Ananya: Where are you taking me?
Shom: Shut up! Sit quietly. Let me drive.
Ananya: You are drunk Shom. Please drop me home and you go back to your place. We will be in trouble if you break traffic rules.
Shom: Don’t worry girlie. I can drive even when I’m sleeping, just like I play the violin best when I’m drunk. My senses are even more ‘sensible’ when I’m intoxicated.
Ananya: Shom, you are not going to remember this conversation tomorrow morning, and you think you are being ‘sensible’?
Shom: Can you just sit quietly for a while and let me drive? Please, I request you. Can you do that for me?
Ananya: Ok, but… just be careful.
Shom: Ya ya fine!
(After 20 minutes)
Ananya: If I’m not wrong, we are crossing the Delhi border right now, aren’t we? Shom, where the hell are we going?
Shom: Patience is a virtue darling. Keep patience. You know I can’t harm you in any way, I love you so much.
Ananya: Ya whatever! Only under alcohol’s influence you get romantic. I can never expect such a line from you when I call you in the nights and you are sane.
Shom: Baby, I’m sane.
I can see the lane.
Don’t take so much pain…
It’ll go in vain.
Ananya: Oh my God!
Shom: See, that’s why I’m telling you. Just sit calmly & enjoy the drive. We’ll reach in a while.
Ananya: Reach where?
(After 3 hours)
Shom: Annu, get up. We are almost there.
Ananya: Hmmm….ya? Hmmm? Where are we?
Shom: See for yourself, first open your eyes man!
Ananya: Looks like a city and a congested one on top of that. Umm… I need to see some shop hoarding!
Shom: Guess ma’am?
Ananya: F U C K! O F U C K! Shom, are we in Agra?
Shom: Bull’s eye!
Ananya: What the fuck?
Shom: Relax, the best is yet to come.
Ananya: Why Agra?
Shom: Where else can you have a Taj Mahal?
Ananya: Oh my God! Shomu….my sweetu…
Shom: Wait…wait…wait…I’m driving, don’t hug me man, or else we’ll crash into something.
Ananya: Oh ok….Hehe… sorry sweetu.
Shom: Hmmm… here we go. Let me park here. We’ll have to walk from here on.
Ananya: Alright.
Hey, what’s there in that bag pack? Are we going to stay here?
Shom: Ofcourse, how can we go back tonight itself? Idiot.
Ananya: Man you had planned all this? I’m amazed.
(After 5 minutes)
Shom: How does it feel now? Just look at it, the Taj Mahal in moonlight.
Ananya: I can’t explain. This is just awesome, the feeling has no parallel.
Shom: By the way, happy anniversary Annu, it is past midnight isn’t it? You remember?
Ananya: Oh shit!
Shom: Ya, shit! It is 10th February, it has been an year now since we are going around.
Ananya: And I did not even remember this? I should be killed right now.
I love you so much baby! Give me a hug…
Shom: Wait wait, I’ve got something more…. Ya, here we go!
Ananya: Wow! You fucking carried your violin in the bag pack?
Shom: Yes, and now I’m going to perform a small piece, based in Raag Darbari.
Ananya: You have composed?
Shom: Ya, kind of. Now listen.
Ananya: Oh, please play…can’t wait.
(After 10 minutes)
Ananya: UFF! Fantastic…Shom, I’m blessed with you. Can I please hug you now?
Shom: Sure…
(After 3 minutes)
Ananya: Can we please make out?
Shom: Here? Let us go to the hotel first where we are going to stay.
Ananya: No, I want to do it now, here, in front of the Taj Mahal.
Shom: But what if…
Ananya: Sssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhh…….
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
We Are Sorry
Baba came home from office really late that night. We, my mother, I and my elder brother, were already on the dinner table. I and Shantu da had school the next day so we were in our final minutes of ‘waking hours’ for the day! But then baba spoke, and we were informed that one of his best friends, also a very close family friend, has been admitted to a hospital due to brain hemorrhage.
Baba’s friend, Malay uncle, had gone to Kolkata during the Puja season with his family, and there on a certain day after sudden unconsciousness, he was admitted. We had a very enjoyable Puja here in Delhi. But Malay uncle was missed; he was this effervescent and highly affable person hanging around all the time, with no shortage of enthusiasm and passion. He had curly hair, dark skin color, small pox spots on his face distributed evenly, and round ‘Gandhi-an’ spectacles just about fitting in the nose hook. Even though he was Baba’s friend, he acted more of a guardian to me than my Baba. His fondness for children and especially bright ones was something everybody knew and respected. He was an artist by profession and took keen interest in sports and politics, with equally good knowledge about Hindustani classical music. All these made it a pleasure to have him around in any circle or gathering. A Puja without him was so different.
Baba said he got to know about Malay uncle around lunch time in his office, and then after office he went to meet the 3-4 friends who along with my father were the closest to Malay uncle. They discussed about what can be done and whether they should ask Malay uncle’s wife and mother to bring him back to Delhi to get him treated in a finer way. There is this general belief that medical options are far more advanced & professional in the capital than the ‘city of joy’! They had called Malay uncle’s wife after their discussion and given her this option, to which she replied she would consult the doctors about it there and then take a decision the next day. On the next day, uncle’s wife called and said that the doctors are not willing to take the risk of discharging him and letting him go to another city, so it was better if he continues to be there itself. To this reply, it was not possible to coax her and Baba & friends started thinking of an alternative solution.
It was a Sunday, and hence all working men had an off. Our drawing room was selected as the meeting point of all friends, and there the discussion began. It was suggested by someone finally that some of them should may be go to Kolkata to help, as it would be more than an assistance on the manpower front, and also may be financially for the time being. To this idea, there were multiple debates, almost everyone said it was not possible for them to take a leave and go to Kolkata. The meeting again ended in a non conclusive point, and all went to their homes. Baba sat there silently, smoking, and thoughtful. In the evening something struck me, and I went to Baba and said:
“Baba, lets both of us go! I can take 3-4 days off from school, my half yearly exams are still 2 months away. Why should we think so much when it is about Malay uncle, baba? He has taught me how to sketch; he has taught you how to enjoy a drink with music; he has taught dada how to play a cover drive! He has taught all of us how to live, and today when his life is in danger, what nonsense are all of us thinking? Shouldn’t we be there with him, no matter what?”
