"Haan bolo"

When a person dies we all try to remember the times spent in his company, thereby inflicting on ourselves the pain that we want to rid ourselves of. However much I'm trying to cope with Ankik's loss, the misty sketches of memories, long forgotten, keep on coming back, causing anguish, but at the same time making me want to think harder to clear up the foggy images so that I could remember Ankik, better. All I can remember of Ankik is that he "was" an amazing guy - I can't remember any special encounter, important incident or anything meaningful or thoughtful he said. It's all a blur, a noise...and it's been just two weeks!

I do remember him asking me to invite him to my wedding, whenever that happens - that was August 2008. After that I got to hear his voice on May 15 2009 when I called him to wish him "Happy Birthday" - but he was barely awake on the other side of the phone and managed to squeeze out a sleepy and irritable "Thank You". After that it was 1st of August 2009, when I was in Kharagpur having dinner with all my juniors at Tamralipto Park, when Mithun called him up and we all spoke to him as if he was with us having dinner and eating chicken. I don't remember anything else in particular...So how can I tell anyone what kind of an incredible person he "was", when I myself cannot recount things which were consequential enough.

The last time I got to speak with him was January 2010 when I called him up to wish him happy new year. We spoke for a long time over the phone about how my life was going and what all was up with him, but I scarcely can recall the details of the topics that we covered in our meaningless hour-long telephone conversation. But one thing I remember and remember vividly and distinctly. I called him and he picked up the phone and he said, "Haan bolo"...he seemed excited and happy to receive my call... It's really messing up with my head. I feel I am at a loss of words and can't really why really these two simple, meaningless words are important to me... but that is what I remember of him most distinctly, lovingly and longingly and quite fondly... and they have been ringing in my ears ever since.

Choice

It's always easy to feel sad and say that you are sorry when something bad happens to someone around you.
It's always easy to feel angry and frustrated when someone violates.
It's always easy to write a blog and pen down your thoughts hoping to comfort the turbulent thoughts inside you.
And it's always these easy choices that we make when the iniquitous times knock on our doors. And we always know that these easy choices are not really the "right" choices. But these easy choices help us humor ourselves into thinking that we care. Humans in themselves are selfish species and everything about them is about self-preservation. And so may be, even while we mourn ourselves for somebody's untimely death and we try to show our despondence for the pain the departed soul was put through at the time of his death, we are actually always thinking about ourselves and feeling sorry for no one but ourselves. We always make the easy choice, seldom the right one.

To Ankik, With Love

"I hope you are fine wherever you are. It was strange that things had to go this way for you, for your family and even for us. But may be the dark cloud that this bizarre happening has caste on our lives, would one day reveal its silver lining. Until then we have to dwell in this realm of confusion, always asking ourselves the meaningless questions - how, when and why?

The news of your death was shocking and stricken with pain so acute that most of us were not able to find an adequate way to channel it. We did not know how to react - for not only was this the first time ever that the sense of bereavement was thrust so heavily upon us, but also because the thought of not having the opportunity to witness your antics, ever again, seemed inconceivable. In this short span of time, you must have seen your friends pour out their hearts through their eyes and even if some were lachrymally challenged, every passing second hammered several thousand nails into their hearts. We all are vanquished to let you go like this, but I guess that is the way it has to be. But I hope through all this you are able to realize how special you were to all of us - how much we all loved you.

You have touched the lives of so many people around you and with their love, support and blessing, I am sure you will do fine. You had always been and projected yourself to be the person you actually were and that had made you all the more endearing. Your childish innocence, your innocent candor, your candid expressions, your expressive personality had a unique charm about it - all of which is impossible to be replicated. You were a lovely and a good person who spread joy wherever he went, without even trying very hard - that's how amazing you were...

But now, let me tell you one thing in all honesty. In spite of the big impact that you've had on my life, there might come a day in the future, when you are nothing more than a fragment of the past. It breaks my heart to admit this - but it's true. There might come a day in the future, when the name Ankik might not bring in this violent gush of emotions as it brings today, a day when the name Ankik might not even ring a bell. I honestly, sincerely hope that such a day never ever comes in our lives and you continue to be a part of our lives - you get to attend all our weddings and feast at all our anniversaries, you get to be with us when we come back to Patel Hall as old men and talk about the days of yore...But in case time snatches you away from us, please please please remember that the passion that you have imbued in all our hearts is a passion that will never stop - even if we don't remember you, the tempo that you have given us will never stop and even though the love for you might fade away with time, you will never ever die. That is a promise that I can make today and I keep my promises - you may ask anyone...

