Excerpts from My Blog

Hello everybody, 

This month I present to you some of the favoured pieces (paras and lines) extracted from my various blogs. Please read on...

1. "When I was a teeny-weeny kid, I’ve always been doled out automatically with new clothes and a few extra bucks to spend for the piping hot singharas and aaloo chops at the sumptuously laid out open-air cafeterias at the Pujas! I somehow was able to sense very well of the occasion that I could not have possibly spend money for more than I could hope to afford. But again, I knew how to proffer emotional yet agreeable joust of rancorous excuses for more such green wads to come forth during such eventful times such as this one."

- excerpted from my blog: DURGA PUJA: Some notes and few remembrances...

2. "Yes, I don’t like cricket anymore. Most certainly IPL brand of Cricket gets me the creeps. Perhaps, my confession may not make any difference to anybody but I have been saved merely by not digesting its recent news of match-fixing, tax-evading and illegal money laundering activities. It gave me an excuse to wash off the nonsense of IPL cricket off me. Of whatever was left in the form of somewhat potent liking, has now left me I assure you. I dug a grave today and kicked Indian Premier League cricket into it. I spat at it once and for all. I no longer shall talk about it or fetch a pair of human ears to cock a snook at it, for it will be now below my dignity to even think about it.

"Gosh, I pity on those unfortunate ones who still proffer their support for IPL cricket and just keep bingeing on dark soft drinks and dry wiry chips of Kurkure while at it, and still love it like as if waiting on an estranged girlfriend who slinked away drooling after a match-fixing dude of no repute! Good riddance and good-bye!"

 - excerpted from my blog: Indian Premier League: The Scum of India Cricket!

3. "I am sure the Citizen’s Park with its musical fountain just down the road towards the Birla Planetarium and the Victoria also comes in the same bracket of well-earned reputation just like the Elliot Park. I feasted my eyes on everything decorated there. From the steady march of people buying tickets to enter the park to the playful birds (including crows and sparrows) and insects (honeybees, beetles, and other revelers), the flamboyant trees, the lavish arrangement of ornate flowers and even an occasional shift in the wind trudging in a discarded plastic bag or two whirling about on the elegant grassy pastures, all serve up to ones’ pleasant senses and general well-being. 

 "An honest confession: at one sweet time when Andy and I were together chatting in the balcony, I almost considered letting myself off the hook and have a smoke with him that day, but somehow I could not do it for some reason I never could come to know of. I hovered around to have a closer look at all the people who enjoyed smoking; it seemed to me - perhaps a little foolishly as one might think - that the art of smoking is obviously about a personal expression that involves style, fashion, elegance, technique, panache, élan, flamboyance and more. So, a smoker smokes his/her cigarette not because he is addicted to it (may be, a part of it) but because of his/her intense desire and to help themselves stay healthy in mind and confident by several degrees higher. Truly, I am fascinated by it but never gave in to it.

"There were other friends too but I am no longer able to recollect their names now. There's one name, however, that stuck with me the first time I saw her: Amrita. Tom with whom I always sat in the training knew about it. He used to roll his big eyes and stick his elbow into my ribs every time when she came in the training room for a special inputs session before I flushed a deep shade of pink in my face. Andy too would turn his neck towards me and pout his lips envyingly; he'd once said: she's perfect for you Albert...seriously. Later, when I'd left my job on one summer night of May/June and came away to the glassy cafeteria to recoup from the pain of getting away, sitting alone, eyes liquid with hot tears, looking blankly at my plate of Paneer Sushlik in front of me, I did realize to a great degree of sadness and helplessness that the feeling was far more deeper than I had previously thought it was. What could I possibly have done to turn a new leaf in my life? Poor me! I never knew that leaving Kolkata would have me leave her as well apart from all other things I have come to care for.

"Things change so blindingly these days that I hardly like it that way, and I have little choice if it is meant to be that way, lest loving it! Saddest part of it all is: That’s life.

