December 30, 2009

Abaar Bashee, Abaar Rongeen

Uchhashe’r mukto moho, stobdhotaay taar khonosthayee protipholon.
Birohe lukiye byarthota, cheharaay shei obhibyakti’t nischup aashphaalon.
Aashbe phire abaar, choopichoopi gutipaaye, abar ei muhurto, ei shomoy, ei deen.
Purono bochhorer bashi smriti, notun bochhorer notun bikele hoye uthbe pher rongeen


Swechhae hyaeno jibonjaapon,
Klanto chhaya te besh…
Berajaal, tukro smriti
Kobe holo shuru, janaar aagei shesh…

December 22, 2009

Dadu, hues of sepia, and dusty old photographs...

Dadu passed away three days back, leaving behind an even more mitigated proportion of males in my close family. For, I’ve never had any uncle, and I never had the other grandpa. My mom and dad have a sister each, and both my grandmothers are very healthy and active. And also, I have a sister, and I was always closer to Ma than Baba. Even with this humongous amount of feminine presence in my family, I always had Baba and Dadu. Now with Dadu gone, I find my gender representation in my family at irredeemably serious peril.

Also, Baba wanted a photograph of Dadu for the Sraddho ceremony. Thus came tumbling out of the racks, the old, thick, ‘original-full-version-Oxford-dictionary-ko-by-great-margins-beat-karnewaale’ family albums. Well, I had forgotten about the existence of most of those photographs – we were leafing through the albums after that long. I was four, I was two, I was one, I wasn’t born yet, my sister’s birth, my parents getting married. Jodhpur Park, Picnic Garden, Ballygunge Place. Bokaro, Delhi, Ferozepur, Amritsar. Army camps and parties, Bangaali bonediyana , Jharkhand small-town tranquility, the Raybahadur Kumarnath Bagchi legacy, all the great family ethics and values, all the aristocracy-which my ancestors certainly do not hope to see surviving through me...Despite the fashion sensibilities having arrived and departed in cycles – (Floral prints, khadis, checks), the times only moved forward. My weirdly round face chiselled down, my sister now has straight hair instead of the ‘hujoorbujoor’ curls, Ma and Baba’s black tresses and glowing skin have been replaced by salt-and-pepper, and wrinkles. So many of the distant relatives smiling out from those old photographs have since, moved over to the other side. We lost some to accidents, some to diseases and some to old age, the latest being Dadu.

It is the same end which awaits us all. The Inevitable. Only we do not know when it is going to thrust itself across our paths. It is not scary really; rather there is something very poignant about it. And in those old photographs, people look so happy. They all look younger and better than they do now. Some have been married off, since. They all have their own kids- those aunts that were present for my mom’s baby shower( ‘shaad’) before I was born, they are mothers themselves now. Quite some of the people in the photographs have had messy divorces. And there were even a few who spelled their own ends.

Well, THIS wasn’t intended to be a sad and depressing note, but I’m afraid, it is turning out to be one. What I really want to highlight is, Change, truly is the only constant, so, despite cynics and elders and professors telling me off about my lack of a sense of responsibility, or about my immature and unconventional-and-disturbing way of life and thought processes, I am not going to fret about what will happen and when and blaady-blaady-blah. Everything will change, everything will fall in place. As Hagrid had said,”Whatever will come will come and I will have to face it when it does…”

December 9, 2009


Well, chocolates.
How special are they?
Do they really deserve more of that unquestioned, unaudited kind of love than a good little angel like me ever got?

What is with all the craving for chocolates?
All that they can do is - touch my tongue, and then melt on it, then coat it with a gooey, sweet layer of itself.
They are highly expensive, but they melt like 'ekdom neka poshto' or 'nonir putool'...

If I indeed have to make love to something that is expensive, ANDmelts,
I'd rather choose Gael Garcia Bernal over chocolates.

Is there a chocolate-Penelope Cruz or a Chocolate-Gael Garcia Bernal anywhere?

Turning Thirty/Old

4th December 2009

I was watching the 14th episode of the 7th season of the sitcom F.R.I.E.N.D.S- ‘The One Where They All Turn Thirty’, which explored how paranoid people, in general, get when they turn thirty. While Rachel argues, “I’m still 29 in Guam” on her thirtieth birthday, Joey accuses God saying that the Omnipotent had a deal with him, “Let the others grow old, not me” on his 30th, and says “You’re Chandler no more” on Chandler’s, and Monica blurts out a drunk-speech claiming she could do whatever she wants to, since she was 30, on her 30th… Also, Chandler and Monica, themselves thirty as well, present a card to Rachel for her 30th that goes “Happy Birthday, Grandma”, to poke fun at the newest kid to have crossed the barrier-of-twenty.
This particular syndrome finds mention in a lot of places. The fact that whenever a person turns any-multiple-of-ten, whenever the second digit of one’s age goes from 9 to 0, and the first goes on to become the next integer, one particularly feels a great deal older. Not that I relate with it. When I turned ten, I don’t think I was particularly sad, and I haven’t turned twenty (or for that matter, nineteen) yet.

But how would it feel when I turn thirty?
I guess I will be feeling down and blue. Most of my friends know how I want to die at twenty nine, for, well, thirty is too old.
Right now, it seems like an event that is due sometime a light-year away. It is too distant a prospect to be given a serious thought. Life, however, has always terrified me with just how fast it is. It’s so fast that a person is a child at a point of time, and suddenly he’s in high-school, and then in college, then he gets married, has children, retires from his job, and the very next thing he knows, he is preparing himself for his death. This, I know, shall apply to me as well. I will turn nineteen next January, then twenty, and then thirty before I know. I have always loathed growing up, growing old.