Baba had a smile on his face and a tear in his right eye, and shouted to my mother that our 15 year old son has thought and spoken the way a lot of 50 year olds couldn’t! He booked tickets the next morning from his office for the 2 of us, as we would depart the next day. I gave a leave application to my Principal in school that I will be unavailable from Tuesday to Saturday due to family reasons.
Baba came home from office around quarter to nine in the night. He saw me sitting in the drawing room, and this did not please him at all. He shouted on me “Are you such an idiot, that tomorrow you are leaving and still you do not have the sense that you should study a little tonight atleast?” I covered my face with my hand and broke down into tears! My mother came from kitchen and told my father that Malay uncle is not anymore with us, and his wife had called us in the evening to tell us the news. My father went to his room and cried in silence, his eyes remained red all day on the train to Kolkata the next day. We met Malay uncle’s family in guilt of not reaching on time, and made our way back to Delhi in a couple of days.
Baba’s friend, Malay uncle, had gone to Kolkata during the Puja season with his family, and there on a certain day after sudden unconsciousness, he was admitted. We had a very enjoyable Puja here in Delhi. But Malay uncle was missed; he was this effervescent and highly affable person hanging around all the time, with no shortage of enthusiasm and passion. He had curly hair, dark skin color, small pox spots on his face distributed evenly, and round ‘Gandhi-an’ spectacles just about fitting in the nose hook. Even though he was Baba’s friend, he acted more of a guardian to me than my Baba. His fondness for children and especially bright ones was something everybody knew and respected. He was an artist by profession and took keen interest in sports and politics, with equally good knowledge about Hindustani classical music. All these made it a pleasure to have him around in any circle or gathering. A Puja without him was so different.
Baba said he got to know about Malay uncle around lunch time in his office, and then after office he went to meet the 3-4 friends who along with my father were the closest to Malay uncle. They discussed about what can be done and whether they should ask Malay uncle’s wife and mother to bring him back to Delhi to get him treated in a finer way. There is this general belief that medical options are far more advanced & professional in the capital than the ‘city of joy’! They had called Malay uncle’s wife after their discussion and given her this option, to which she replied she would consult the doctors about it there and then take a decision the next day. On the next day, uncle’s wife called and said that the doctors are not willing to take the risk of discharging him and letting him go to another city, so it was better if he continues to be there itself. To this reply, it was not possible to coax her and Baba & friends started thinking of an alternative solution.
It was a Sunday, and hence all working men had an off. Our drawing room was selected as the meeting point of all friends, and there the discussion began. It was suggested by someone finally that some of them should may be go to Kolkata to help, as it would be more than an assistance on the manpower front, and also may be financially for the time being. To this idea, there were multiple debates, almost everyone said it was not possible for them to take a leave and go to Kolkata. The meeting again ended in a non conclusive point, and all went to their homes. Baba sat there silently, smoking, and thoughtful. In the evening something struck me, and I went to Baba and said:
“Baba, lets both of us go! I can take 3-4 days off from school, my half yearly exams are still 2 months away. Why should we think so much when it is about Malay uncle, baba? He has taught me how to sketch; he has taught you how to enjoy a drink with music; he has taught dada how to play a cover drive! He has taught all of us how to live, and today when his life is in danger, what nonsense are all of us thinking? Shouldn’t we be there with him, no matter what?”
Baba had a smile on his face and a tear in his right eye, and shouted to my mother that our 15 year old son has thought and spoken the way a lot of 50 year olds couldn’t! He booked tickets the next morning from his office for the 2 of us, as we would depart the next day. I gave a leave application to my Principal in school that I will be unavailable from Tuesday to Saturday due to family reasons.
Baba came home from office around quarter to nine in the night. He saw me sitting in the drawing room, and this did not please him at all. He shouted on me “Are you such an idiot, that tomorrow you are leaving and still you do not have the sense that you should study a little tonight atleast?” I covered my face with my hand and broke down into tears! My mother came from kitchen and told my father that Malay uncle is not anymore with us, and his wife had called us in the evening to tell us the news. My father went to his room and cried in silence, his eyes remained red all day on the train to Kolkata the next day. We met Malay uncle’s family in guilt of not reaching on time, and made our way back to Delhi in a couple of days.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Wait!!
I had 3 huge bags with me. And all of that was mine. Manish was yet to reach the station, while i had already spent around half an hour on the platform observing funny looking passengers. In fact all passengers looked funny to me, dressed up in weird costumes for the night journey, with inhumane amount of luggage carried by human coolies. At least i picked up my own stuff from the taxi stand till the platform, i hated hiring a coolie no matter how much stuff i carried.
It was 5:20 in the evening already, 5:35 the train was scheduled to depart. Manish's phone was unreachable. Sweat dropped off my forehead without shyness. I just wasn't ready to forgive him this time. It was not the first time that he was late, getting late has almost been his hobby for years. Once i waited for him for six hours at the V.T. station, can you beat that? Six hours? And his biggest asset, he always sounded jolly, even when he was running four hours late, he was in a great mood, assuring me that he will be there in the next five minutes, it took him another two hours to reach! And yet when he reached, he smiled and joked around with such elan, that i couldn't even shout at him! we have been friends since we were 5, anyway, now it was 5:25. i was trying his phone continuously, without bringing down the machine, just assuming the redial button's position and pressing it again and again. His phone finally rang. he picked up and said " i'll be there in 15 minutes"
i was furious, and perhaps for the first time i shouted at him " how can you be here in 15 minutes, the train leaves in 10 minutes, in fact less than that now "
"Don't worry, i'll be there, you are getting me late" he hung up, sounding in 'just a bit' of hurry! but did i hear him right? he said "you are getting me late" ? i was getting him late? for heaven's sake, this was far beyond my tolerance level!