"As I walked along the lighted pathway from the glassy contour of the cafeteria to the iconic training building and then to the cab stand, a realization hit me that I had no moral strength left in me to pound my head with with the one question about my leaving Kolkata. I moaned upon the sudden perplexities of my life night and day. Even raising a toast to the pitiable plight of my going away from the place has not met with an absolution yet. My eyes sought tears again in wanting to see those cool days of unbridled passion: those unmistakable feelings of love for one’s homeland, those long periods of gregariousness and silly flippancy in the company of friends, and those moments of playful laughter and the general lightness of being within oneself. So do I stand vindicated in any way at all? Not just as yet. Each and every detail of the canvas painting depicting my days in Kolkata came pouring out like unmanageable hard facts, to never let go of me. I am glad it never will.

"I remember you once told me that you looked at our old campus when you visited a nearby building in Sector V on a professional commitment; I can imagine what you must have felt when you first looked down below from one of the top floors of that neighbouring building: eyes blur as tears prick them and a demolishing jibe drives through the chest even as the heart throbs in a passionate ache that never subsides. 

- excerpted from my blog: My Days in Kolkata, A Memoir

4. "Pather Panchali (Song of the Road) by Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay: Pather Panchali is my favourite book. It is not a book; it is sustenance, it is life, it’s the air in my lungs. Pather Panchali changed my life forever. For the entire period of my reading of the book, I could not eat, sleep or even lead my normal life. I became a recluse, a mendicant, a forlorn; not wanting to come out of the state of mind I was slowly finding myself into. I was so deeply affected reading about Apu, Durga and his little impoverished family living in their ancestral village of Nischindipur that I cried, yearned and craved to see Apu and Durga in real life; to go back in time and lead a life in the rural Nichindipur became my sole purpose. Satyajit Ray’s critically-acclaimed film (first part of The Apu Trilogy) which is based on the book is another piece of marvel to behold – a timeless classic. God smiled upon those who read Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay’s exquisite novel."

- excerpted from my blog: The Books I Read in the Year 2010

 

         5.                  "You never seemed so far away

And I thought am far too close enough
Being unlamented.
Ah, I was so helplessly aware
That I thought how vaguely life leaks away.
You chose to offer me
This excuse?
And a lifetime
Of unsaid love and refuse.

In the mortal yard of death
Lives neither love nor hate
Your walk in the clouds
Was like a rivulet of songs sung…
…and you left us all alone
For heavenwards, dying young."

- excerpted from my blog: Dying Young

6. "I trotted out…like an advanced decrepit, said my prayers, bid goodbye to my jaanu, - and escorted by five other associates - to look for a job position that was never to be mine in the first place. Till the day of my journey I hardly ever saw myself in the mirror nor read a book, nor could even hope to eat my usual morsels of food in holy abandon at home. After all that I have toiled hard to learn and unlearn, an inexplicable mood-swing seemed to lurk in my head and it appeared that may be - just may be – I would go bumping down the proverbial hill like Jack and Jill.

"The maddening gold-rush of life was beyond my level of understanding and gumption; yet I lingered on without much ado, waiting for what I thought I was destined to wait for and that is: a mouthful of sky. I never smudged a thing or two in order to make it up to my personal liking or taste; in fact, from what God could let me have of my share of life I almost always tried to conform to, but not this “Bombay Interview” for which I am ever ready for the Almighty to take me into His merciful accounts. I wanted a private patch of my own to live in, so I got one. I did not alter anything in the world, nor did I find anything interesting enough to modify or amend.

"By being a firm believer in Destiny is therefore what I think makes me safe and positive, and be among God’s good humour if you like. Call it escapist, call it brainlessness or call it plain lunacy; but that is all there is to it; not a penny more, not a penny less. So I snuggled in the warm quilt of my fond memories of those golden growing up years, my passion for books, my deep obsessive love for Kolkata and other unforgettable, uncomplicated stories of my surviving life here in the South.

