Sudipta's Life

The sound of music

2008-08-29T22:15:00.000-05:00

When I was in my school till class 10, singing any Hindi song was blasphemy. Within the little world we had, we were convinced that every form of Hindi music outside was out there to corrupt our minds, and therefore not listening to them was the best way of keeping the outside influence out. You know, no garbage in and hence no garbage out. We had our own set of songs to sing: Rabindrasangeet, Bhakti-geeti, Ramprasadi, Nazrul-geeti, etc. I believe that we learned a great deal from these songs at that time -- my love for these genres of songs and music stems from the time I spent there reading, singing and assimilating them. However, whenever I went home and listened to good Hindi music I secretly liked it, although I never admitted that. You gotta practice what you preach, y'know.

After leaving this school, I started listening to Hindi music. This was part rebellion, and part realization that among the many good things taught there, some crap came through as well. So I started humming the tunes of "Kaho Naa Pyaar Hai", started talking about Hemanta Mukherjee and Mohammad Rafi, and discussed melodies from the latest movies with friends. The transition to actually and whole-heartedly accepting this sort of music took time; it happened only when I reached college. We danced to "Chhaiyya - Chhaiyya" and excitedly looked forward to new releases from the music industry. This took time, but I gradually came to know that Lata Mangeshkar and Asha Bhosle were sisters, and that the latter was married to R. D. Burman. I came to know that all three brothers among the Ganguly-s were big names in the industry, and that Ashok Kumar was also young once upon a time and he indeed starred as a romantic hero in some movies :P

Things were different when it came to English songs, though. So some of my "intellectual rebel" seniors swore by Pink Floyd. Not meaning to be left out, I listened to their music a few times and decided that if I wanted someone to read out meaningless passages to me in a sleepy voice, I'd rather do it myself (I swear I didn't know that it was a "they" and not a "he" for the longest time). Opera music seemed like someone was strangling a cat real bad, while rock music was like some people were asked to clean a lot of dirty vessels and screamed their lungs out complaining about it while they were at it. I admit, it was absolute torture for me to listen to most of these songs. People who swung their heads from side to side and swore by this music featured on my list of the mentally deranged.

But I admit, English music has grown on me. I can appreciate Bruce Springsteen and U2, and tap my feet to the jingle of hip-hop. I don't know many of the voices or bands which play on the car radio, but yeah, some sound good. I have stopped judging people when they sing along these tunes, and I have discovered the subtleties of the lyrics as they come along. One of the other reasons might be that I have rare access to the Hindi songs, but I strongly believe that the reason has been more than that. I think I like some forms of English music now, and maybe I will like some more in the future. But I am glad that it has happened that way. Music, like books, is one of those things where you cannot have enough -- the more you have, the finer your senses become.

Telling you what to think

2008-08-12T01:49:00.001-05:00

I am sure all of us have our own classic movie favourites. Or at least, movies that we consider to be good movies, can-watch-again-sometime movies. How many times have you taken home the subtle message embedded in the movies? The inevitable summary of these messages is to tell you abour the good, the bad and the ugly.

Just after the Second World War, Germany became the bad guys on all movies. The Dirty Dozen, the Bridge over the River Kwai, The Longest Day, The Guns of Navarone: some of the best movies I've seen. You have to see them to experience the passion, fear and the joys of those times. Even at home, we had the attrocities of the British on our movies, books and plays for a long time before and after our independence. I'm not talking about the more recent movies though. Saving Private Ryan, The Thin Red Line or Schindler's List: they were a different class of movies. These were re-takes of the horrors of the wars, because better technology permitted bringing them to more life than earlier. The ones I'm talking about are about finding the bad guys and telling people why or what made them so bad.

It is interesting to see how popular entertainment mechanisms can be used to subvert public opinion. Remember the Vietnam War. And now try to remember the movies made during that period. The bad guys were inevitably the Vietnamese. Rambo First Blood (II), Chuck Norris movies -- it was always a one-man-army who went in and took out whole regiments all by himself. And that too, in their own territory. You will see that the villians shudder at the sight of Mr. America. And as remnants of the Cold War, there would always be a Russian villian who would be in cohorts with the bad guys. I don't think I need to name the movies where the "Reds" were the bad guys. Heck they even made movies when the USA beat Russia in chess or at ice hockey!

And that brings me to the more interesting parts of the story. Rambo III, James Bond movies (such as The Living Daylights) -- remember them? The Afghans were the repressed bunch struggling against Russia, where the "freedom fighters" were helped by the US or the UK in their struggle. Guess what: the ghosts from there have come back to haunt them in real life. Suddenly the friendly Afghans or Arabs aren't so friendly any more. Think True Lies, think Iron Man. They are trying to make them the new laughing stock: the outwardly gun-toting brave men who suddenly become cowards when faced with the real tough guy. Or you need to score brownie points ahead of time for upcoming problems. North Korea creates the Icarus in the Die Another Day ("... trust me, if our radar can't see them, North Korean radar can't..."), or Batman just kidnaps the biggest business tycoon in a jiffy from China because the US government does not have jurisdiction there. Allies are formed (the US and the UK in James Bond movies), villains are made (Russia in the Cold War movies), and you get to prove that you're the best (for example, watch Van Damme's Kickboxer). Guess what, China is getting better at the game as well. Huo Yuan Jia (or Fearless, under which name it was released to the western audiences) shows a Chinese gentleman kicking a huge white man's butt.

Of late, I've become more and more sceptical of what I read and see. The media will always remain a propaganda machine, and it is up to you to find out what part of it is true. Don't you sometimes get that feeling when you read a newspaper article? Something that tells you that this seems biased or seems to be covering up some stuff. Trust that instinct; for all you know, it might just be another of those media stories planted by some government which wants to tell you what to think.

Junk

2008-07-30T05:07:00.001-05:00

I am moving out of my university to join work. PhD plans are shelved for now -- lets wait for a couple of years and find out how much I really want it. It is time now to say goodbyes to professors and friends, change addresses, return keys and clear out offices and drawers. Like my mother said today, this will be another chapter of my life that is coming to a close.

A lot of people keep asking me, how does it feel? Truth be told, I don't feel a thing. Yeah so I'm leaving. Will I be missing my apartment, my office, my desk? Not really... and it is tough to explain why. Actually, I think some people are either disappointed or even offended when I say this, and almost everyone refuses to believe me. This post is sort of trying to explain the why or how to them: more importantly recording my own thoughts to read them some years down the line and analyze myself.

The point is, I don't get attached to things so easily. Things, people, places -- they serve as points of reference for future analysis. I reminisce often (for example on this blog): but that is more to find out what I've learned from the experience or association rather than actually "miss" them. Experience has taught me that getting attached without absolute certainty can lead only to pain. Because your expectations rise exponentially, you automatically and even unconsciously become vulnerable to anything remotely related to that person, place or event. The worst part is, you cannot take an impartial judgement about that situation or person. Remember Boman Irani's speech in Munnabhai MBBS about him doing a surgery if his daughter was under the knife? He said his otherwise rock steady hand would falter. Believe me, I have considered closing this blog for 6 months or a year just to see whether I'm attached to it or not. I suppose I didn't do it because I knew I'd be fine -- if it is a challenge of my perseverence, bring it on! :)

I am discarding a pencil box that has been with me since I was in class 4: it has served its purpose now and I no longer need it. I am discarding a lot of old clothes which "kind of" fit me. If something tags along with you which you will probably use only once or twice again in your life or even in a year, you should rather get rid of it. Especially if you are a bachelor who lives out of a suitcase, literally. The cost of keeping and maintaining it and taking it along everywhere you go really outweighs the simple act of buying the same thing anew, if it comes reasonably cheap. You cannot get rid of a formal suit, for example: the benefits of keeping it are greater than buying a new one every time. But I am getting rid of all cards I've received in these two years of stay, I'm discarding little crystal gifts and decorative pieces that were gifts to me. I mean no disrespect: in fact I have been really glad every time someone gave them to me. The act of giving has mattered a lot at that time -- it is tough to explain how wonderful it feels when someone remembers you when you don't expect anyone to. But I have no place to put them: and although I feel a little guilty in discarding these, I know that I will be beside my friends whenever they need me. I don't need to keep a showpiece with me to keep reminding me of my loyalty. Heck I even want to dump my graduation robes if I can: it is not going to be of any use at any time in my life. But I'm keeping them for now: my mother would be very happy to see them. They aren't junk yet.