i decided to sit on my berth, irrespective of his arrival, thinking at least i will be on my way to delhi, even if he misses. i saw my watch again, it was 5:30. Manish was calling me,i picked up and even before i could say hello, he spoke with tremendous hurry, " come down to the food court, near the entrance of the station,i'm eating there." i again blasted out "what are you doing there, the train is about to leave, i'm already at my berth". But then Manish said something which made me feel like a fool, " the tickets are with me" . I ran with my luggage to the food court, almost with no time remaining for the train to depart, i saw him checking out the menu. as i reached, he asked me to sit calmly, as he had inquired and the train was 10 minutes late. This made me slightly relaxed, but within a few moments i was back to my anxious best. Manish held a huge plate and came towards me to sit & have his 'lunch'. the plate would take atleast 15 minutes to finish, even if i try my hand at "fast food"! How would manish finish all that in 7-8 minutes was mind boggling. so i did not trust him, and i decided to interfere. " eat this, the chapatis, ya, now take that dal, ya, now eat the sweet, lets finish it up, ya ok take that last bite"... manish ate silently & obediently the things i told him . others in the restaurant found all this pretty amusing. but alas, when he finished, train was yet to leave. We ran back, reached our compartment, then our berths, and sat, as the train slowly but surely started to move on. it seemed as if manish had bribed the train authorities to wait for him.
Our journey till delhi was enjoyable! although i made it a point to mention this to him that i'm extremely pissed with the way he goes about his time commitments! we went back to our own places, his parents stayed in hari nagar, and mine in katwaria sarai. We were supposed to meet again the next day, on the reception party of our professor's wedding. Our professor, Mr. Varun Negi, was just 28 when he taught us genomics in Delhi University. Now 34, he finally agreed to get married after much coaxing from his parents, to a girl from Bareily! Arranged marriage.
That night my father and i sat through till 3 in the morning with a chivas regal whiskey bottle accompanying our varied subjects of discussions! My father had waited for me to come back home for a long time, to enjoy such long hours of talks with his son. After a certain age, a son can become his father's best friend!
By the time we finished, both of us were drunk. my father decided to sleep there and then itself in the drawing room. i behaved as the one with more control and went to my bedroom to sleep. i woke up next morning with my cellphone ringing and vibrating under my pillow. i picked it up and without my saying hello, he spoke " where the hell are you, i'm waiting for half an hour! where have you reached?"
I saw the watch, it was 12:30 in the afternoon, i had asked Manish to reach at 12 near PVR plaza in connaught place as i would pick him up by my car from there.
I answered " driving, i'll be there in 10 minutes"
It was 5:20 in the evening already, 5:35 the train was scheduled to depart. Manish's phone was unreachable. Sweat dropped off my forehead without shyness. I just wasn't ready to forgive him this time. It was not the first time that he was late, getting late has almost been his hobby for years. Once i waited for him for six hours at the V.T. station, can you beat that? Six hours? And his biggest asset, he always sounded jolly, even when he was running four hours late, he was in a great mood, assuring me that he will be there in the next five minutes, it took him another two hours to reach! And yet when he reached, he smiled and joked around with such elan, that i couldn't even shout at him! we have been friends since we were 5, anyway, now it was 5:25. i was trying his phone continuously, without bringing down the machine, just assuming the redial button's position and pressing it again and again. His phone finally rang. he picked up and said " i'll be there in 15 minutes"
i was furious, and perhaps for the first time i shouted at him " how can you be here in 15 minutes, the train leaves in 10 minutes, in fact less than that now "
"Don't worry, i'll be there, you are getting me late" he hung up, sounding in 'just a bit' of hurry! but did i hear him right? he said "you are getting me late" ? i was getting him late? for heaven's sake, this was far beyond my tolerance level!
i decided to sit on my berth, irrespective of his arrival, thinking at least i will be on my way to delhi, even if he misses. i saw my watch again, it was 5:30. Manish was calling me,i picked up and even before i could say hello, he spoke with tremendous hurry, " come down to the food court, near the entrance of the station,i'm eating there." i again blasted out "what are you doing there, the train is about to leave, i'm already at my berth". But then Manish said something which made me feel like a fool, " the tickets are with me" . I ran with my luggage to the food court, almost with no time remaining for the train to depart, i saw him checking out the menu. as i reached, he asked me to sit calmly, as he had inquired and the train was 10 minutes late. This made me slightly relaxed, but within a few moments i was back to my anxious best. Manish held a huge plate and came towards me to sit & have his 'lunch'. the plate would take atleast 15 minutes to finish, even if i try my hand at "fast food"! How would manish finish all that in 7-8 minutes was mind boggling. so i did not trust him, and i decided to interfere. " eat this, the chapatis, ya, now take that dal, ya, now eat the sweet, lets finish it up, ya ok take that last bite"... manish ate silently & obediently the things i told him . others in the restaurant found all this pretty amusing. but alas, when he finished, train was yet to leave. We ran back, reached our compartment, then our berths, and sat, as the train slowly but surely started to move on. it seemed as if manish had bribed the train authorities to wait for him.
Our journey till delhi was enjoyable! although i made it a point to mention this to him that i'm extremely pissed with the way he goes about his time commitments! we went back to our own places, his parents stayed in hari nagar, and mine in katwaria sarai. We were supposed to meet again the next day, on the reception party of our professor's wedding. Our professor, Mr. Varun Negi, was just 28 when he taught us genomics in Delhi University. Now 34, he finally agreed to get married after much coaxing from his parents, to a girl from Bareily! Arranged marriage.
That night my father and i sat through till 3 in the morning with a chivas regal whiskey bottle accompanying our varied subjects of discussions! My father had waited for me to come back home for a long time, to enjoy such long hours of talks with his son. After a certain age, a son can become his father's best friend!