Dearest Ankik, we all are missing you very much and I know you know that."

Someone just left

I saw it on someone's status message on my gtalk list of friends. It sent a cold shiver down my spine. I tried to believe that I had misunderstood and promptly messaged someone asking, "Ankik who?" and the reply threw me into an unsettling corner of the world, where I tried to rationalize the entire episode, knowing fully well that it was an exercise in futility. Probably, I was in a state of denial. I was frantic and began to call people over the phone to find out whether it was true, but no one answered the calls. Finally Mithun picked up the phone and I asked, "Is it true?" and he confirmed it for me.

Ankik Dhar was special to me as he was to most of the people he had ever associated with. He was a bountiful bundle of irrepressible effervescence that always found its way to charge up every inanimate object around him. I have never seen him sullen, not by the remotest measure. I have never seen him sit still, not ever. And now, imagining him to be lifeless, figuratively and in reality, is just surreal.

I am in a state of violent confusion now. I want to talk to someone and clear my head - may be cry if I have to. I spoke to Ritwik, Apurv, Shiv, Debdutta but did not get the comfort I wanted. There were these awkward periods of silence when no one had anything to say. What do you say to someone in this situation? Should you say - don't feel sad? Should you say - it's just a part of life, so deal with it? I knew what they were going through and hopefully they too felt what state I was in.

Images of Ankik, the way I had known him, flitted across my mind - it seemed as if he never had to run anywhere in pursuit of happiness, he was happy where he was and with what he had. His pink T-shirts, his awful three-quarter denims, his footer practice sessions, his drams performances, his grade point average, his high decibelled-voice, the long strides he took and all such seemingly trivial details came together to create the image of a wonderfully bright persona who was just a pleasure to have around. But sadly that cannot happen anymore.

I have known people back in school and I probably will never be meeting them ever again in my life. But the fact that they continue to live brings in the possibility that may be, sometime way ahead in the future we'll meet and look back at the good old days and smile together. But with Ankik that possibility has been snatched away from me for he is just dead! Ankik is dead! Ankik is dead! He just fucking left...and I'm fucking here writing a fucking obituary for his fucking honor!!!

"Dida Bye"

I loved my grandmother and she loved me.

One year ago on this day, my grandmother passed away. It was two months since I had left my hometown and moved to Madison, in pursuit of a more glorified carreer. At that time, may be I was too pumped up, pumped up with great (and presently seeming unrealistic) aspirations about coming up with a monumental discovery, which shakes up the scientific world. May be that was the reason why I couldn't react "adequately" when I heard the news, "Your grandmother is no more.". I did feel sad but it was only skin deep for very soon I was back again laughing and joking with my colleagues around me about trivial things, much like what is routine for me - the news of my Dida's death did not strike me with much feeling of bereavement. I don't remember whether I was just trying to look in another direction, to avoid the reality or just being an escapist so that I do not need to confront myself with the bitter truth - but that doesn't change the fact - I was not shaken up, not one bit, contrary to the expectations of my family, especially since I was her favorite grandson and I loved her.

I went to India this summer and completed some of the ceremonies and rituals. I felt aggrieved but I was calm. May be I'd become more mature and had accepted the reality quite blatantly, may be I didn't care, may be I was performing all those pujas and all just because I was expected to and not so much because I recognized it to be my duty. And once the rituals were over, I kept myself amused with everything, meeting family members and friends who I didn't get to talk to in over a year, trying to force the heavy emotions out of my mind. I thought I had the right to - I was back at home after a year, I spent so much money for that - I had the right to be happy and so I kept myself.

And all the while, when I managed to keep myself afloat in that lurking heaviness around me, sometimes I used to think - did I ever love my dida? Didn't she deserve a little more grief or respect from me? But I reigned my thoughts immediately before an answer could be reached - I was still being an escapist.