Positive dis-service

2008-07-24T04:09:00.001-05:00

Positive dis-service: the credit for coining this term (as far as I know) goes to Swapan da from my days at the Ramakrishna Mission. Time and again in my life, while I'm helping others, I have felt that I might actually be doing them harm by making them dependent upon my help or service, rather than equipping them so that they may do it for themselves.

I had a friend in school who usually slept through some classes which were deemed boring by public opinion. In the back bench, he would enjoy a peaceful siesta while I took running notes for the history lesson and come back to my hostel to read them or write answers for the homework. Sometime in the middle of the semester, he had come to me once for help and I happened to dig up my class notebook and told him the answer after consulting it. Soon, this became a habit -- he would come to me just a day before the homework was due, and I had to explain to him what was required to answer the questions. He wasn't the best brain in the class, and I initially felt as if I was doing my duty as a fellow student and friend by helping him with the notes. It was true, except for the fact that he became dependent upon me -- he slept in more classes: biology, physical sciences, and would take up more of my time and/or borrow my notes more often. I talked to Swapanda and realized that I was actually doing him a dis-service by helping him. As per his advice, I warned my friend once that I will not help him so much any further; but he did not seem to heed it then. It was tough the first time when I turned his request down -- I had to inure myself to the feeling of guilt and his pleas. But soon I realized that what I was doing was right, and felt happier about it later on.

The lesson came handy even later in my life. When I was preparing for the GRE and applying to the US universities, I became a member of a number of forums, among which the edulix forums were the most useful. One day, a guy posted a list of contacts of professors from various universities who were looking for research assistants. He had painstakingly researched for a month and had ploughed through dozens of websites mining for these. While a lot of his fellow students thanked him profusely, some seniors told him that he was doing the stupid thing. The fruits of his labour were his own, and that he was actually doing wrong by posting them in the face of the competition he faced among his peers. A debate ensued, and after some time when I chipped in with this particular term and agreed with the seniors (even though I had already mailed most of the professors by then), I think we were able to reach a consensus.

You might be curious about where this is going or why I am posting this here. Actually, sometimes it helps to write out one's own thoughts. I believe it reinforces the logic in our heads and also serves as a written record of our thinking to which we can refer back later on. Don't you ever go back and read the archives on your own blogs? The best part about posts such as these, of course, is that it opens the floor for discussions in the comments section. As for example, I sometimes think that the role models we were taught as a child who gave away everything they had even when they couldn't afford it or needed it themselves were wrong. These are mostly saints or "great" personalities who inspire us by their actions otherwise. I disagree: I think being selfish at times is good, and even necessary for self-preservation. While giving it all up for the sake of someone else might seem like a very romantic idea, it might actually seem very stupid once the emotional euphoria is over. Tell me, were they doing positive dis-service as well?

The reluctant investigator

2008-07-09T00:56:00.003-05:00

The matrimonial season is in the air. The shady.com and other such websites are doing great business. And for those who take the word a little forward, both sides want to know more about the candidates. On the online profile, everyone is jolly, happy, caring, intelligent, sensitive, blah blah blah. But the real deal lies in what you are in person. And that, unfortunately, nothing can guarantee except observing someone doing the smallest day-to-day tasks for some time. People usually choose to outsource this work to the grapevine: does someone have a contact in the locality where he lives?

Enter the reluctant detective. The first time someone asked me to find out about another prospective groom was when I was working. I suppose a secure employment lends credibility to the opinion and report of a twenty-something guy. I was not even in the same building complex, but I had to do it. I called up someone I knew in the same building, and told him what and why in full detail. He in turn brought up the topic with a person who worked with the target guy in the same team, and came back with a pretty positive feedback. I duly conveyed the information back. I suppose the groom had also heard of this enquiry: I didn't really care. After all, I think the person has a right to know that someone asked after him.

This case was certainly a wonderful streak of serendipity. I just happened to know X who knew Y who was the groom's team-mate. What do you do when you don't really know anyone to connect you there? Matters such as these are so delicate that you can't ask everyone in your immediate contact list if they know anything about the person in question. It is you who has to take the first step long enough so that the next one should be a reliable and discreet source of information. And you also cannot go about making new friends just so that you may fish for such information.

The dilemma becomes even more intense when you have vague information via some gossip circle and have learnt something negative. More so, if the person in question is a female. "She is rumoured to have slept with this guy", "I heard that she was caught stealing money from her room-mate". These is no way you can verify such personal and private information, but again you cannot fake a good or neutral report to the family who are probably depending on your feedback to finalize their decision. If you report what you've just heard, you might be lending belief to the baseless gossip. On the other hand, if you just give a neutral feedback and your friend's or cousin's life is ruined because they were married off to a guy of loose moral standards, you will feel extremely guilty morally for having suppressed what you had known all along. Half truths are always worse than lies.

I have found that giving a politically correct opinion or feedback is the best option. Good news is always great to report. Bad news must be given out selectively: in fact I believe one should never do that unless one is sure. But sometimes where there is a smoke, there is actually a fire. "Oh I've heard he makes strong friends and strong enemies" perhaps can cover a fact that the person has problems getting on with people (or so you've heard). End of the day, that qualifies for a good as well as a bad character trait that the girl has to judge for herself before she ties the knot.

Of course, there is our favourite tool: Google! But it also depends on what kind of an online footprint you have. In my case, for example, besides the occasional "bengali armpit" and "handsome Indian blogger" (I swear that one came here once!), there is a regular stream of visits from google or yahoo searches for my name or this blog's name. Sometimes it is such an ego trip, at other times it is scary. Anyway, to my future in-laws who might be reading this blog, I love y'all so much! :D

Litterateur

2008-07-02T07:11:00.007-05:00

7:20 am. Have been awake all night trying to make Harsha Bhogle redundant by replacing him with a computer. Gobbling on a Hershey's pure milk chocolate bar. And need to sleep for 3-4 hours to reboot myself and start attempting to steal the sports commentator's job again. What better way to relax than to vent out something that has been spinning around in my head for some time: Galdriel's tag of identifying my favourite literary characters. And the fact that I can brag about having descended from Raja Ram Mohan Roy on my mother's side and that Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay is my great grandfather by relation cannot be passed. :) So write a post, we shall.

Bipradas (বিপ্রদাস): To think of literary characters who have inspired and stirred me, Bipradas definitely comes on the top of the list. Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay's novel set in the times of India's independence portrayed this man as a stellar example of reticence and self-confidence emanating from inner peace. He was a man who held on to what he believed in, and yet accepted the tides of change and the beauty of a revolution. The reason I go into such detail is that most of you perhaps haven't read the novel. But if you can read Bengali, do read it -- it is a brilliant example of what being orthodox or conservative at heart means, and how it can lend power to a rebellious spirit rather than be the enemy. Bipradas' integrity of character, his calmness in the face of turmoil, the sense of his extreme detachment and yet extreme affection have stirred me like no other.

Captain Bluntschli: George Bernard Shaw's novel, Arms and the Man, showed me what a real "guy" guy is, and how complete detachment from any situation lets one see the humour in it. "You can always tell an old soldier by the inside of his holsters and cartridge boxes. The young ones carry pistols and cartridges; the old ones, grub." is a gem of quote which I often remind myself of when anyone gets romantic about soldiers and war. Someone who calls the bluff on chivalry, someone who says openly that he's afraid to die and yet isn't afraid of facing imminent death bravely -- you're the man!

Indrajeet(ইন্দ্রজিৎ): Michael Madhusudan Dutta's protagonist in his novel titled "Meghnad Badh Kabya" (The epic about the killing of Meghnad) is a rebel who for the first time in the history of Indian literature, was portrayed as the hero rather than the villain. Ravana's son is shown as the unflinching soldier who dares the petty thieves, Ram and Laxman, to come and kill him. I have read the entire epic, and it has been a very intellectually and spiritually satisfying experience. If you haven't read the book, this little snippet here will seem blasphemous. But I believe that the man who brought the sonnets to Bengali literature left a very outstanding pole star on the firmament.