By the time we finished, both of us were drunk. my father decided to sleep there and then itself in the drawing room. i behaved as the one with more control and went to my bedroom to sleep. i woke up next morning with my cellphone ringing and vibrating under my pillow. i picked it up and without my saying hello, he spoke " where the hell are you, i'm waiting for half an hour! where have you reached?"
I saw the watch, it was 12:30 in the afternoon, i had asked Manish to reach at 12 near PVR plaza in connaught place as i would pick him up by my car from there.
I answered " driving, i'll be there in 10 minutes"
Monday, October 26, 2009
Cloudy 'State' of Affairs
The elections were too close; you could almost smell the red flags around. This time, the city was vastly peaceful. But one can never predict anything in Calcutta, any moment the riots would break out. The communist party members were the noisiest, as usual, with their marches and slogans. For years they have been ruling, very much like dictators! The people almost had no choice, but to vote for them. For some, it was to survive, or else they’ll be slaughtered to death. Yes, it was like that, not without reason did I use the word ‘dictators’.
My stint with the communist party was pretty small, yet people had managed to remember me after almost a decade now of my leaving the party. Though it’s not very tough to see the reason why. Perhaps I was the only one they thought who was not pushing the lines of violence in order to maintain our Marxist ideals! I remained active in my tenure of two years with my mind boggling speeches, although out of a million new ideas I had suggested, only a handful were implemented, and that too not with complete success. Yet I managed to remain the poster boy of Bengal’s politics in the early 90’s. Now after a long time, I’m back into mainstream politics with Trinamool, standing up from arguably the most controversial district at this moment in Bengal, that being of Singur. Mamati di has been very strong and vehement about not allowing Singur to get into Tata’s hands. The farmers here could have been in deep soup, without home and land, if mamata di hadn’t stepped in and ridiculed Buddhadeb’s plans! The people here were happy with us. The rumour was that I was undoubtedly going to win, with a huge margin! Even to just hear this was extremely comforting. It meant healing up of a lot of old wounds!
People were lining up outside booths in massive numbers on the Election Day. So many people together and each having so much power with a vote each, the power of democracy was beginning to scare me now! In my years of graduation in Vardhaman, during which I studied political science, I had read about the initialization of the democratic system, which required mass scale literacy. That being missing from our system, democratic liberty was certainly getting misused. This is what perhaps was scaring me. But the elections were held rather finely, without any ‘major’ chaos in the state. The speculations had now taken the form of betting, people had put money on parties and leaders. Huge money was on stake, from people involved. Days went by, as the temperature of the political environment and my blood pressure increased by leaps. The result day was here, I decided to stay at my home and wait for the news to reach me through television and phone calls.
My victory meant a lot to me personally, not just my party. Even though Trinamool swept around 75-80% of the seats, the one from my district tasted the sweetest, arguably. I planned a weekend trip with my wife and son to Ghoom, a beautiful place, almost heavenly, which comes on the way to Darjeeling from Bagdogra. My wife had always wished to visit the Ghoom monastery, and I could not have found a better time to go there and relax for a couple of days. The mist and the clouds floating in front of our eyes made it difficult for my camera to make crystal clear pictures, but the hard disc in my brain will never have the visuals foggy. I had never seen a place so intimate, and so divine. ‘Ghoom’ in bengali means sleep, and so true to its name. The place ensures one’s relaxation, almost as if you’re sound asleep. We went in the evening to the monastery after a short nap in the afternoon as soon as we arrived. The clouds accompanied us at our eye level, as if touching and speaking to us. But I did not know that they would turn out to be the monsters.
My wife and son have not been found yet, dead or alive since then. I frantically tried but I just couldn’t locate them, the clouds had helped the kidnappers!
My stint with the communist party was pretty small, yet people had managed to remember me after almost a decade now of my leaving the party. Though it’s not very tough to see the reason why. Perhaps I was the only one they thought who was not pushing the lines of violence in order to maintain our Marxist ideals! I remained active in my tenure of two years with my mind boggling speeches, although out of a million new ideas I had suggested, only a handful were implemented, and that too not with complete success. Yet I managed to remain the poster boy of Bengal’s politics in the early 90’s. Now after a long time, I’m back into mainstream politics with Trinamool, standing up from arguably the most controversial district at this moment in Bengal, that being of Singur. Mamati di has been very strong and vehement about not allowing Singur to get into Tata’s hands. The farmers here could have been in deep soup, without home and land, if mamata di hadn’t stepped in and ridiculed Buddhadeb’s plans! The people here were happy with us. The rumour was that I was undoubtedly going to win, with a huge margin! Even to just hear this was extremely comforting. It meant healing up of a lot of old wounds!
People were lining up outside booths in massive numbers on the Election Day. So many people together and each having so much power with a vote each, the power of democracy was beginning to scare me now! In my years of graduation in Vardhaman, during which I studied political science, I had read about the initialization of the democratic system, which required mass scale literacy. That being missing from our system, democratic liberty was certainly getting misused. This is what perhaps was scaring me. But the elections were held rather finely, without any ‘major’ chaos in the state. The speculations had now taken the form of betting, people had put money on parties and leaders. Huge money was on stake, from people involved. Days went by, as the temperature of the political environment and my blood pressure increased by leaps. The result day was here, I decided to stay at my home and wait for the news to reach me through television and phone calls.
My victory meant a lot to me personally, not just my party. Even though Trinamool swept around 75-80% of the seats, the one from my district tasted the sweetest, arguably. I planned a weekend trip with my wife and son to Ghoom, a beautiful place, almost heavenly, which comes on the way to Darjeeling from Bagdogra. My wife had always wished to visit the Ghoom monastery, and I could not have found a better time to go there and relax for a couple of days. The mist and the clouds floating in front of our eyes made it difficult for my camera to make crystal clear pictures, but the hard disc in my brain will never have the visuals foggy. I had never seen a place so intimate, and so divine. ‘Ghoom’ in bengali means sleep, and so true to its name. The place ensures one’s relaxation, almost as if you’re sound asleep. We went in the evening to the monastery after a short nap in the afternoon as soon as we arrived. The clouds accompanied us at our eye level, as if touching and speaking to us. But I did not know that they would turn out to be the monsters.