We all keep some targets fixed in life. I know I want to be on the top of the world by the time, I’m twenty six, and I want to enjoy success for four years, and then make a quick exit out from life while still at the pinnacle. But will I still look at life the same way when I’m thirty? Won’t I want to live on and enjoy my success, IF I am successful? won’t think of myself as an old loser, with nothing to live for, when I’m thirty. That won’t quit be possible? I will have the desire to live, to enjoy, even then .And for all you know, the messed up, laid-back person that I am, will I be able to achieve anything at all by thirty?

In the words of some wise man, “You’re as young as you feel”. I have an upper-hand here, though. I don’t feel older than fifteen currently. And I know for a fact that my age might render me old, but with my tastes and way of living life, I will never be too old to enjoy. I wonder what use that will be of, since most of my friends will have become too grumpy and serious with life by then, and the teenagers and young people will obviously not want the thirty-year-old-me to be a part of their activities. I wonder, I wonder what all that shall be like?

However, right now, I am eighteen, and I have a very good life, with the right balance of overwhelming joy and mind-numbing sorrow, and I have got great friends, and good education, and wonderful family, and if this blog exists till 15 January, 2021, we shall read this post again, and discuss all of this in a new light.

6th December 2009

I, indeed, am feeling very old these days. Only today I was attending the 12th birthday party of one of my only three first cousins, and well, I was made to watch Dhoom-2 with a bunch of kids, aged between ten and thirteen. All of these kids, the new-age tech-geeks, gadget-gurus had a unique take on every scene of the movie, and I was not only feeling left out, but also weirdly uncool and back-dated. Well, most of the comments they made were pretty silly, but still some of the things they discussed, and their way of looking at me with non- acceptive eyes made me very uneasy. These kids on the verge of stepping into their teenage, made me, almost stepping out of mine want to sing the My Chemical Romance song “Teenagers scare the living shit out of me…”

December 5, 2009

Seven Altercations

Seven shoes
That wait outside,
Three pairs, and one.
Color-synced when sold
(They) Pray in the cold.
Whims of love undone.

Seven pigs
Pink, round and oink,
That, to piglets, do give birth.
Garbage cans
Hay and grease from the barns.
They divide, rule in real mirth.

Seven keys
Potion and old degrees,
Unlocked to anarchy and terror.
Holy myths,
With tragic truths,
To the hollowness hold out a mirror.

Seven buttons
The neck greets the knees,
They, charming curves enclose.
Love turns blue
Pity takes a clue.
Blooming tales perish and close.

Seven coins
Pride, Deja vu with pink noise
From a legacy ancient, arise
Bury 'em deep
They are not yours to keep
Glory from these profits, a surprise.

Seven windows
Grainy sunlight shimmers,
A culture blends in with the dark.
Morgues of lust,
Crude passion infects like rust,
Shameless intrusion shows its spark.

Seven altercations
Explain to the moment,
Time merges love and hate.
Yet unexplained,
Its mystery remained,
Over such combustion do fantasies debate.

December 3, 2009

Pehli Baar Mohabbat Ki Hai - English Translation

I just translated the delectable 'Pehli Baar Mohabbat Ki Hai' from the movie 'Kaminey' into English. I have tried to stay as true to the original Hindi lyrics as possible, but there are some modifications, mostly additions, made to the content of the song, which can be interpreted as my creative liberty.

The original Hindi song:
Thode bheege bheege se thode nam hai hum,
Kal se soye voye bhi to kam hai hum.
Dil ne kaisi harkat ki hai,
Pehli baar mohabbat ki hai,
Aakhiri baar mohabbat ki hai.

Aankhein doobi doobi si surmayee madham,
Jheelen paani paani hai bass tum aur hum,
Hmmm baat badi hairat ki hai,
Pehli baar mohabbat ki hai,
Aakhiri baar mohabbat ki hai.

Khwab ke bojh se, kapkapati huyee,
Halki palkein teri, yaad aata hai sab,
Tujhe gudgudana, satana, yunhi sote hue,
Gaal pe teepna, meechna, bewajah besabab.

Yaad hai peepal ke jiske ghane saaye the,
Hum ne gilehri joothe matter khaaye the,
Yeh barqat unn hazrat ki hai.
Pehli baar mohabbat ki hai,
Aakhiri baar mohabbat ki hai

A little misty, a little drenched are we
A placid sleep, we haven’t had of late, have we?
Our hearts are chanting a new rhyme
Love has thrust itself across us, this is the first time,
Love has entered our lives; hopefully the one and only time.

Eyes stay half-shut, smudged by an enigmatic kohl
The water in the lakes shine, reflect our forms, our souls.
These facts puzzle us, within us new tunes chime,
Love has thrust itself across us, this is the first time,
Love has entered our lives; hopefully the one and only time.

Dreams set the soft,
Lids of your eyes in a flutter.
Memories rush back,
In my senses, they mutter.
Those playful tickles, the allegations,
Teasing, and all the merry titillation,
Beside each other, while we lay.
Your cheeks that
Invite, and all the admiration
On the slightest hint, you say.

I remember, you may test,
Under the cool shade of the old peepal tree,
We indeed did taste,
Almonds from the squirrel, honey from the bee.
This song is, (no doubt, the best)
About the sweet afterglow of those moments of glee.