Atticus Finch: The father of Scout Finch in Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mocking Bird" is a character who became a moral hero and a model of racial heroism both for America as well as me when I read the book. The book deals with the very serious issues of racism, rape and the tension between communities, and this man stands apart while doing his duty.

Sherlock Holmes: No list of my favourite literary characters can ever be complete without the mention of this man, with whom I also happen to share my sun-sign :) Although I tried to spoof his character as my own *ahem-ahem*, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's style has indeed been inimitable. Whether it be the objectivity of his analysis, the brilliance of his intellect or the sheer genius of deducing things about men by just looking at them, this man is the best! I know that the author did not always give away all the parts of the story, I know that it just happened to rain on the day of the crime when Sherlock Holmes would be called for, I know that his character is just too unbelievably adept at everything right from acting to being a polyglot: but hey, we all need someone to swear by, don't we?

Oliver Barrett: Eric Segal's Love Story is the only book ever that has brought me to tears. And this 24-year-old symbolized the helplessness of youth and humans against nature, and how even though the fairy tales tell of the perfect life between two people who are in love, not all endings are happy ones. The character became close to my heart especially after the tried to "act normal" when he had come to know that his love, Jennifer was about to die soon from leukaemia. The inner struggles, the care and dreams he showered on her, the desperation of circumstances and spirit to fight a hopeless battle -- he made falling in love special for me, and epitomized the power of human bonding: I somehow identified with and felt his emotions as I read through the book.

Update:
Marvin: Thank you, Harshdeep, for reminding me of this: it was blasphemy to omit this one! Marvin the Paranoid Android is what normal people have nightmares about. Like this one: "Marvin, how far to the destination?" ... "I have an answer, but you will not like it" :D Or the case when he picks up the gun which makes people see exactly your point of view and fires it at the Vogons, the latters' huge army get maniacally depressed and go away chanting, "Oh what is the use anyway". Oh boy... from the wikipedia article: "Marvin inadvertently saves the crew by plugging himself into the onboard computer of a police vehicle, which, when exposed to the true nature of Marvin's view of the universe, commits suicide, taking the two police who were then firing at the ship's crew with it." Hehehe.... the character was awesome!

That was emancipation... recollecting all those magical people I knew just from the winged words of literature. Passing this tag to three more people, I tag Greatbong, Shruthi and Ellie. Will definitely look forward to their posts!

And it is worth fighting for

2008-06-30T04:17:00.002-05:00

- "It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really matter, full of darkness & danger they were. Sometimes you didn't want to know the end because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was, when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines, it'll shine out the clearer. Those are the stories that stayed with you. They meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I now know, folks in those stories had lots of chances to turn back, but they didn't. They kept going because they were holding onto something."

- "What are we holding onto, Sam?"

- "There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it's worth fighting for."

-- The Lord of the Rings

Bhutey

2008-06-24T03:25:00.001-05:00

Mihir was asleep, finally. Usually, it took him less than five minutes to be snoring from the time his head had hit the pillow. But these days it was different... ever since Mihir's mother had died, it was almost impossible to put nine-month-old Mihir to sleep. He would cry, scream and flail his little limbs about, while everyone looked around helplessly. Poor old Baidehi: she struggled and wept a lot in her last days. "Please take care of him", she had muttered from her deathbed to everyone who stood around it. No-one in particular had nodded to accept the responsibility from the withered frame, though. After all, who wanted to take custody of the cursed child. People referred to him as "Bhutey" or the ghostly one.

Mihir's father had died the day he was born. The village lore held that his father had run all the way from his paddy field to the Sadar Hospital 10 km away upon hearing the news of his birth. Actually, he had limped: the snake that bit him in the field that day had made him limp. But at the end of his 10 km trek, he had one last look at his son and collapsed in the hospital itself. Mihir's father was the only one who looked after their crops -- they failed that year. And then, ever since their old dog passed away, people were convinced that there was an evil omen about Mihir.

In the village, rumour went that the first one look at Mihir in the morning would have a terrible day. Normally, it was Baidehi herself who slept by his side, and she would be the first one to look at his face in the morning. Nowadays, no-one wanted to have that misfortune. So they let him sleep alone in his cradle, and placed a mirror beside him. When she was alive, every morning Baidehi would dutifully pick the white juin flowers, form a small garland out of them, and put them on Lord Krishna's photo. At night, she would take it and give it to little Mihir to play with, and he would fall asleep with the garland beside him. Baidehi took very good care of her son. This kid was permanently hungry, but wouldn't eat much at any time. One could frequently see her trotting from Mihir's room to and fro the kitchen with a morsel of food in hand. She would rock his cradle or use the bamboo leaf fan to wave off mosquitoes and flies, or go to the window hidden beside the almirah in her room with the kid clutched to her bosom and show him the crows and cows and trees. And every time Mihir dug his hand into his nose or mouth, she would shoo it off and forbid him, "Tuk, tuk"! People had grown accustomed to Baidehi raising this child. Jhilik, the unmarried cousin who everyone was searching a groom for, would often play with him at dusk in their courtyard. She would often joke that it was her baby. When Baidehi died, however, Jhilik's parents had shunned her from even being anywhere near the child. And even as she wept silently in her room, people were convinced that the rumour was true: this was the cursed child indeed.

The trouble started when people began hearing scraping noises from the kitchen at dusk. Nobody was sure who did this, but often in the evenings or at dusk, people would hear someone scraping the metal pans in which the food was kept in the kitchen. And in mornings, it would seem as if someone had run four fingers through the food overnight randomly, and picked just a morsel or two. It was a joint family, and the usual suspects (i.e. the children) were rounded up, caned, threatened... but nothing turned up. And even though the room was properly searched and sealed at night to take care of cats, the noises would come randomly nonetheless. One morning someone discovered a grain or two of rice beside Mihir's lips in his bed: and they finally knew who was behind these noises. An explanation had been found: Mihir was stealing the rice. The uncomfortable question about how the child was managing to lay his hands on the food amidst all that security was something everyone chose to ignore -- must be one of those brats helping him... some more caning and one of them will crack for sure.

One day they did catch a brat. The afternoon siesta was very important for the family. And on some of these hot afternoons, they would find some bamboo-leaf fans missing. Or someone going about lightly in Mihir's room, as if spitting "Thuk" repeatedly. It annoyed them for a while, until they observed that most of the times, these fans turned up in Mihir's room, and it seemed someone would run out of the window as soon as anyone entered the room. They suspected that the brats were up to something in that room because there weren't any elders present, and catch one of them brats they did. The ten-year-old child had cried and cried under the spanking he received that he had just stolen two mangoes from the orchard and had gone in there to eat them in peace. But no-one believed him:

"You must be the one always giving us a slip through that window each afternoon... and whats with the fans, eh? Want to get some air while you enjoy the stolen mangoes every afternoon? We'll teach you a lesson so that you don't create that ruckus again in that room... let that baby sleep in peace, will you?"

All the elders reminded this boy that the next time he disturbed their sleep in the afternoon, he'd have had it. Still, the noises persisted after a while: albeit more softly. Nobody bothered now... must be some other kid in the house: at least this one was more discreet about it. And thankfully, because Mihir was fed only twice a day like the other kids in the house, he too had given up wailing day in and day out. He seemed to be full these days. "Nothing that a little discipline cannot do to a child", Jhilik's mother would say.

The biggest ruckus happened the day when Jhilik had gone to check on the baby in the morning and found him missing from the cradle. She had shouted out loud upon not finding him there. Everyone hunted around for the child, and they finally discovered him when he started wailing. He had been in his own room all this time, but somehow managed to go near the window in the corner of the room beside the almirah. Afterwards, when the elders interrogated her, Jhilik was in tears. Her mother was furious, "How many times have I asked you not to go near that child now? Do all you can after you're married... but don't even dare do this again before that, you understand?!"

Jhilik had nodded her head as she wept and confessed to having gone into the baby's room in the mornings to wake him up quite a few times.
- "Oh whats possibly wrong with this? He looks so heavenly in the morning! His pillow smells of fresh juin flowers, and he always smiles when he sees me in the morning!".