My wife and son have not been found yet, dead or alive since then. I frantically tried but I just couldn’t locate them, the clouds had helped the kidnappers!
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
One Seven
There were more than a hundred well dressed young people waiting for their turn. When I had started from my home, I had thought this would be a cake walk. And here I was, once again trapped between complacence and destiny! I took a corner seat, trying to avoid as many close sitting candidates as possible. I tried to ignore stares from quite a few of them, and innocently sat with my bio-data file on my lap. In these kind of situations, my behavioral patterns always tended to go a bit feminine, my voice turning softer, tone a lot sweeter, and ass trying to occupy as much little space possible wherever I was sitting. Although after a few minutes, things started becoming more masculine. I felt a part of the group now, and my body language was improving every second. And just then, a girl sitting next to me spoke
“Are you applying for journalism?”
“No, I’m for advertising. Why?
“Oh, just like that! I get very nervous when I see so many people appearing for the same thing as me. So was just checking how many am I really competing with!”
“I see”
“By the way, I’m kaushiki”
“Hi, I’m Norton”
“Antivirus??”
“Oh common, Norton Desouza! I’ve heard that antivirus thing a thousand times. Its not even funny anymore”
“So you are a Catholic?”
“Yes”
“You don’t look like one!”
“Then how do Catholics look like?”
She couldn’t answer as the invigilator called out her name aloud – “ Kaushiki Dasgupta….Room number 4”
She got up from her chair in a bit of disarray, and almost pushed me while asking-
“Wish me luck!!”
“All the best, you’ll be great!”
“Thanks so much man”
She left as I saw her get into Room number 4. She looked confident while entering the room though. “Kaushiki Dasgupta” I thought. “Bengali….hmm…..doesn’t look like one”, I spoke to myself. She had typically north Indian features, and then the complexion to go with it. If it wouldn’t have been my nervousness for my interview, I would have had a crush on her by now. And also she didn’t carry that irritating Bengali accent with an ‘o’ instead of an ‘a’ wherever ‘a’ exists. The way she introduced herself, was very non Bengali, or else she would have pronounced it like “Kowsheeki”, but she didn’t
Anyway, I needed to get back to my advertising frame of mind. My turn would be very soon. In a couple of minutes, kaushiki came out of room number 4, stood next to my chair and said
“It was good, I think I’ll make it. Chal, I’ll be going now, my boyfriend is waiting downstairs!”
“Ok great, goodluck, bye!”
“Goodluck to you antivirus, bye!”
We had both made it to the institute that year, and were in our respective courses for the next 2 years. We kept meeting each other every now and then in college, even though we had different set of friends. We remembered each other’s birthdays & wished right at the stroke of midnight, a new age trend of wishing birthdays that had cropped up recently that time. We passed out, she got placed with CNBC, I was free lancing initially. But then for a lot of years, there was no correspondence from either side. Both our cell numbers had changed, hence it was even more difficult to now find out about each other.
But then yesterday, after 17 years, we crashed into each other at an awards function. My ad-film was nominated for the best ad-film of the year. Although I didn’t win, I got rave responses, including kaushiki’s! She said
“Wow! You’ve become a big shot, antivirus. Fabulous film!”
“Oh my God, Kaushiki? Where have you been?”
“All around the world! But hey, nice meeting you after almost 2 decades!”
“Same here, are you back in Mumbai?”
“Yes yes! Listen..i need to leave right now, my husband’s waiting, can I have your number, I’ll give you a call soon!”
“Sure man, 9728093611. Give me a miss call, I’ll save yours!”
“I’ll in a while. Sorry I need to rush, bye!”
I waited the whole night, and it’s almost 17 hours now, but she hasn’t given me a missed call.
Brrrrrrrrrrrr Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
My cell phone valiantly vibrated till I picked it up.
“Hello…”
“Antivirus, kaushiki here. How long will it take you to reach Infinity mall? I’m getting bored, let’s catch up!
“Alright, I’ll be there in a while, wait!”
“In how much time?”
“Around half an hour”
I reached in 17 minutes.
“Are you applying for journalism?”
“No, I’m for advertising. Why?
“Oh, just like that! I get very nervous when I see so many people appearing for the same thing as me. So was just checking how many am I really competing with!”
“I see”
“By the way, I’m kaushiki”
“Hi, I’m Norton”
“Antivirus??”
“Oh common, Norton Desouza! I’ve heard that antivirus thing a thousand times. Its not even funny anymore”
“So you are a Catholic?”
“Yes”
“You don’t look like one!”
“Then how do Catholics look like?”
She couldn’t answer as the invigilator called out her name aloud – “ Kaushiki Dasgupta….Room number 4”
She got up from her chair in a bit of disarray, and almost pushed me while asking-
“Wish me luck!!”
“All the best, you’ll be great!”
“Thanks so much man”
She left as I saw her get into Room number 4. She looked confident while entering the room though. “Kaushiki Dasgupta” I thought. “Bengali….hmm…..doesn’t look like one”, I spoke to myself. She had typically north Indian features, and then the complexion to go with it. If it wouldn’t have been my nervousness for my interview, I would have had a crush on her by now. And also she didn’t carry that irritating Bengali accent with an ‘o’ instead of an ‘a’ wherever ‘a’ exists. The way she introduced herself, was very non Bengali, or else she would have pronounced it like “Kowsheeki”, but she didn’t
Anyway, I needed to get back to my advertising frame of mind. My turn would be very soon. In a couple of minutes, kaushiki came out of room number 4, stood next to my chair and said
“It was good, I think I’ll make it. Chal, I’ll be going now, my boyfriend is waiting downstairs!”
“Ok great, goodluck, bye!”