But today, after a year of my dida's death, when I am back alone in Madison while my entire family is together back in India completing the "last rights" and talking about "how much my Dida loved me", I finally gave in. It happened inadvertently. And am happy that it happened - it gave me reassurance that the true me inside me hasn't changed much, yet, and the people who were once important to me, continue to be so and shall remain so, hopefully, for some more time. When I was young - from class 1 to class 10, I used to stay in the same house as my dida and every day - each and every day - before leaving for school, I used to shout out "Dida Bye...", multiple times, until her 70+ year old frail body had to quit what she was doing and echo "Bye bye"...and she used to wait with me for my bus...for 15-20minutes and we used to talk about why "mummy was shouting today morning", how much I liked a class mates' pencil box, what I had for tiffin, what I wanted as a present for my next birthday, what she should make for lunch, about things which seems to be so useless now but seemed to be so fulfilling back then. We talked to each day on every school day for 10 years and then...all of a sudden it stopped when we moved to a nicer bigger house, where the floors were made of marble.

As I grew older I continued to visit her occassionally. She would cook for me - she knew the food I liked, but more importantly the things that I didn't. And after stuffing me with an enormous amount of food, matching the measure of her love, she would insist that I sleep and she would sit beside me, running her fingers through my hair.

And then I grew older. Weekly visits became monthly and soon transformed into a bimonthly chore. Sometimes I couldn't even muster up enough enthusiasm to call her up on the telephone. My Dida who had kept me "entertained" every morning of my first ten years of school life, suddenly became very boring. She was slowly losing her vision and couldn't cook properly any longer. It was probably on my 20th birthday, when she last cooked for me - prawns with gourd, something which she cooked brilliantly, something which she knew I loved. That was probably the last time she cooked anything for anybody. After that whenever I visited her, it was only food from a restuarant by the corner. She ensured that she asked me every time before ordering something, for she felt that my "taste" was changing and she was not being able to keep up with it. Her failing vision didn't allow her to "quality check" the food from the restuarant but she ensured that it was good. She sat beside me watching me eat and judge the quality of food by making an estimate of how many helpings of food I took - if it was anything less than three, she ensured that at least the item, if the not restaurant, was not repeated. And when she was convinced that I had eaten enough, she would coax me into sleeping and she would sit beside me. But she never ran her fingers through my hair. May be she feared that I would be offended for I had grown older...She would wait for me to wake up, only to push the maid to make tea for me and get some snacks along with it. And then, she would tell me stories, about how bad the maid was, how the fridge made a disturbing sound every now and then, how she couldn't make out whether the calling bell was ringing or not, what the doctor told her on her recent visit...but sadly I couldn't keep her "entertained"...the topics were too boring for me. I tried to feign interest but she could make out my shrivelling interest in her morbid stories and would soon be embarressed and then she would stop and after that, there would be periods of long silence...between me and my dida...

Her vision deteriorated by the day. I knew it but didn't feel much about it for I knew that there was not much that could be done. And then one day I went to see her. I rang the bell and waited for her to respond. After several minutes she appeared on the balcony to check who was at the door...She kept on asking, "Who is it?"...And I said, "It's me." And she tried to look carefully and asked, "Who me?" and I was confused...she looked more intently and asked again, "Who?", and I said, "Me bubun...", and she replied, evidently not being able to hear,"Who?"...and then the maid came rushing out and opened the door. She must've told her that it was me who was at the door, for when I finally got to enter, she was wailing, for her failing eyesight had betrayed her so much that she couldn't even recognize me...I didn't know what to do...I said it's ok...I didn't truly understand what she felt, for I could never truly gauge how much she loved me. Not being able to recognize me was very painful her and although I'm only beginning to realize its depth, I am not really sure that I will ever get to understand its true extent...

It will be a complete year without her being on the earth, it was the first year in my life when I did not receive a call early in the morning on the 24th of July and hear an old lady, trying to sing in broken english, "Happy Birthday to you...". It was the first year in my life when after Bijoya Dashami I didn't get to speak to my dear old dida...and I know there shall be several of such years in the future. And then one year, I will not miss the old murmur any more...I will not remember the taste of the "payesh" that she would prepare for me on my birthday...I will not remember the last gift that she gave to me on my birthday...I will not realize that a large part of the blessings that has kept me afloat all these years came from her...But I honestly hope that year is far far away...

I love my dida and she loves me.