Her mother had rolled her eyes and said,
- "What will I do with her?!! Haven't I asked you not to look at Mihir's face in the mornings? Oh dear Lord... what will I do with this headstrong girl... don't, don't... for heaven's sake do not do this to us! Please, O Krishna... don't let that rich educated groom from Babughat slip away: I promise I'll give a special Puja in your name during the next Sankranti! Oh please please please... and you girl! I'll break your legs if you dare go into that room again!"

Jhilik nodded her head in silent agreement and slipped away into her room that day. They continued to put up with the little noises and scraping for a few more weeks.

It was the anniversary of Mihir's father's death. The men in the family had grudingly prepared for their journey to the river next morning for some rituals. Only Jhilik had remembered that it was Mihir's birthday too, but she didn't dare tell this to anyone else after her mother had threw a tantrum and cried and wept when she had reminded her of this. And the fact that someone was heard scraping the metal pans that evening again, this time particularly loudly, didn't really help matters. That night, it seemed one of these brats were up to something again in Mihir's room. It was almost dawn when the "Tuk tuk" noise from that room became particularly loud, and someone seemed to be pacing in that room not so lightly. The men who had to get up at dawn anyway decided enough was enough, and the elders of the family marched into Mihir's room fuming at 5:00 am in the morning. After they barged into that room, they were surprised to see that it was empty. The bed was warm, and a few juin flowers were strewn beside the pillow. But the baby was nowhere to be found. They discovered that the window beside the almirah in the corner of the room was open. And they never saw Mihir again.

Top 10 ways of spiking your blog traffic

2008-06-09T16:33:00.005-05:00

Okay, so you've been on the blogging track for quite a while. You began by looking at a few blogs with high readership (at least going by the comment count). Then you thought... what the eff, I can definitely do better! So you began by publishing a blog of your own. Some of your friends were forced to read the first few posts, but then nobody really cared if your cat had cereals or fish bones for dinner last night. Which, admit it, was all you could think about after a month. After some time, even tempting emails such as "Hey dude I just moved my blog from blogspot to wordpress, take a look!" didn't seem to work. And the fact that everybody knew the one digg on that post of yours was your own doesn't really help matters. So worry not -- here are the top 10 surefire ways of increasing blog traffic (or at least these are guaranteed to spike your traffic for a day):

10. Pataofy blog aggregators: You see, we are all human. So find the blog aggregator websites like blogbharti or desipundit and locate the contributors. Visit their blogs, swear your undying loyalty to the flair and flamboyance in writing on their own blogs, and one fine morning you'll find your blog has featured on one of these hallowed websites! Heh.. nothing like a little butter on the bread. We also accept dollars, BTW ;)
*ahem* - I'm on blogbharti... * wink - wink *
9. Review stuff, or rather snob at everything: Pretend to read lots of books and watch a lot of movies. Google for reviews, and whichever word salad seems to be the best, post it as your own on your blog. This in itself will not help so much, but if you start commenting on others' blogs or review websites with a link to your blog saying "This movie was trash: here's why", someone will definitely go over to see what exactly you thought was trash about "Swades" or "To Kill a Mocking Bird".

8. Meta blogging: Write about blogging: how it is a health hazard, why it is such a great mass media, what might be the future of blogs, what kind of bloggers you hate, who you like, or even, how to retain your blog readers -- there, I gave you at least 5 different post topics! Go rush and write about them before someone else does! Oh, BTW, writing a post titled "Top 10 ways of spiking your blog traffic" will also help ;)

7. Do tags, memes, quizzes, awards: The works, basically. Religiously hunt for tags on all blogs, and whenever lazy bloggers leave the tag passing game as "take up the tag if you're interested" or "and I tag you, the reader", jump at it! Haha... the suckers, they don't know what they're missing out on. Modify the tag so that it requires you to link to 20 other bloggers. And then on each of these blogs you pass the meme to, leave a comment asking them to take up the tag. No you don't really have to know the victim to leave such a request. I guarantee... a full week of at least one tag/award/quiz a day and you'll find an unprecedented number of comments on your blog.
6. Make your blog's link the mantra of your life: Advertisement flooding, or rather mass hysteria -- thats the key. Put your blog's link everywhere you can think about: IM status messages, email signatures, Orkut, facebook accounts. In fact, if you can something like something like "Hi, I'm crazy4u from crazy4ulover.blogspot.com" as your pick-up line at a pub, the girl is sure to check what exactly got you so crazy.
5. Humour -- especially if you were at the receiving end: No seriously, it works! You messed up in the kitchen and your can of Coke exploded inside the microwave? Cool!! Some enunch grasped your crotch because you refused to pay up the five rupees? Awesome, write about it and pretty soon yours will be among the most emailed posts around.
4. Spam blogs with comments: ... and look for suckers like you. Basically, you scratch my back I scratch yours. Come up with a pithy one-size-fits-all like "Hmm very interesting post! Have been following your blog for a while and will be linking to it. Please link to my blog as well at crazy4ulover.blogspot.com". Trust me, you only need to strike gold with just one of these blogs --- very soon your back will be scratched raw.
3. Pick a fight: Become an MKC that is (Malicious Known Commenter). Go to popular blogs and start attacking people personally: "you suck, your opinions make no sense, in fact even your posts' titles are crap". One of them will surely take the bait. And the blogosphere always loves a little entertainment in public -- for a change, people definitely want to learn innovative ways of slandering rather than whether your cat pooped in the morning or not. Go to hardcore feminist blogs and leave messages like "all women are morons", go to blogs with multiple contributors and start methodically cauterizing each contributor. Sooner or later, the group will take action and you will "get some action" ;)
2. Love: ... especially proposals and breakups. Awww... who doesn't love them. Talk about how your man proposed at the right time in such a romantic place. You had never imagined him that way or never thought you might get proposed to that evening. Ahh, but don't mention that you wore a very special dress to that dinner... everyone is supposed to believe that you were taken unawares, remember? Or if this doesn't work, fake a break-up. And paint him black and blue. Talk about all the male chauvinistic traits and how the bastard fit each of them to the tee. If nothing else, some knights in shining armour and some would be Princess Xena-s will definitely come to the rescue.
1. Sex: Ahh... sex, drugs and you. The hormones, the little skin that showed. How you found the girl hot, or even how you got laid with that fictional chick. But I gotta tell ya, if you can start a blog pretending to be a girl and write about little giggly escapades, heh heh heh... boy you're gonna be famous! The little tease, the girl who wishes the guys in her classroom would take the hint, the steamed up office executive who dumps boyfriends every month and swaps tongues with the rest of the romeos... believe me after some time you might actually begin to wish you were born a girl! :D

So long, and thanks for the comments! Add to the list if you can: I could use a few spare 'tips' :D

Evil

2008-06-03T05:48:00.003-05:00

JK Rowling got this one thing right. You need to feel it, really mean it. When you curse, it can't be revenge. It cannot be something to give the person a taste of the same medicine. You cannot be trying to appeal to his conscience, you cannot have the glimmer of hope that the enemy will realize that this is futile... that there is no point in the battle. You have to mean it, and really really want to hurt. They cry, they weep, they scream in agony... you must go on. Wound, maim, kill and destroy. Thats how you can be evil.

You see, good things happen only to those who can fight for it. When the time comes, you must be prepared to fight. Bury those weird feelings of guilt, mute that voice of conscience screaming within that this isn't right. Because it is right: that is how the fittest survive. The conscience is just what people programmed you to believe in when you were a kid; but hey, they aren't foolish enough to believe that bullshit anyway. If it takes drawing blood, cut off the arm. If it calls for to prick them with a needle, plunge the dagger in. Do it without remorse, do it without guilt. Don't be afraid: it is much better to feign asking for forgiveness from others than to beg for permission from yourself. Guess what, then the deed is already done.

If you don't stand up and fight, they will. They will do it anyway. When there is a helpless wimp who believes God will protect him from it all, when he believes that 'peaceful' negotiation and conversation will provide the solution, you are going to be a fool to not grab the opportunity. Treat this as the white man's burden. Even in conversation, put that barb wire around all you say. In the guise of the dialogue, let this still be a way of calling a spade a shovel: hurt, stab, and name and say what they don't want to hear. The best defence is a ravaging offense, one that isn't afraid to knife through the heart and destroy forever... there can be feelings and remorse afterwards. But hey, nothing you need to worry about! Speak your mind, speak the gross detail, hurt the feelings. You suffer a little, but the losses will always make up for the satisfaction of having killed them. That is sacrifice, that will be the price you need to pay. No ulterior good motives, no 'right thing' to do. Being evil means being the devil: being the best in business. Be that, and you'll live and survive. No martyr lives to get the bouquet, their graves do. And the ones who live are the ones who write what the story was. Dead men tell no tales.