“Goodluck to you antivirus, bye!”
We had both made it to the institute that year, and were in our respective courses for the next 2 years. We kept meeting each other every now and then in college, even though we had different set of friends. We remembered each other’s birthdays & wished right at the stroke of midnight, a new age trend of wishing birthdays that had cropped up recently that time. We passed out, she got placed with CNBC, I was free lancing initially. But then for a lot of years, there was no correspondence from either side. Both our cell numbers had changed, hence it was even more difficult to now find out about each other.
But then yesterday, after 17 years, we crashed into each other at an awards function. My ad-film was nominated for the best ad-film of the year. Although I didn’t win, I got rave responses, including kaushiki’s! She said
“Wow! You’ve become a big shot, antivirus. Fabulous film!”
“Oh my God, Kaushiki? Where have you been?”
“All around the world! But hey, nice meeting you after almost 2 decades!”
“Same here, are you back in Mumbai?”
“Yes yes! Listen..i need to leave right now, my husband’s waiting, can I have your number, I’ll give you a call soon!”
“Sure man, 9728093611. Give me a miss call, I’ll save yours!”
“I’ll in a while. Sorry I need to rush, bye!”
I waited the whole night, and it’s almost 17 hours now, but she hasn’t given me a missed call.
Brrrrrrrrrrrr Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
My cell phone valiantly vibrated till I picked it up.
“Hello…”
“Antivirus, kaushiki here. How long will it take you to reach Infinity mall? I’m getting bored, let’s catch up!
“Alright, I’ll be there in a while, wait!”
“In how much time?”
“Around half an hour”
I reached in 17 minutes.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
During Turin
I and my wife always fight. Here’s one of our recent telephonic conversations:
Me: I hope you are coming on time…
Her: of course
Me: cool then, don’t get late
Her: whaaat?? Did you just say don’t get laid?
Me: whaaat?? Are you insane? Why will I say that, I said don’t get late, l for lousy, a for ass, t for torture, e for eternity!
Her: (on top of her lungs) how dare you speak to me like that?
Me: like what? I just was kind enough to spell out a word which is almost your middle name.
Her: no! That was deliberate. You could have said l for lovely a for….. you know….something like that.
Me: see..exactly. There are no nice words that would describe you. Even you could just remember ‘lovely’ spontaneously, which I agree you were 10 years back!
And this went on.
I had a friend working in Turin for long. He was the one who encouraged me to come to Italy, as he said many Asians, and particularly the ones from the subcontinent, come and earn a more than a decent living there. He had spoken about things which I had not heard of. Like one was this that there in Italian cities, people keep old stuff which they don’t want any more outside their houses, and the needful could take them to their homes without any restrictions! I was amazed on listening to such a custom. Though when I reached Italy, it was more of an ambitious dream coming true rather than putting logicalities together. I had seen beautiful and flamboyant pictures and scenes from films of Venice; I could have never imagined a place like that if I wouldn’t have seen them. My friend assured me of a job there with him, hence it was easier for me to come so far away from my country and work here. Now I’m in Naples. After a few months with my friend at Turin, I shifted base to Naples. Through a few Bangladeshi friends of my friend, I got contacts in Naples to get employed as the driver of Deigo Maradona. I drove from his place to the Stadio San Paolo where he practiced with the rest of his Napoli team mates, and then back to his place after the sessions. He used to drive himself whenever he went to parties or pubs in the night. People around me had started saying that Maradona is past his prime now, and that his genius is on the decline. From the little I understood of Maradona’s mobile conversations while he sat in the car as I drove him, I could make out that he was unhappy in his personal life, he was asking for drugs and women at his place late at night. I kept out of all this and did my job the way every driver should, and that was to drive him safely to his destination.
My wife arrived finally, but as expected half an hour late than what I had asked her to. We were in Turin, at the Delle Alpi, home of Juventus. This was Maradona’s big day. Italian Serie A champions was going to be virtually decided that eve, whoever wins would pick up the title. Infact Napoli had to win; Juventus was higher on goal difference so even a draw couldn’t have helped Maradona’s 11. He had given me 2 special passes for me and my wife for this match, something he had never done before. Here is how it went when my ‘not at all the better half’ arrived and sat beside me:
Her: We must win this one, we can’t afford a draw.
Me: We? Who are ‘we’?
Her: Napoli you idiot! We are from Naples, do you remember?
Me: Of course I remember, but since when have you become such an ardent follower of the Napoli football club?
Her: why else do you think I came here to watch a match with you? I have been a huge fan of Maradona since childhood.
Me: since childhood? How old are you?
Her: are you retarded? I’m your fucking wife; you don’t know how old am I?
I decided to stay quite then, it was fast becoming a scene infront of the sophisticated people we were sitting around. The match was being played mainly in the midfield, something that happens quite regularly in a clash of good Italian club teams as both defend par excellence.
Her: I wish we had Maldini in our defense line up, he would have single handedly stopped all these fuckers in black and white stripes! Besides he’s so cute!
Me: that’s all you like about him, women can only look at footballers in a frivolous way!
She gave me a stare, which told me I won’t be spared once we reach back home. But I was confident of what I said; I mean Napoli really didn’t have the budget to afford Maradona & Maldini in the same team. But expecting her to know all this was being foolish in itself. Football was not her ‘plate of pasta’ anyway. It was nil nil till almost closing time, when through a free kick awarded just outside the box, Maradona audaciously put the ball in the net with his majestic left foot. Delle Alpi burst out in a huge roar. Even though this was Juventus’s home ground, there were enough Napoli fans to make Turin feel like Naples for that moment. His teammates carried Maradona on their shoulders to the dressing room after full time.
Her: We won! We won! Forza Napoli!
She gave me a hug and kissed me on my cheek. It felt good. This had not happened for a long time.