Combating Solitude

I've been trying to deal with the prison within which I have willfully incarcerated myself for quite sometime now. I try to keep myself occupied with my work and sporadically take interest in what was once my passion. But a couple of days back I got an e-mail from a junior which was a scathing criticism for my "intrusion" into Patel Hall, my home, the place where it all began, the place where I had longed to return. Beneath the revolting comments, which put me off for sometime, was a biting truth that may be the reason why I still continue my association with my past was that I had nothing better to do, that the stark absence of companionship was forcing me to fall back on something which I am expected to let go of, that I didn't want the wind to come along and carry away all that was left of me into the air and be lost forever. Withing this realization biting my ass, I was thoroughly shaken up to act upon it. Not because I feel violated by the e-mail, not because I hold a grudge against my trusted juniors, not because I don't care about Patel Hall and Soc Cult any longer - but because there was a truth in the e-mail that I had received which made me open my eyes to a deeper problem within myself, which only I could solve.

But old habits die hard. My attraction for miserable seclution still has the better of me and I continue to suck at socializing. My bad! But I can no longer turn to Patel Hall and Soc Cult for redemption. So I began thinking, "What do I need?". The Anser: I need someone to talk to, someone with whom I could share the most mundane and boring details of my life without feeling that I was holding anybody at ransom. My mom probably would've loved to hear all the trivial details of my life but she's not the person whom I want to share these ridiculous details with. All people with whom I could've had those seemingly dreadful conversations have spread their wings have flown away - I literally coaxed them into doing so and there is none at this point of time with whom I could spend some quality time doing nothing.

But there still is one person with whom I continue to talk, although in my mind. I think I'm heard and understood. I feel comforted by the thought of being listened to although I know that all of this is nothing more than a figment of my imagination. But it's a lot more reassuring and keeps my foot firmly grounded on the earth. I wrote HIM an e-mail today, not knowing whether the e-mail id is still one which HE uses. And even if HE did, I'm sure that my e-mail would not evoke a response of any kind - and frankly I don't expect any. In fact, if ever I land up getting an e-mail from HIM- it would be very disconcerting and unsettling for me. All I want a silent listener who'll just hear me out - anything and everything that I have to say - big, small, bright, dull, funny, sad...anything. So that's why I have decided to seek companionship with an identity, who's probably lost somewhere in the internet space. All the while I was writing the mail, it felt the same as it did in the past, when I could talk to HIM in person - refreshing, relaxing and comforting.

And for people who might be concerned about my mental health I would urge them to save their energy in some place else rather than thinking about someone in some corner of the world brooding over his poorly developed social skills. Also to clarify, I don't think this is mid-life crisis - I'm sure that's something which is waiting for me in the future but has taken pity on me for the present.

Hometown Glory

Home, the starting point, a place of refuge and rest, an sylum, the abiding place of affections, a place where we belong...

It's been one year since I've moved out of my home. But in this relatively short period of time things around me have changed so much that it feels hard for me to settle with the fact that this was my home a year back. Away from home, I always imagined myself hopping all around with springs in my feet when I would be back home. As the days neared my excitement reached new peaks and the possibility of getting to see my "home", the way I had once loved it made me really happy...There wasn't much in Patel Hall and Kharagpur but memories were spread all throughout the semi-dilapidated infrastructure which became sort of my "resting place"...they were spread over the corridoors I had once sauntered on, beneath the flagpost where I had my dinner, in the common room where I spent most of my days and nights, shouting at my juniors...passing out was tought but I was hopeful that my home would remain so and would be the same when I would return, warm, inviting, intoxicating and a whole lot of fun... my home, where I started my journey from became a goal, a destination of some sort where I would long to return. My memories, I thought, would remain for long...But now I feel as if in the past year, some wind came along and took what was left of me into the air and now as I look at Patel I'm sensing the growing distance and probably am "letting go"...I'm letting go of the butter maggi at Anilda's, the dirty water in the shit tanks, the noisy fans in the tiny cubicles, DC++, the tea at bhasky's...I'm letting go of all those things which seem so ordinary. But when you put them together they make up a life - a life that was one of a kind.

It's hard to desribe the desperation that plagued me for several months now, only because I wasn't being able to come back home...it's hard to describe what I felt like then...Just picture yourself walking aimlessly on a lonely winter day, with snow blanket shrouding everything in sight - you don't even know whether you're walking in circles. The heaviness of your feet settles in but your desperation continues to push you, your shouts disappear into the gray solitude...you don't know how small you can feel, you don't know how far away home can be...

But now I feel that it's not really very difficult to let to go when you know that you've been there - it's almost like - it's easy to die when you know you've lived...and I DID and everyone knows the way I had LIVED in Patel...Oh boy! I did!