Fun with dick and name

2008-05-11T21:17:00.006-05:00

A lot of people have asked me over the years why I was given a girl's name: Sudipta. Actually, in Bengali you pronounce it as Sudipto, but the correct translation from Sanskrit is Sudipta. Sort of like you call Ram as Rama, सुदीप्त gets written as Sudipta. In the US, almost everyone struggles to pronounce my name. So I ease it for them, by saying "Call me Su". I am told there is also a song that goes by that name, but we're digressing here.

The fun with having a name that spells like that of a girl is that a lot of people also assume that you're a girl when they haven't met you. This includes email groups, mailing lists, potential employers, pen-pals... the list goes on. Some people are heartbroken when they come to know about this: one dude from Bangalore even added me on his IM, called me via Google Talk, and then upon hearing my voice decided to commit suicide (well, almost). :D On the other hand, when girls interact with me, they assume that I'm a girl. And then they come to know the truth, they are very surprised (and I always pray to God that they should be 'pleasantly' surprised). But I don't know whether that adjective applies.

So when I am bored, once or twice a year I log into a Yahoo chat room. My yahoo id begins with 'sudipta', so it is usually a lot of fun getting into these chat rooms. You wouldn't believe the incredible amount of pick-up lines I've learned by visiting them. As soon as I enter, about 10-12 windows open up within a couple of minutes. The usual ones go as "22/m/mumbai" or "hi, wanna chat?". But there are some extreme lameass shayaris such as "Aap aaye to jaise is chatroom mein chand aa gaya" (When you joined the chatroom, it was as if the moon shone here). And of course, there are some slimy gropers who begin with "Hey baby what are you wearing today?". :D I am usually grinning when these IMs pop up, but it is fun playing along and then shattering their mental image in the end. One guy, however, even in the end of the chat refused to believe me, until I had to release a barrage of words we used in engineering hostels to express ourselves. He was very convinced after that :D And don't even get me started on the way the queen's language is sodomized in such conversations.

One of these days, I was extremely bored, and I mean extremely bored. So I joined a chat room in Kolkata which had enough members. Pretty soon, a lot of IM windows popped up. After explaining to a few people that I wasn't interested, one guy seemed particularly desperate to chat: part sleazy messages, some random shayari, some emoticons of roses, etc.. It became a torture answering the interrogation: where do I live, what do I study, how many siblings do I have. And the guy wouldn't go away.

Now I had this brilliant idea... what cannot be cured must be endured! I became the cute-eyed damsel in distress and told him that I am new to the whole chatting thing. I had just come there because someone suggested this for some personal help I needed: some private counselling. Needless to say, this guy was very interested. Within 5 minutes he divulged everything about himself: such and such college, 4th year, living in hostel, home in this place, etc. He was even prepared to come down to meet me! Now he was very curious about what private and personal counselling I needed. So I explained:

- I'm 26 years old, and my parents have fixed my marriage.
- oh you don want arranged married? Wanna love marriage?
- Not exactly... I don't know anything about sex.
- o.k. I can tell you everything! Pretend that I'm your husband and it is the suhag raat
. . .
. . .

What followed was a complete description of what you can imagine. While I rolled about on my bed laughing, this guy proceeded to explain the intricate details of what clothings look like, et cetera. Every once in a while, I would interrupt by saying, "You cannot do that!" or "No, I will not allow it..." and he would proceed at length to explain why it should be 'allowed'. And while he was at it, I was laughing... I think I even fell off the bed in glee once. :D Finally, when it was time for him to show his assets, it became too much for me to handle. As a guy, as long as someone is describing female features, it is okay: but otherwise it gets a little nauseating. I suddenly typed in all caps: "OMG YOUR DICK IS SO SMALL -- ONLY 2 INCHES!!'. The guy was scandalized. He tried to convince me so earnestly, "No no no ... it is really long". And at this time I was almost in tears while laughing. And I did the best thing I could imagine -- I suddenly logged off. :D

এক কথায়

2008-05-09T04:39:00.002-05:00

I was just able to finalize the settings of my Bengali blog, called Ek Kothai (এক কথায়). For those unfamiliar with the language, it means, "in short" or "in one word". Please visit or bookmark it -- I wish to make that my own Twitter, to record the snippets from my life.

Also, you might need to hit Control-Plus a few times to get it to a readable font size.

What happens in Kolkata, stays in Kolkata

2008-05-05T19:03:00.003-05:00

I know, Kolkata ain't Vegas. A lot of wonderful comments came in when I declared that I will be visiting USEFI for a guest lecture. Which was all fine, until Shreya suggested that I reveal the details, and I thought about the incident again. So, here's the story:

It was I who had initiated the process in the first place. I had emailed the coordinator at USEFI Kolkata asking if he could arrange a short gathering where two of us at www.edulix.com could come and spread the word about the website. As soon as he said yes, I did not waste a single moment in publicizing this. Family knew first: my mom was of course thrilled to know this. I started dropping hints 'subtly' to my friends:
- "Hey, I'm going home this December. You need anything from Kolkata?"
- "Umm... not really... but wait! You don't live there, do you?"
- "Naah, but you know, I have been invited to give a guest lecture at USEFI, Kolkata"
- "Oh really? Cool!"

Or here's a better way of bringing up the topic with relatives living in or around Kolkata:
- "Hey, can you tell me how I reach this USEFI center at Kolkata?"
- "Err... why do you need to go there?"
- "Oh I've been invited there for a guest lecture" [in the most offhand dismissive fashion I could muster]

From a self-initiated blabber out of the blue, I was already invited to be a guest lecturer at the place. I found a million other excuses to bring up the topic whenever the word 'Kolkata' was uttered. When people asked me about my itinerary at home, I would blabber it all out, except the date when I was supposed to be at the center. They would inevitably ask, "And what are you doing that day?" So, it was they who wanted to know about it, not me spreading the word. Heh... heh... heh.

The co-ordinators at USEFI then decided to tie the event into the itinerary of a day-long expo at the center, concluding with a panel discussion on what to expect as life in the US as a student. This was where I was supposed to come in, and some other speakers were invited to be on the panel as well. When I came to know of this, here is how I presented it to people: "You know, since I'm giving a guest lecture there, they have scheduled a day-long event around it!". Never mind mentioning that it was a panel discussion and not a guest lecture; and that I will not be the only person giving the lecture that day. Hehe... like they say, never let the truth come in the way of a good story. :D

On the day, I made sure I dressed like a cool dude. Even though there was a nip in the January afternoon air, I wore just a T-shirt that proudly proclaimed "Texas", a cool denim, shaved myself prim and proper, put on a lot of deodorant, and reached there about 30-40 mins earlier. When no-one really knows you, it is never a good idea to be late. I asked them since I was early, if I could stroll through the USEFI library. I was allowed in with special privileges: you generally need a membership card to go in. "He's on the panel today: please let him in" :)

And then the discussion began. Given a chance to brag about the university, you don't really need to pull your punches, and that too about a top-10 CS department. A lot of 'interesting' ladies were there in the audience, and so after I said that I am working in the field of Artificial Intelligence, I also added, "3-4 years down the line, I would be one of those mad scientists making evil robots" :D. People knew right away that I had a great sense of humour!

Afterwards, all of us on the panel were asked to take up different parts of the room so that people with any questions could come and ask us any individual questions. After initially disclaiming that I didn't know anything beyond CS, and that too beyond much of Machine Learning and Natural Language Processing, people still had questions about every field. So, I proceeded to enlighten people about everything from Business Schools in Los Angeles to how to arrange for funds if you're planning to study Astronomy and Radio Physics. Man, I felt so important when even after I stepped out, people (and that includes pretty girls) kept asking for my email address. :D

So now you know, what happens in Kolkata, stays in Kolkata. :)

What was wrong with the system - II

2008-04-30T20:14:00.004-05:00

A lot of things seem strange, when you think about it at a point of time 10 years later. The trouble with this way of chewing the cud is that you didn't learn how to tell apart the straw from the gold then.

