how cruel could the organ sytems get, hardly realizing that they were damaging themselves ultimately. Earth fell into depression- but we had our philosophers, saints, spiritual leaders who finally showed us the futility of colonial rivalry and taught us the tenets of compassion and tolerance.

Question is, “Has earth learned from its past?” or rather “have the oragns realized the futility of war for superiority, or shall they, oblivious of past wounds, begin a war again?” I wish countries wouldn’t fight for supremacy. Each country is equally important with its own culture, beauty, history and myths. Let each of us value the other, respect others’ culture and live in harmony.

Maybe someday, we shall grow up and stop fighting and gradually attain that realm of tranquility where fraternity is celebrated outside the pages of the constitution as well for if the disruptions continue unabated, earth is bound to have a  nervous-breakdown and a frustrated earth shall be left with no option but to resort to an early premature demise- a suicide!

Pilby is Pilby...

Pilby has finally returned from his expedition to the south of the world. And as usual, I’m so jealous of him! I wish I could do something so adventurous as him- be a wild-life photographer! But well, some wishes are supposed to accompany you as a constant to your deathbed and this, in all possibility, is probably one of them. All my expeditions for the past five years have been to English Literature classes, though Pilby has promised that he’l compel his next trip to co-incide with my summer vacation.   

“O, pilby, my love!” – my heart cries to him but I dare not say it to him! The last time I did it, he made a weird face only to say,

“Don’t take Mr.Shakespeare word for word. The whole world isn’t really a stage, afterall!” and had returned to his irritating ‘tak-tak-tak’ on the keyboard. I thought I would tell him a few things on what Shakespeare really meant by the world being a stage and all  but he always has his way of making me feel like an embarrassed drama-queen!

So, this time I maintained a stoic expression as if ‘yeah-sure-what’s-the big-deal’ and reverted to pleating my saree. But Pilby is Pilby! The ‘tak-tak’ had suddenly ceased to disrupt the silence and through pretending to looking at the screen, my third eye had already caught him in the act of looking above the monitor at the mirror.

“Is it always so necessary to drape your saree when am trying to work?”

“Yes, Pilby, unless we get ourselves another house which isn’t a studio apartment or you shift your work to the loo.”
And well, the next time I looked up at the mirror to put on my bindi, Pilby was at my neck!
“You really want that?”
"Now, c”mon, am getting late.”
“Oh! Ma’am, am so jealous of your students!”
“Pilby-eeeee!”
Our laughter changed to giggle to smile to sighs….

The soft winter sun peeped in through the curtains and shimmered on the beads of sweat. He pulled his yet unpacked bag closer to the bed and took out a coral pattern.

“It’s beautiful!”
And there remained embedded at its heart a small chest from which I brought out a piece of paper which said, “I love it when she says, ‘O, Pilby, my love!’ “

So that’s my Pilby- strangely wired is the phrase that comes to me. And it always comes with a price, as I say. I missed my first class to the much apprehended fury of my H.O.D. as a mischievous ‘O, Pilby, my love!’ finally drowned itself to soft kisses and me to him.