Love found, lost and regained

I'm not a very good writer. I just try to go with the flow and pen down whatever thoughts whizz cross my mind. This post would be really cheesy and monotonous for many. But the ones who've been in love, through break-ups and have rediscovered the promise of a new love, would probably not be critical about the content, rather associate some vague random similarity with what I've tried to express.

Love is the most sublime emotion of all. Anyone who's savoured this ambrosiac feeling will acquiesce that ones life never remains the same - it changes and changes for the better. It sometimes takes some time to realize that you've been struck by cupid's arrow. It's an experience different from anything that you've experienced. Your heart melts to the ground and you find something "true". I don't know how one realizes it. It's not a theorem which you can understand by solving a set of equations. You just get this faith from somewhere. And this faith somehow helps you understand that good times are ahead. Love makes you go crazy - it makes you do stuff which you ordinarily would not have ever thought or dared of doing. It just make you want to become a better person, be a reason for someone else's happiness, be someone else's pillar and imbue faith. Suddenly cheesy stuff begins to feel mushy and cute. You get more conscious about how you look, talk, walk and careful about your phone and internet connection. And the rush that you get with each embrace that gives you a touch of heaven. And that's the just the start of it. Love creates a rainbow out of life.

Sometimes however the arrow impales you a bit too deep making it transiently unbearable to harbor the arrow inside you. It feels like a foreign body which has intruded into your existence causing a lot of pain and an equal measure of agony. You try to pull the arrow out of your heart exacerbating the pre-existing excruciating pain, but somehow because of an untempered rationale you just go ahead and pull the arrow out. And you bleed - you bleed till you are dry from your eyes and from within. You bleed love, thinking all the while, fearing often that everything was a dream which rapidly converted into a nightmare. Love meets your perception of reality and somehow your fragile heart cannot offer an asylum to love.

Time is a good healer. It helps you forget and forgive and supplants the pessimistic cacti with evergreen optimism. It helps you find yourself once again in the eyes of someone else. It helps you to learn to love all over again. It helps you find a place in your heart for someone else. And once you've found it again - life becomes all good, all again - rainbows, green meadows, spring fields, heaving tides on sandy shores - all of them appear once again with a new ray of hope.

Through this vicissitudes of time, I've somehow come to equate love with hope - a hope for something better (to put it simply).

A fragrant thought

I had once embarked on a journey to find my life, carrying with myself nothing but vignettes of memories. Unknowingly, I began entangling myself in a mesh of surreal experiences which ultimately ended in a gruelling face-off between me and myself. I had never been satisfied with what I had. Never did I look at what I had, never did I care about what I had, never did I think about what I had. Now things are different. I am all alone but much happier. I have nothing to show or share with anyone, but I am more content. I am no longer loved, but I feel the love now. "The waves are gone and may never strike back, but the ripples on the surface of the water will always remain"

It was love...

I never realized when it happened. I can't describe what exactly happened. The only thing I can say is that may be in the past few years I kept myself too busy to realize that "Life did happen to me".

There was a time when I was with a person who, I thought, meant the world to me. It started off unobtrusively with fond conversations, flippant chats and frivolous e-mails and then one fine day I realized that of all the thoughts that whizzed cross my mind, in all the times that I was left to be with myself, she was there in almost each and every one of them. It didn't take me long to convince myself that I was "in love". It was surreal and dreamy and had all the masala in it to make it the most entertaining topics of conversation. But somehow I was too secretive about this covert relationship and chose to confine my thoughts, opinions, beliefs, feelings, emotions and everything else related to it, to blogs. May be it was the first time that I began to make an honest effort to put my inner excitement in words and later on, enjoyed reading it myself and sharing it with her. The blog, much like the relation, was kept under covers and was a personal space where I could here myself talking to myself or engaging in a romantic conversation with her. However "filmi" it might sound, it was my "dreamland". Writing them made me smile. Reading them made me giggle. And it seemed that finally I have met "The One".

But before long things began to happen which slowly and carefully hammered this relationship. The titillating feelings became repugnant, the repugnance became intolerable and the relation became a painful onus. It was the strangest of experiences - I wanted to let go and hold on to her at the same time. My confusion and desperation was perceived by her and one fine day, she chose to disappear from my life. I continued blogging and in my blogs I wrote how betrayed I felt, how angry I was. I called her names. She wouldn't accept my calls, but hoping that she would be read my blogs I penned down my tirade sincerely wanting to impale her, much the same way she had inflicted pain upon me.