Me: Yes! Yes! We are the 1990 Serie A champions! Yohoooooooooooooo…
I shouted. She had her left hand on my waist holding me tight and jumping with joy. We jumped together! Perhaps I felt my love for her again. One celebration together had made us come so near. She now looked the same effervescent girl I had fallen for in my virginity days. I wanted to make love to her now. I hadn’t kissed her lips for some time, and we hadn’t made love for a long time. She asked me to wait next to my car, as she left for the washroom. I waited for nearly 30 minutes, but that was understandable, as washrooms after the match are queued to long lengths, men and women waiting for their turn to use their respective lavatories. She came back and spoke almost with impatience.
Her: Where is Deigo Maradona?
Me: He must be in his dressing room with his teammates celebrating, why?
Her: aren’t you going to take him back to his hotel tonight?
Me: No, he will be partying with his friends. He’ll be on his own.
Her: Can you please take me there?
Me: Where?
Her: To the place he’s going to party…
Me: What? Why?
Her: Listen…I’ll tell you everything, please take me to him right now!
Me: I hope you are coming on time…
Her: of course
Me: cool then, don’t get late
Her: whaaat?? Did you just say don’t get laid?
Me: whaaat?? Are you insane? Why will I say that, I said don’t get late, l for lousy, a for ass, t for torture, e for eternity!
Her: (on top of her lungs) how dare you speak to me like that?
Me: like what? I just was kind enough to spell out a word which is almost your middle name.
Her: no! That was deliberate. You could have said l for lovely a for….. you know….something like that.
Me: see..exactly. There are no nice words that would describe you. Even you could just remember ‘lovely’ spontaneously, which I agree you were 10 years back!
And this went on.
I had a friend working in Turin for long. He was the one who encouraged me to come to Italy, as he said many Asians, and particularly the ones from the subcontinent, come and earn a more than a decent living there. He had spoken about things which I had not heard of. Like one was this that there in Italian cities, people keep old stuff which they don’t want any more outside their houses, and the needful could take them to their homes without any restrictions! I was amazed on listening to such a custom. Though when I reached Italy, it was more of an ambitious dream coming true rather than putting logicalities together. I had seen beautiful and flamboyant pictures and scenes from films of Venice; I could have never imagined a place like that if I wouldn’t have seen them. My friend assured me of a job there with him, hence it was easier for me to come so far away from my country and work here. Now I’m in Naples. After a few months with my friend at Turin, I shifted base to Naples. Through a few Bangladeshi friends of my friend, I got contacts in Naples to get employed as the driver of Deigo Maradona. I drove from his place to the Stadio San Paolo where he practiced with the rest of his Napoli team mates, and then back to his place after the sessions. He used to drive himself whenever he went to parties or pubs in the night. People around me had started saying that Maradona is past his prime now, and that his genius is on the decline. From the little I understood of Maradona’s mobile conversations while he sat in the car as I drove him, I could make out that he was unhappy in his personal life, he was asking for drugs and women at his place late at night. I kept out of all this and did my job the way every driver should, and that was to drive him safely to his destination.
My wife arrived finally, but as expected half an hour late than what I had asked her to. We were in Turin, at the Delle Alpi, home of Juventus. This was Maradona’s big day. Italian Serie A champions was going to be virtually decided that eve, whoever wins would pick up the title. Infact Napoli had to win; Juventus was higher on goal difference so even a draw couldn’t have helped Maradona’s 11. He had given me 2 special passes for me and my wife for this match, something he had never done before. Here is how it went when my ‘not at all the better half’ arrived and sat beside me:
Her: We must win this one, we can’t afford a draw.
Me: We? Who are ‘we’?
Her: Napoli you idiot! We are from Naples, do you remember?
Me: Of course I remember, but since when have you become such an ardent follower of the Napoli football club?
Her: why else do you think I came here to watch a match with you? I have been a huge fan of Maradona since childhood.
Me: since childhood? How old are you?
Her: are you retarded? I’m your fucking wife; you don’t know how old am I?
I decided to stay quite then, it was fast becoming a scene infront of the sophisticated people we were sitting around. The match was being played mainly in the midfield, something that happens quite regularly in a clash of good Italian club teams as both defend par excellence.
Her: I wish we had Maldini in our defense line up, he would have single handedly stopped all these fuckers in black and white stripes! Besides he’s so cute!
Me: that’s all you like about him, women can only look at footballers in a frivolous way!
She gave me a stare, which told me I won’t be spared once we reach back home. But I was confident of what I said; I mean Napoli really didn’t have the budget to afford Maradona & Maldini in the same team. But expecting her to know all this was being foolish in itself. Football was not her ‘plate of pasta’ anyway. It was nil nil till almost closing time, when through a free kick awarded just outside the box, Maradona audaciously put the ball in the net with his majestic left foot. Delle Alpi burst out in a huge roar. Even though this was Juventus’s home ground, there were enough Napoli fans to make Turin feel like Naples for that moment. His teammates carried Maradona on their shoulders to the dressing room after full time.
Her: We won! We won! Forza Napoli!
She gave me a hug and kissed me on my cheek. It felt good. This had not happened for a long time.
Me: Yes! Yes! We are the 1990 Serie A champions! Yohoooooooooooooo…
I shouted. She had her left hand on my waist holding me tight and jumping with joy. We jumped together! Perhaps I felt my love for her again. One celebration together had made us come so near. She now looked the same effervescent girl I had fallen for in my virginity days. I wanted to make love to her now. I hadn’t kissed her lips for some time, and we hadn’t made love for a long time. She asked me to wait next to my car, as she left for the washroom. I waited for nearly 30 minutes, but that was understandable, as washrooms after the match are queued to long lengths, men and women waiting for their turn to use their respective lavatories. She came back and spoke almost with impatience.
Her: Where is Deigo Maradona?
Me: He must be in his dressing room with his teammates celebrating, why?
Her: aren’t you going to take him back to his hotel tonight?
Me: No, he will be partying with his friends. He’ll be on his own.
Her: Can you please take me there?
Me: Where?
Her: To the place he’s going to party…
Me: What? Why?