One of the bigger things that come to mind as I think about the days at the hostel there was the food. A good way of looking at it is that given the kind of food I used to have there, the food at any other place after that has seemed heavenly. People lost 5-10 kilos as soon as they joined our engineering college in the first year. I, on the other hand, gained a kilo or two. The reason was I had seen so much bad food while I was in my first boarding school that the food at the college tasted heavenly. I'll explain why. All curries in the school tasted the same -- you had to ask what was cooked when: you wouldn't know until you were told. We used to wonder how someone could cut fish into such small pieces, how 2 tiny pieces of chicken once a week was supposed to be enough, and why the yellow colored water served on each table was called 'dal'. And if you were going to be late by even 2 minutes on the chicken night (which was conveniently kept to the Tuesdays or Thursdays), you will not get to see your pieces. The fun part, of course, was the regularity with which broken pieces of glass, nails, etc used to turn up in the curry or the rice: we used to keep count who was winning in the current season. Our lunch on every school day was served at 9:30-10:00 in the morning: you could eat your full at that time. Afternoon snack would be one slice of pineapple or one guava, around 1:30. Then another little snack consisting of 2 pieces of bread around 5:00 before playtime. And god help you if you were caught stealing an extra slice of bread at this time -- no matter how hungry you were. Dinner was served at 8:30 or 9:00, with the same indiscernible food. Endless speeches by monks and other dignitaries during the special days regularly saw some or the other student fainting off and dropping on the pavement due to the sun and under-nutrition. We accepted this as part of life: hehe, funny it was. Of course the monks there had nice clean white rice, 2-3 large pieces of fish, good thick dal, etc. at every meal. They sat at a different table right in front of us during mealtimes. Who were we to complain?

Something else that has been strikingly curious about Vidyapith is the number of students who developed Appendicitis or Epilepsy every year. Take any random school in West Bengal. In 2-3 years, at most maybe one student will develop Appendicitis and be taken away for an appendectomy (although I really doubt that). How many would have epilepsy? Maybe one in every 2-3 years again? Among all students from Vidyapith, at least 10 students developed Appendicitis every year, and at least 2 students fell down frothing from their mouths with epilepsy every year or two. It seems strange, how none of us bothered to think why this rate was so high in the school. What was wrong with the diet? We used to have vague rumours about why you shouldn't eat the fish's head -- it can cause epilepsy. Or that eating the half-boiled unpeeled potatoes could cause appendicitis. But it would be all rumours -- no official bothered to find out why the rates of these were so high in this school.

Finally, some random stuff were very confusing. Special coaching was arranged for the top 20 students of each batch after the pre-board exams were over, in order to enhance the chances of the school securing better ranks at the final board exams. And this was way earlier than the last 3 months of special coaching was arranged for the rest of the students. I never understood why the top 20 students needed special coaching ahead of the other students. Prize distribution ceremonies had a lot of money, courtesy the alumni. However, all the money was used to give away books preaching the gospel of the Holy Trinity or some books about them. I understand that they all had good words in them... but I refuse to believe that they should be the limit of imagination and outside knowledge of teenagers. What about the classics of Bengali literature, English literature, etc? What about books of puzzles? What about books exploring the wild? About different countries? Rare, very rare -- if any at all. There was this one brilliant boy in our batch who had open disdain for all these books and preachings. He was kinda isolated by the rest of us -- he seemed to be violating everything sacred taught there. In retrospect, I think he was one of the best examples I've seen of someone living by the ideals of Swami Vivekananda, although he rarely read any of his books.

What was wrong with the system - I

2008-04-25T03:51:00.003-05:00

I have been meaning to start this series of posts on what I believe has been wrong with various educational institutions which I've studied in. I might stir up a hornet's nest by posting these, and therefore I need to ask you to go and read the disclaimer before you start suing anybody else. Also, the reason this dirty linen needs to be washed in public is that it will get enough attention. In systems where accountability is almost zero, external pressure can sometimes work wonders. Let me clarify at the very outset as well, that each of these places have been very valuable in my life: I've learned a lot in each of these. But sometimes you need to call a spade a spade, and the time is ripe that I should give up pretensions and get public what the scene behind the goody-goody curtain was.

Ramakrishna Mission Vidyapith, Purulia. Set in a very remote place almost without good city comforts and very poor road/rail access (as opposed to a major city), it was an ideal setting for reinforcing the ideals taught by (in fact, lived out by) the likes of Swami Vivekananda. Most of us passing out of there were and still are very well versed in his quotations, but I really doubt how much we all could put to practice.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Bengali culture, it is a great honour reserved exclusively for Brahmin couples to be the godfather and godmother during a child's sacred thread ceremony. Typically, the first woman to give him alms is called the "Bhikkhemaa", and she almost becomes like a second mother to you. Sri Ramakrishna insisted, in order to break caste boundaries, that an sudra ("untouchable") woman be granted the honour, who had been the midwife during His birth. We at Purulia were supposed to live by this code: of equality and humanity. Guess what... unless you were a Brahmin, you weren't allowed to be the priest in the temple in the campus. Just in case you are wondering, a friend of mine from our batch who wasn't a Brahmin did go to ask our chief hostel warden (a monk), and he was turned down. During Kali Puja, during certain ceremonies all the non-Brahmins were asked to leave: they apparently were not too "pure" to be present there. Says who? I have carried the news once myself to my non-Brahmin friends.

It was a place where we, as students of Class 7, were lightly caned on our palms if we admitted to mixing with girls during vacations or watching any TV. Of course most of us watched the TV at home, but the culture demanded that we lie to the monk who administered this discipline. From Class 4-10, it was blasphemy to speak of any film stars to anyone. To store any posters or cut-outs of these people from newspapers?! Blah.. you were better off dead. I was convinced during Class 9-10 that watching any movie of any kind was as good as poisoning myself. You watched a woman dance on the screen? Oh my god... you were opening the doorway to hell! It was deemed poison, and that we should protect ourselves against all the evil influences of the world outside the campus by being a complete mantra-spelling gospel-spreading teenager. No movies, no songs from them either. Never mind that Swami Vivekananda had himself ran back to apologize to a court nautchni and singer at the Maharaja of Khetri's palace, after he had condemned her and left the court: he came back and worshipped the Holy Mother in her. We spoke with awe of the seniors and some monks, who, when they were young, walked on the other side of the road if a woman was walking on that side. I still wonder how they believed that we would stick to this mindset after passing out of there.

I can go on, but maybe in another post. The point is that a lot of things have been plaguing the organization from within. I may be a weak instrument, and the Mission at Purulia might be doing a great deal of good work, but I still don't think they are excuses enough to leave some of the best minds of the state burdened with a mentality and crippled with an apologetic mindset that would take us years to shake off the yoke.

The name's Bond

2008-04-20T20:02:00.004-05:00

About a year and a half back, I participated in a clinical research trial that paid me $350 for taking out my wisdom tooth: which was paining pretty badly at that time. I figured that instead of paying a dentist $200, I'd rather get this done for free and get some money with that as well. They were developing a pain medication and wanted to test the drug on patients. It went fine... I was pretty impressed with the drug since my pain dropped from 8/10 just after the surgery to 2/10 in an hour or two. I forgot all about it until they sent me a letter this Saturday thanking me for participating. The next paragraph in that letter told me that I was given a placebo: no actual painkillers. Meaning, I practically got my wisdom tooth extracted without any anesthetic. You only have to convince me that the job is possible: the rest is always mind over matter. Like I said, the name's Bond. :)

P.S. - For those of you who thought the Hum Tum style "Bond, James Bond" way of introducing yourself to a girl on an aeroplane is stupid, you wouldn't believe how tempting it is when you're in that situation. I was traveling back this December when the lady on the next seat turned out to be a Bengali lady traveling back home all the way till Kolkata. It was soo.... sooo tempting! But had to settle for my real nice name. And before all ye smirky fellas begin to extrapolate, she was going home to get married the next day. Oh yes, within 16 hours of first meeting me, she did swear to kill me! By the way, the other problem with the James Bond introduction is that you might end up being called Dentarthurdent.