Once she was gone it gave time to allow the turmoil to settle. Eventually I taught myself to be in control - I was not at peace but I wasn't turbulent either. It's a strange feeling - when you get hurt. You feel as if the whole world is participating in a sadistic display of your pitiable situation. And the effector of the pain seems to become an incarnation of the devil himself. The same happened to me. I blamed her, disgruntled her, drove her insane thinking all the time that "she deserves it". Only when she was gone, I realized that may be she wasn't all that wrong, may be I wasn't correct all the way or may be it wasn't destined to happen. With these words of wisdom I moved on. Getting over someone or something is never easy, at least not in the beginning. Shying away from memories, running away from the feelings isn't easy. But I did it - I forced myself to do it. And slowly, eventually my life came reached a stage where it felt as if - it never happened, she never existed - a stage where I could be sincerely happy and find happiness within and around.

And now after about four years, skimming through some old photographs, I found one of mine with her. Something strange happened when I saw it - I was taken aback for sometime and then I found it difficult to look into her eyes in the photograph - the same eyes which I had once felt oozed honesty and affection seemed to be "scorning". I felt the urgent need to read the blogs once I had written for her and voila! - I don't remember it. I tried a few combinations of probable names - but none of them worked. I had discontinued writing and reading that blog long time back, in an endeavour to forget her and rid myself of the memories of the relationship. But I had never imagined that I would ever forget it. And so, all that once existed between us was lost somewhere within the internet space and somewhere in the ocean of memories. I didn't feel guilty about anything nor was I accusatory. It was just a strange void feeling which was trifling and significant at the same time.

I had never made an attempt to understand what exactly had happened between us - it was like a set of pre-ordained events which happened one after another in rapid succession, suddenly ending leaving no trace behind. Thinking about it was painful in the past, but somehow it no longer is. In fact thinking about it now does bring a smile to my face. I was childish and insensetive but I was honest too. Looking into her eyes made me happy, writing letters to her made me happy, blowing soap bubbles into the air with her made me happy, arranging a bouquet for her made me happy, painting cards for her made me happy, waiting for her at Forum made me happy, displaying my affection to her while a crowd of strangers beheld us, with awe and discomfort exuding from every pore, made me happy, running my hands through her hair made me happy, traveling five hours in a train to be with her for one hour made me happy, singing for her made me happy, watching the sun set on the lake side with her made me happy, smearing her face with chocolate cake made me happy, listening to a romantic song with her made me happy, walking on the lonely streets on a full-moon night, hand-in-hand with eyes glued to moon made me happy....and strangely remembering all this, after four years, after being extruded through a painful period of life, made me happy. I don't know what it was - but she did make me happy. She never asked for it verbally, but she did make me want to make her happy. She did give me the reason to be happy everyday when I woke up, she did make me happy when she wished me "good night. sweet dreams.", everyday...After she was gone I convinced myself that this was definitely not love. But now realizing life happening to me, I think may be it was love...

Coming back to life

Having been relentlessly battered by the thoughts of a by-gone past, there was a span of time when I whiled away the hours writhing in the misery of my present. I am not the kind of person to force myself into doing something that I don't want to But then, homesickness was slowly becoming a noxious malady, striving to force me down in sea of bereavement - so to break away from the chain of despondence I started "going out" - places where I wouldn't have gone if my faculty was in pristine condition. There was an instance when I traveled around 25miles, changed 3 buses wirh a total trip time of 108minutes (one-way) just to have an ice-cream. And on another occassion, I had walked around 10miles in search of a tree with fall colours exquisite enough to pluck a chord which resonates with the frequency beauty.

On one such meaningless peregrenations, it began to snow. And once again the world around changed for the better. It was like a fairy tale, where the august arrival of a king is preceded by the blowing of horns and showering of flowers - or like a dream where the advent of angels from the sky was accompanied by fog, everywhere - or the same old Netaji Auditorium where once I stood centre-stage with the smoke machine attempting to create a mystic atmosphere, to amplify the intensity of an amateurly crafted stage performance. It was a feeling so inexplicable - I was at a loss of words and just beheld the entire space with awe exuding from every pore. Slowly as I paved the sidewalk, I began to see the snow settling and covering the green grass with a white sheet. Leafless trees used the snow blanket to cover their nudity. Houses with sloping roofs were happy to put on their white caps. Seeing everything around you, draped in the hue of purity and perfection has the magical potential to make you feel happy for no particular reason - and so it happened to me. In those moments, I wasn't plagued by homesickness, I wasn't worrying about my career or money, I wasn't thinking about research, I wasn't being scourged by the despondence which previously had always found a way to creep into my existence. Somehow this snow had the power to "shoo" away all that was negative and leave behind a feeling of satisfaction.