Her: Listen…I’ll tell you everything, please take me to him right now!
Saturday, July 25, 2009
The Half Truth
Dear Editor,
I am behind bars. After much persistence, efforts and coaxing, these people gave me your postal address. I hope this reaches you and you go through it without throwing it in the bin even before looking at it. Sorry for my harsh words, but kindly understand what state of mind I’m presently in.
I’ve been here in this dingy smelly lock up for the past 8 months. These guys arrested me from my work place. I’m a civil engineer, now after 27 years of experience, have got into the design aspect of construction. I’ve been presently working for the metro constructions in the capital, I mean I was working, till I got arrested. I’m sure you remember the major accident when the under construction pier fell down and led to a few people’s lives. I was one of the few who were arrested. It’s been a year now but I still remember every detail of the visual in front of my eyes. I was on site after the accident, but then when I saw the chaos and the disastrous outcome, I tried hiding my face somewhere, choking with guilt and shame. I was one of the chief designers of the metro bridge dissecting through that part of Delhi. Although it was not the first one to be built in Delhi, and we had done a few before, this one was the first of its kinds. It was crossing through a locality that had a steep diversion, and hence it was designed to have two piers rather than one central to keep the bridge balanced. It was accepted and approved by all governing authorities, and only then did we start with the construction. But once the construction began, slowly but surely we understood, at least I understood that it is going wrong. There wasn’t enough space for two piers, there are residential colonies on both sides and it will be majorly blocking or may be even crashing into them when the piers get made. I immediately informed my seniors and asked them to look into the matter, as the construction had just begun and it was still possible for a makeover.
The idea travelled sluggishly through the clogged arteries of the obese organization I was working in. It wasn’t accepted till they finally saw it themselves. And at that moment again, all designers were called and asked to brainstorm and find out a solution. In such cases, the only solution we felt could now solve was to make a single pier cantilever, removing the other. There are success cases of cantilever constructions within the city itself, so the proposed idea looked executable. But yet there was this problem. I saw it coming again. Since the original design of the bridge was through two piers, suddenly making it cantilever could result in a weak base. For such cases, the whole basic formation is different in a way that the balance is shifted completely on the beams.
I did not speak or discuss this with anyone, may be with this intuition that again nothing will be done about it till they themselves find out. I know I have been spineless in keeping quiet about it, and perhaps I even deserve a punishment. All I want from you sir is to not let this incident pass into people’s minds as such a basic error with a few designers being faulty at their jobs. There is much more to it which I’ve tried telling you through this confessional letter, more of which I’ll describe once I get a reply from you.
Thank you for your cooperation involved in the above stated matter,
Yours sincerely,
Krishna Iyer
My boss suddenly appeared on my desk,
“What’s up Arnab, any interesting letters today?”
“Yes sir, there are a couple, one is of this lady who says she was a prostitute in her past life, and she visits all her customers and her families everyday in her dreams, and that too sequentially and the other is…”
“Oh fantastic, I only have one column for you this week Arnab, get this lady on the papers. See you in my cabin when you are done with this.”
“Yes sir!”
I am behind bars. After much persistence, efforts and coaxing, these people gave me your postal address. I hope this reaches you and you go through it without throwing it in the bin even before looking at it. Sorry for my harsh words, but kindly understand what state of mind I’m presently in.
I’ve been here in this dingy smelly lock up for the past 8 months. These guys arrested me from my work place. I’m a civil engineer, now after 27 years of experience, have got into the design aspect of construction. I’ve been presently working for the metro constructions in the capital, I mean I was working, till I got arrested. I’m sure you remember the major accident when the under construction pier fell down and led to a few people’s lives. I was one of the few who were arrested. It’s been a year now but I still remember every detail of the visual in front of my eyes. I was on site after the accident, but then when I saw the chaos and the disastrous outcome, I tried hiding my face somewhere, choking with guilt and shame. I was one of the chief designers of the metro bridge dissecting through that part of Delhi. Although it was not the first one to be built in Delhi, and we had done a few before, this one was the first of its kinds. It was crossing through a locality that had a steep diversion, and hence it was designed to have two piers rather than one central to keep the bridge balanced. It was accepted and approved by all governing authorities, and only then did we start with the construction. But once the construction began, slowly but surely we understood, at least I understood that it is going wrong. There wasn’t enough space for two piers, there are residential colonies on both sides and it will be majorly blocking or may be even crashing into them when the piers get made. I immediately informed my seniors and asked them to look into the matter, as the construction had just begun and it was still possible for a makeover.
The idea travelled sluggishly through the clogged arteries of the obese organization I was working in. It wasn’t accepted till they finally saw it themselves. And at that moment again, all designers were called and asked to brainstorm and find out a solution. In such cases, the only solution we felt could now solve was to make a single pier cantilever, removing the other. There are success cases of cantilever constructions within the city itself, so the proposed idea looked executable. But yet there was this problem. I saw it coming again. Since the original design of the bridge was through two piers, suddenly making it cantilever could result in a weak base. For such cases, the whole basic formation is different in a way that the balance is shifted completely on the beams.
I did not speak or discuss this with anyone, may be with this intuition that again nothing will be done about it till they themselves find out. I know I have been spineless in keeping quiet about it, and perhaps I even deserve a punishment. All I want from you sir is to not let this incident pass into people’s minds as such a basic error with a few designers being faulty at their jobs. There is much more to it which I’ve tried telling you through this confessional letter, more of which I’ll describe once I get a reply from you.
Thank you for your cooperation involved in the above stated matter,
Yours sincerely,
Krishna Iyer
My boss suddenly appeared on my desk,
“What’s up Arnab, any interesting letters today?”
“Yes sir, there are a couple, one is of this lady who says she was a prostitute in her past life, and she visits all her customers and her families everyday in her dreams, and that too sequentially and the other is…”
“Oh fantastic, I only have one column for you this week Arnab, get this lady on the papers. See you in my cabin when you are done with this.”
“Yes sir!”
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