From the hearth of time

2008-04-13T18:36:00.005-05:00

From Swami Vivekananda's letter to Shashi (Swami Ramakrishnanda), 19th March, 1884:

[...] I now see it all. Brother, यत्र नार्यस्तु पूज्यन्ते रमन्ते तत्र देवता :- "The gods are pleased where the women are held in esteem" -- says the old Manu. We are horrible sinners, and our degradation is due to our calling women "despicable worms", "gateways to hell", and so forth. Goodness gracious! There is all the difference between heaven and hell! यथातथ्यत्योर्थान व्यद्घात -- "He adjudges gifts according to the merits of the case." Is the Lord to be hoodwinked by idle talk? The Lord has said, त्व स्त्री त्व पुमानसी त्वं कुमार उत वा कुमारी -- "Thou art the woman, Thou art the man, Thou art the boy and the girl as well." (Shwetashwatara Upa.) And we on our part are crying, दुराम्परापसर रे चंडाल -- "Be off, thou outcaste!" केनैषा नीर्मिता नारी मोहिनी etc. -- "By whom was made the bewitching woman?" My brother, what experiences I have had in the South, of the upper classes torturing the lower! What Bacchanalian orgies within the temples! Is it a religion that fails to remove the misery of the poor and turn men into gods! Do you think our religion is worth the name? Ours is only Don't-touchism, only "Touch me not", "Touch me not". Good heavens! A country, the big leaders of which have for the last two thousand years been only discussing whether to take food with the right hand or the left, whether to take water from the right-hand side or the left, ... if such a country does not go to ruin what other will? कालः सुप्तेषु जागर्ति कालो हि दुरतिक्रमः -- "Time keeps wide awake when all else sleeps. Time is invincible indeed!" He knows it; who is there to throw dust in His eyes, my friend?

Strange, isn't it... what this man had said 125 years ago still applies so much? He is still my hero!

I am from Pluto

2008-04-03T02:12:00.002-05:00

Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, and I am from Pluto. From the book:

How it usually goes:
For example, Mary comes home from an exhausting day. She wants and needs to share her feelings about the day.
She says, “There is so much to do; I don’t have any time for myself.”
Tom says, “You should quit that job. You don’t have to work so hard. Find something you like to do.”
Mary says, “But I like my job. They just expect me to change everything at a moment’s notice.”
Tom says, “Don’t listen to them. Just do what you can do.”
Mary says, “I am! I can’t believe I completely forgot to call my aunt today.”
Tom says, “Don’t worry about it, she’ll understand.”
Mary says, “Do you know what she is going through? She needs me.”
Tom says, “You worry too much, that’s why you’re so unhappy.”
Mary angrily says, “I am not always unhappy. Can’t you just listen to me?”
Tom says, “I am listening.”
Mary says, “Why do I even bother?”

How it is supposed to go:
Mary says, “There is so much to do. I have no time for me.”
Tom takes a deep breath, relaxes on the exhale, and says, “Humph, sounds like you had a hard day.”
Mary says, “They expect me to change everything at a moment’s notice. I don’t know what to do.”
Tom pauses and then says, “Hmmm.”
Mary says, “I even forgot to call my aunt.”
Tom says with a slightly wrinkled brow, “Oh, no.”
Mary says, “She needs me so much right now. I feel so bad.”
Tom says, “You are such a loving person. Come here, let me give you a hug.”
Tom gives Mary a hug and she relaxes in his arms with a big sigh of relief.
She then says, “I love talking with you. You make me really happy. Thanks for listening. I feel much better.”

How it will go if I was involved:
Mary says, “There is so much to do. I have no time for me.”
Sudipta says, “Hehehe... people fall sick at times, you know! *wink* *wink*"
Mary says, “They expect me to change everything at a moment’s notice. I don’t know what to do.”
Sudipta says, “Well, you could just switch your boss's strong coffee with decaf! Sleeping boss, sleeping office --- loads of time to do things for yourself!"
Mary says, “I even forgot to call my aunt.”
Sudipta says, "Oh her? You should have told me! I love teasing her about the new dude who moved into her colony last month! I could easily keep her entertained for 15 minutes."
Mary says, “She needs me so much right now. I feel so bad.”
Sudipta says, “Are you sure a hot 'massage' can't cheer you up? *nudge-nudge*"? :D

QUESTION: What does Mary say/do next?

Holi in an engineering college

2008-03-24T08:31:00.000-05:00

The kind of Holi celebrations I've seen outside my engineering college, I would say, are really tame compared to what used to happen within. At home and the colony around us, it was a sort of tame affair with the womenfolk mostly remaining away from the guys or at least refraining from playing with strangers. The occasional adventurous dude who decided to propose on this day by putting a red sindoor mark on the girl's forehead was usually beaten up badly, whether by his own friends in congratulations or by the girl's brother in retaliation is another story. The situation here in the US is entirely different. With the creeps outnumbered by far and a more vociferous female populace, the percentage of females coming out for the university Holi celebrations is much higher and the occasion is therefore understandably a lot more fun. The exact middle ground of this was in our engineering college: with everybody an adventurous dude and no females at all.

In Gujarat, Holi celebrations start at least a week ahead, at least the colorless variety. Bunches of home-made water balloons (and packets of mineral water from the wealthier folks) routinely find their way on to the heads of passers-by during this time. The engineering college remains kind of tame during this time -- nobody actually wants to spoil the fun that is coming. The events were unofficially kicked off once in our batch by pouring a bucket full of water on the dozing night guard exactly at midnight. The profusely swearing gentleman (who many had a bet could not hurt a cow) almost woke up the entire hostel in the ruckus that followed: but the perpetrators were found in the deepest slumber and blissfully unaware of what had happened. One of them actually went up to ask why he had bathed with his full clothes on, that too at midnight.

On this night, people usually made sure they packed all clothes and books inside cupboards. Computers were duly covered and/or sealed off into their original boxes. And then the fun used to begin early next morning. Groups of junta, usually the all-nighters, would come armed with buckets full of water and wake you up with a "little" splash. Some people, of course, found this just a little disturbing for their sleep. They would wake up, shout and abuse the enthusiastic people, then dry themselves off with a towel, and promptly go to sleep again. Colorful celebrations kicked off when some people decided enough was enough and mixed a handful of colors in a bucket of water and poured it on the next unsuspecting victim to come down from the stairs. All hell would break loose at this time, and anybody who can grab any kind of color (including swabfuls from others' faces or a little concentrate accumulated in that dirty corner of the railing) -- everyone would proceed to smear everyone else with their own personal colors. And then of course people would proceed to some common chowk to thus spread happiness, serenity and joy to juniors and seniors, in that order.

I hope many of you are aware of the flesh-for-beads custom of Mardi Gras. Basically, women go about collecting beads/necklaces from men for volunteering to show a little flesh. Holi in the engineering college has a similar custom, except the fact that a) there are no women involved, b) it is not voluntary to get your flesh exposed, c) people actually take parts or strips of your clothes as trophies -- flesh once uncovered will remain so and d) sorry: you don't get any beads for getting your clothes torn off. Hoards of people in different groups would meet each other at these chowks and proceed to tear off clothes like there is no tomorrow. I remember having seen one particularly lanky guy literally suspended in mid-air by the 5 people trying to tear off his shirt at the same time from different directions: the poor thing's Lee t-shirt was finally torn open when someone got a blade. Once you have a strip, you either tie it around your head as a trophy or just fling it atop the nearest tree -- the day after Holi you might be staring agape at the multi-colored pieces of cloth on almost every tree on the road. And of course, some unlucky fella would happen to be dragged into a muddy pool and 'colored' differently, who would promptly volunteer afterwards to find the next unlucky guy.

The final touch of the celebrations, of course, would be to form a procession and march towards the girls' hostel. Semi clad, fully black-and-blue faces and armed with absolutely outrageous accessories such as huge red buckets, cardboard placards that say "Down with Imperialism" or something to that effect, etc. -- such a group of about 100-200 students would form a procession (usually with 2-3 people supposedly playing drums by beating the crap out of a dustbin tin someone might have picked up). Since this was in the teachers' colony, it was always a little risky to be too brash: but even then the girls usually stopped playing among themselves and watched the show quietly. The level of excitement surrounding this momentous occasion used to be great, since you yourself were nearly undressed and yet unrecognizable in the crowd. An awkward silence usually followed when the drums stopped for a moment, and inevitably someone would point and declare in a loud voice: "Kisi ko mat bolna ki ye X hai!! (Don't tell anybody this is X)". And the said dude X would run for cover as suddenly nearly 300 eyes would be glued onto him: 200 of them laughing out and about to do the ROTFL, while the rest of them (the girls, usually) smiling or shaking their heads in disapproval. Suddenly everyone would be happy that a scapegoat had been found, and drums would start roaring again, and people would proceed back towards their respective hostels while the guard at the girls' hostel would keep giving them absolutely dirty looks.