I asked a passer-by to take a photograph of me. On seeing the photograph I was happy - happy to see that I was smiling the same old smile, which someone in the past had complemented to be honest, pure and illuminating. It's been so long that I hadn't smiled that way. It's been so long that I had felt that way. In the last two years at Kharagpur, I was happy, like I hadn't been earlier - I was optimistic and energetic and had left my sluggish past far behind. But never had the quality of happiness been like what it once had been. There was a time in the past - a time when I was as happy much the same way as I had looked in this photograph of mine, a time which somehow seems so distant now. I had always wanted to go back to those innocent times and be the person that I had been. And with life going the way it had been, it seemed impossible. But seeing myself in the photograph once again smiling the way I used to, made me feel kindled a hope that I might reunite once again with that old Sandipan, who seemed to have been lost in time - I am finding a way back home, a way to being the person that I had been, a means to be happy once again - I am coming back to life.

Ektaa and Me

I know that this is absolutely ridiculous and to some extent, gay as well. But I some how like the Ektaa Kapoor serials. I might be a starking contrast to the thousands of brainless housewives who have nothing useful to do with their lives, but when it comes to impregnating oneself with an overdose of family drama, involving conniving plastic women, miraculously marvellous work of plastic surgeons coupled with a pro-polygamic take on life, I seem to be much like those lesser mortals (talking about the housewives...just making myself clear so that am not "misunderstood" [:P]). I really don't know why. I have thought about it but haven't got an apt answer.

Whether it is Tulsi Veerani's soporific lectures on ethics behind Mahabharat or Parvati Aggarwal's incessant regurgatations about Ramayan, whether it's Prerna's constantly changing surnames (owing to multiple marriages) or Bani Walia's comeback from the dead - I just find Ektaa Kapoor's interpretation an Indian family, hillarious at times, repugnant at times and at other times curiously exciting.

I do spend a lot of time ridiculing the mindlessness of the script and dialogue writers. Nonetheless watching Ektaa's serials has its own high about it. You just need to be more in touch with your wacky , dumb, idiotic feminine side. Everything will make "some" sense and it will definitely be a "truly fulfilling" experience. [:D]

Raindrops on Roses

By far the best song that I've ever ever heard. It's chidish and asinine, but this song has the quality to put you back to the days when silly little things used to make you happy and silly little things has the capacity to make you forget all the woes of the world [:P]

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things.

Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels
Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings
These are a few of my favorite things.

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes
Silver-white winters that melt into springs
These are a few of my favorite things.

When the dog bites,
When the bee stings,
When I'm feeling sad,
I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I don't feel so bad.

Special Picture Moments, First Snow

I want to take a break from the nostalgic moments and make a foray into the present and talk about a special Kodak, which I would want to remember and would want to share with the few who read or would read my blogs.

First Snow - It was around 2 in the afternoon and I was in the lab. 2nd week of Oct., 2008. Manoel came inside the lab and told me it was snowing. I immediately got super excited, took my cap and scarf, put on my jacket and rushed out. And it was beautiful. Snow flakes looked like shredded cotton dispersed carelessly by the reckless wind, wandering aimlessly in the open space and finally settling on the brown earth. I looked straight up the sky which was carefully flooded by the soft golden beams of the smiling sun. Trees looked happy, welcoming the snow. Cars stopped as if to pay homage to the august arrival of winter and indifferent people stood, some waiting for the bus, some talking on the phone. I felt like I was in heaven. The beauty that I became a part of was magnified by a gray-blue-shadow like cinematic charm that seemed to have enveloped the entire space. I stretched my bare hands and felt the snow flakes touch my hands gently. And suddenly I noticed that I was all in black - black sketchers, black jeans, black jacket, black T-shirt, black scarf, black cap...and I remembered the movie Black and immediately the theme music of Black reverberated in my interior. The snow fall lasted for about 3minutes, but it made me feel so inexplicably ecstatic...I just can't wait for the next tryst with the snow falling.