"Alvidaa Sion -

Sion was strangely wonderful a place. Superb by night, the place was a flashing abundance of shops big and small, delightful middle-class restaurants filled with amiable people, fast-moving romantic cars and seriously useful Best buses and the glittering, long winding, love-laden roads. From the pavement where I stood and gazed at the roads going all the way beyond, I was struck by the beauty of the life that I could have had there. Shining bright lights of love and longing were splashed everywhere that dazzled my senses to the core, and I instantly knew that on this bright night I could not have been anywhere else but here in the stunning city of Sion; trying to fetch a ticket to get home at a time when my heart was screaming inside. A feeling of the unknown and unsaid, unfamiliar and unnamed, a loving mystery of a special someone cloaked within the misty spaces of the time and the very place, had deeply churned my heart from within. I yearned for something or someone I did not have, and the strangeness of those lonely set of feelings had poured into my vaunted soul like a sweet fragrance that never wore off even to this day. Alvidaa Sion. 

" If I have the necessary gall to prove what I want to prove, I can jolly well do it in my own familiar backyard than risk catching an Arabian chill. Admittedly, it takes a different lot for this buoyant soul to hang on to the promise of a job, howsoever enticing, in the bleeding Bambaiyya of today.

"The city Praveen grew up in - that he had inadvertently left behind – suddenly turned up knocking at the door of his heart, or so the story goes. Hyderabad became a harbinger of memories and other easy opportunities that he easily could have partaken of if only he had looked where he was meant to look. Soon things began making fresh pleas tugging at his longing heart. Not for long did he work in Bombay because soon he was packed off to Gujarat where Asian Paints have their plant cum software maintenance facility. Life was seemingly good for him there at the plant site, but whoever said that once-a-Hyderabadi-always-a-Hyderabadi feeling makes you come back to where you actually belong was absolutely right. So the Bhandup of Bombay returned! 

- excerpted from my blog: Of Interviews, Homesickness, and Bombay Duck!

7. "Honestly speaking, it irks me, when people hail me with, “Hello uncle”, “Hi uncle”, “This uncle”, “That uncle”, and so on and by the way I don’t sport a “Moustache” then why such allegations on me? 

- excerpted from my blog: The Uncle-ing Fever! 

8. "Her self-esteem was pretty impressive to get appreciative about. She had an exuberant beehive of a soul in her that basically throbbed with fun and lively humour; she’s delightfully pompous, solipsistic, socially gregarious, well-cushioned in appearance, forcefully animated, follows what her conscience says, and a little too chirpy in nature. 

"Humming Pankaj Sarawgi's beautifully picturized song: "Mujhe pyaar hai tumse..." brings back those memories again. I'll never forget this song.

"Mujhe pyaar hai tumse..
Ke jab bhi koi..
Aahat hue toh lage...
Ke tum aaye....
Sawala salona haye chehra yeh tera...
Aankhiyon mein basa hai yeh palko ki tarah..."

"The joy of meeting a person whom you’ve never met before is something to be experienced to be believed. I had all kinds of ticklish butterflies in my stomach fluttering about. Time just flies by in such an event of delectable expectations. Small fears and trepidation in the form of what will happen if…? what will she…? will she…? is it ok to…? are enough to make you go tizzy.

"Preeti wore a pastel-hued virgin pink (her favourite colour) Salwaar and I instantly noticed that she had an exquisite stance about her which was really so attention-grabbing. She was riding a Kinetic Honda. The spike holding the right-hand side mirror was wrapped with a red perforated holy scarf (laced with shiny golden borders); apparently, it was tugged there as a remainder for her to drive safe. A nice thing to do really. She was splendid and incredibly pretty lady, just like her name. I was stunned into thinking that she looked no less than a pariyon ki rani (Angel Princess!); certainly not of this mortal world.

"Basically, I was happy about the fact that Preeti turned out to be what I had imagined her to be. She looked up tossing her coy tresses tending them back in place; she clutched her bag and dashed a meaningful glance at me smiling warmly and then our evening rendezvous was well set to roll.

"In fact, on account of Pom’s standard break-ins during my lovey-dovey phone calls to Preeti, she got to know that my favourite curry is Fish curry and the more jhaal jhaal (spicy spicy!) it is the better. So she sketched a big torpedo-shaped fish (with prominently drawn fish scales, pectoral fins, pelvic fins and all – probably macher raja (King of Fish), a Rohu variety! on a wonderful paper cutting shaped like a big fleshy scrumptious fish and gave it to me. (Ah! Hah! I didn’t have to cast a line or hook a worm to catch it! I told my Ma to cook it but she laughed!)