Am eagerly waiting...

Special Picture Moments - Version I

I just thought of listing a few glimpses of the past which were special to me and I would want to remember them as long as I can. I wish I could recall the exact dates, but unfortunately can't. Here are a few - not in any chronological order - but just the way I remember. Unfortunately, the number of male friends that I have had far outnumber their female counterparts. Yet I am taking the risk of enlisting them, with the full faith that I would not land up putting myself across as...(take a guess [:P])

1) Mithun Madhusudan - He has been my best junior, right from the time that I had known him (and that would be sometime around July 2006). End of April 2008. On account of some urgent work at home, I was supposed to leave Kgp, the next day. My exams were over but others' including Myth had some left. I just wanted to give him something to remember me by. But because of shortage of time, it was difficult for me to find anything that special. So I remembered this "Best of Luck" card which Harsh had given to me before he passed out of Kgp. That was the only thing that I had as a reminiscent of the time that I spent with my best senior, my elder brother. I just thought of passing it on. It was a spontaneous decision - something which I feel very happy to have done. So I called Myth to my room and gave it to him and asked him to leave. That's the way I behaved with him. He understood how sento I was at least I think I did. I didn't look straight at him 'coz he might've just seen me cry and I didn't want my "young bro" to see me cry. So I just asked him to leave. It was kind of throttling for me, I was kind of getting overpowered by it and it did overpower me, but thankfully, after he left. He said something as he was going out and unfortunately, all I remember is, "I know how much this card means to you. Your testimonial is on its way." That was the way I said goodbye to my best junior. Till this date I wish I had been able to be and have him as a better and closer friend.

2) Ankik Dhar - It was the last time I saw them (Apurv, Ankik, Sid, Tejasvi, Vinay) - August, 2008. At Rabindra Sadan. It was a great day spent at South City Mall, Calcutta flavouring some of the best Gelato available in Town and then savouring some great cocktails, while playing pool and smoking strawberry Hookah at Star Trek, Forum, Elgin Road. I was saying my last goodbye and was leaving. Ankik told me, "Invite us when you are getting engaged or married" [:D] He was wearing a pink T-shirt and Apurv was in his traditional blue full-sleeve denim. I just said "Yaa" in a ridiculously absurd way just to cover myself from being sento. And I saw Ankik - he was smiling and there was an awesome charm about - something so childish and so warm. I had always known that my juniors were special to me - I had always wanted to elder-brother them, much to the distaste of many (am sure). But that moment was one such moment which made me understand better, what they mean to me. I just wanted and prayed that he continued to preserve that smile of his forever. It was an honest prayer of an elder brother for a younger brother.

3) Dinesh Advani - I considered him to be my best friend in Kgp, 'coz I don't remember having spent a single hour with him without laughing my ass off. May 12th, 2008. Addu's exams ended and he was leaving right the day after. Our entire wing (10people) was going to leave him at the station and say the final goodbye. I was supposed to go along with everybody. But as we helped him get his luggage in the maruti van, that same old throttling feeling got the better of me. I knew what was coming up and thought that it would be best if I stayed behind and so I did. Addu was in a brown-yellow shirt. He got in the car and we shook hands, said bye and I said, "Drink a lot of water" [:D]. Well that was just one of the zillions of our awesome jokes which formed the basis of our friendship. He was happy to go at least so it seemed. And I was happy to let him go or so I made it appear. That was the last laugh we had together. And as soon as the car left, I just "let go". And random jokes cracked in the past few years flushed through my mind so fast that I wasn't able to register anything - but it felt like a part of myself just...disappeared.

4) Mummy - August 24th, Calcutta Airport. I was finally leaving - leaving for US or leaving my friends and family or a combination of both. I was standing in the queue with my eyes fixed on my mom who's eyes were fixed on me. Her hands switching between waving goodbye and aiming flying kisses at me. She had her spectacles on, probably to see me better - for it would be long before she would see me again. In that moment, the love that exists between me and my mom got a whole new meaning in my eyes. She is the reason I am what I am. She will be the reason why I do what I do. I just prayed and still pray (at times) that I get time enough to show her what she means to me. I Love You Mummy. (I say it everyday a large number of times - as I check my e-mails hundreds of times a day [:)])

That's it! I'm done for today. It's amazing what memories can do to you. They can make you happy with every tear you shed. And am happy to experience all these emotions.