"Back in 1998, there were no mobile phones and so immediately calling her up was beyond question. I remember, I sat displeased in my office cubicle on the 5th floor of TSR Towers and was getting deeply anxious about her promised phone call. At last, Preeti called my office post lunch and I got talking with her. Great feelings of gratification had assailed me by from head to toe. By now I had known her intimately. Accustomed feelings of love and longing filled our pleading, embracing hearts. 

"The same night when she called back to say that she’s safely back home and propped on the sofa watching the movie The Marrying Man on the cable television she seemed a little drunk, and for the first time in our relationship the ‘three magic words’ were expressed. 

"For one last time when I wrote to her, unloading all my heart’s contents on to the spreadsheet of my email, I found myself reasoning with her that if I had to take umbrage at anybody in the world for our love to have resulted to this end then it would be me, just me and my forsaken fate, and no one else but me. I have no doubt that I may have sounded a little duplicitous then. The truth is I had no way of telling her what I had actually gone through after all that had happened between us;....

"One last strand of memory: Rarely but when I have to go towards the SD Road or towards the now-defunct Sangeet cinema, my heart remembers to tug at my chest and unfailingly craves to have just one last look at the much-familiar long staircase leading up to her 2nd floor office. So many times have I been there to her office climbing up the flight of stairs to meet her. So very often have we stood on the marbled steps and talked for long periods of time before I had to drive away burning rubber and breaking all speed limits on the way to my office on Raj Bhavan Road. And those gorgeous eyes that looked down at me from her position of one flight of step up. I can still remember very vividly: holding her hands in mine, tickling her chin, feeling each passing moment as if sent from heaven, amidst the fragrance of our love, and not wanting to leave her there and go away... I never went there ever again. Those memories will never be forgotten even if I want to.

"To be a man strong enough to see this thing through was very hard for my hurt soul to endure – which was already hard done by her. Whenever my imagination had a free run, I took her into my arms and never let go. Now, my thoughts reflect the loving hopes of my heart and whenever they wander they always take me to her. There was nothing more worthwhile in my life than purely love her. I realized that she is on my mind more often than any other thought; from the time I wake up till I close my eyes. Many a times, in the dazed afternoons, I have heard songs of melancholy that brought back the unforgettable memories of the past...

"I read and re-read all the cards and email printouts before clutching them in my trembling hands and surrendering them to the flames. I was greatly unwilling to do such a thing, but one day I really had to come to such a pass. That night in the backyard, in the veranda, I stood and cried staring at the querulous flames engulfing the stacks of my much-loved letters and souvenirs. I hid them, stored them for many years and now they are gone....

".....With the fires finally burning out I sat and wept inconsolably hoping for an absolution that I know will never come. Months passed away to become years and memories became immortal. Memories never go away; I have them safe in my heart. Goodbye, my dear...

"I never ‘moved on’ until the passing of many agonizingly sodden years when I finally did ‘move on’ to start afresh. Only after a lot of time and space and wallowing in self-pity did my heart relent to a new usher of life." 

- excerpted from my blog: The Memory of Love, a short story 

9. "A few years ago we had a bad boss. He (we’ll call him T-Rex) was a hot-tempered and pompous HARI-Sadu type - exactly as they show it on the TV ad: “'H' for Hitler, 'A' for Arrogant, 'R' for Rascal and 'I' for Idiot…". That's right!

"Our boss’s case was a typical ‘Gone Case’ (that’s how one of his many nicknames came about - GC, T-Rex, Gargoyle, Dirty Harry, Grumpy, Raptor, Shakaal, etc.) – a person having gone out of control, hopeless and beyond help. He was barely heedless to maintaining good office decorum.

" It’s a pitiable thing really that the man had not a good word for anyone ever and he remained just like that all throughout his long tenure – an intolerable kind who would squeeze blood from a stone! 

- excerpted from my blog: T-Rex - An Intolerable Cruelty!

The End

By Arindam Moulick