But the best part was the free food that I usually managed to garner at the end of the day. Bengalis have a tradition by which we usually touch the feet of our elders at dusk on Holi and then are usually given sweets, etc. Now, during the time that I was in my first and second years at the college, our principal was also a Bengali gentleman. On both these years, I dutifully gathered a group of about 10 and turned up unannounced and uncalled at his house, touched his feet, exchanged a few words in Bengali and then focused my attention on gobbling the sweets that his wife would bring us while I would leave the responsibility of chit chat and small talk to the rest ;) But they were a nice and sweet couple, and this man was one of those rare men I've seen with a strong moral backbone and complete selfless dedication to the college. And of course, the expressions of the teachers as they walked in the next day staring at blue, green and red faces peeping out of clean white shirts was priceless! :D

Sleep like a log

2008-03-20T20:53:00.003-05:00

People say, ideally, you should sleep like a log. What they fail to tell you is when exactly you begin to sleep like a dead man and not like a log. Or, more importantly, when sleeping "like" a dead man can make you one.

So I was at my uncle's place about 3-4 years ago during one of my breaks in the college. It was winter, and we were sleeping under thick quilts. Mosquito coils were lit around the house because there weren't too many mosquitoes anyway. So my uncle and aunt were in their bedroom, and my aunt's brother and I were sleeping in the guestroom. Point to be noted: I was definitely fast asleep.

Late into the night sometime, the tip of the quilt I was under touched the mosquito coil and caught fire. Not exactly the flaming inferno fire, but the gradual one that creeps up and eats away. I did not know when this happened -- I was sleeping. So the fire gradually climbed up and most of the quilt was burnt till my feet, but I was still fast asleep. The room was full of smoke; the other person in the room woke up and so did my uncle and aunt. I was still sleeping, very much fast asleep. They looked at me: my feet had turned red and there were brown marks on my skin from the burning cotton of the quilt. I was still sleeping, like a dead man.

They shook me and woke me up. They put water on the quilt and doused the flames. And I was standing there, confused. I asked, "What happened?"
- "The quilt caught fire... your feet were in the fire. Are you okay?"
- "Uh huh.."
- "Step away from there."
- "Uh huh... then what do I do?"
- "Go into that room and sleep"

So I calmly walked into the other room and went to sleep. Like a dead man. :D

Sister

2008-03-14T17:08:00.003-05:00

My sister went away to her in-laws house today. The wedding went fine: minus the usual glitches of managing a hundred people everyday: I need soap, Mr. X who's on that sofa wants some tea, etc. It is always fun meeting relatives who I had last met twelve years ago. Everyone tells me how little I was when they had seen me last, and then they're surprised to see me all grown up. Some people would attest to the fact that I haven't; but thats a different story. ;)

All these days it has been hectic. And the more difficult part, I found, was telling elders in some cases what was to be done. I completely know that they're guests in my house and they aren't supposed to know where the market is or where to find the scissors, but still directing people and asking them to go and drop off three kids at another place was kind-of awkward. But I got over it, and accepted it as part of the job.

The part that was unacceptable was that my sister was getting married. I always thought I wouldn't be bothered: I'll come, do my duties and get back to my life. I believed she was just there as another person in the house -- social customs and rituals were just a wrapper for the real event of a man and woman starting a new family. Strange as it seemed, I was feeling fiercely protective about her all this time. I knew that this was a love marriage, I knew that they liked and loved each other, and I knew that the pair had our parents' total heartfelt blessings. But still I wasn't happy: I sometimes felt I'd dare anybody, any-damn-body, even her husband, to dare harm her in any way. But I didn't have time to think about this: it was just a nagging thought throughout the time when I was running errands.

Bengali weddings have a ceremony when we bless the bride before her actual wedding with gifts that she takes with her to her new home. I discovered how much I loved her on this day. All these years that I've been in hostels, I've been able to meet or interact with her very rarely. As such, I had believed, I wouldn't really miss her after her wedding: she would still be a phone call away and the brief meetings would be there anyway. But somehow my heart grew heavy. All those lewd jokes I used to pass with her, all those teasings about how her husband has a secret ringworm infection which she'll come to know when the time comes, all those times when I had been angry with her for not even putting an empty cup of tea she'd had into the basin -- they all appeared so childish compared to what treasure was about to go away.

Last evening, and very late into the night, the wedding ceremony got over finally. We were told about some more rituals from the groom's side, and therefore she had to be sent away early in the morning. I stayed up all through the night, and soon it was time for the actual "yatra" in the car. It happened just like in the movies. Everyone around me was crying and weeping. My dad was inconsolable: I had to hold him steady and take him through it all. I had told myself I wouldn't shed a tear, and I did not. I was consoling everyone else and lending them my chest to cry on. I was issuing orders and taking care of the logistics: who sits where in what car, find that missing driver, make sure that the last minute rituals went smoothly. I was finding something funny -- it was just like in the movies and was thus apparently making an effort to keep a long face. Then they went away. The car moved out of sight gradually and everyone silently went in. I took my dad to the bed and then walked around a dead silent home for some time. I went back to the gate, and as I stared out towards the road, a little tear tricked out. Something broke inside me. I howled and wept. I didn't understand why myself: I never thought I will cry over this. But I couldn't stop. My grief was my own private sorrow, I didn't need anybody -- I held on to a tree for support. Then someone saw me and took me inside, let me sit on a bed and cry my heart out. I suppose it takes me a little time to grasp the importance of everything in life.

I don't know why I'm recording this private feeling on this blog: maybe I shouldn't do this. But this has become a diary of sorts, and this feeling right now even as I type it twenty hours later is something I want to record. It is sad, but it is beautiful as well. Fare well, my sister -- your brother will watch over you.

Personal space and excuse me-s

2008-03-02T10:42:00.001-06:00

When I had first arrived in the US, a lot of things were new. The people, especially, were very friendly and open. If you're walking along the road on the way to the university, total strangers will nod and smile, and even greet you with a "Good morning!". Soon, I learned to reciprocate: like the other day I passed this old lady who was walking with difficulty because of a cast around her knee; I wished her, "Get well soon", and she beamed at me and said, "Thank you!". People are genuinely appreciative with their comments, and if you are even of the slightest help to someone, they will make sure that you understand their gratitude, especially with the classical "Appreciate it".

Something else also struck me as a newcomer: the concept of a personal space. In India, if you're in a queue lets say to pay the electric bill or at a railway reservation counter, everyone is almost breathing down the neck of the guy in front of him. We don't mind others peeking around us from all sides trying to see what the guy behind the counter is doing. You need to keep your elbows and feet strategically placed so that if the next guy tries to slip around you, you can create a physical barrier. Things suddenly appeared totally different here in the US. People would stand at least at an arms length from each other in any queue. Even if you're standing in a queue to see Hillary Clinton (she and Barack Obama were on our campus recently :) ), only friends would stand close together and talk: another group would be a little apart in the same queue. On the bus, people prefer standing rather than sitting next to a guy who is on the window seat of a twin-seater, unless the bus is crowded and you "have" to push in to others to board it.

So far so good. But what strikes me as odd is the way people tend to apologize for the slightest things. You're on your way out of a door and she was momentarily in front of the entrance when she notices you and steps away: she'll still burst into an "Oh I'm sorry, excuse me". I'm walking towards a building across an open stretch, and I slightly change direction to allow this lady coming from the other direction to pass, and yet she will turn and say, "Excuse me". She apologized to me even though I was in her path! Initially I used to imagine myself as a village idiot fresh off the boat who had no manners at all . Asking to be excused in such trivial situations never crossed my mind. But nowadays it just appears pathetic to me. What the hell if you had to just brush by me? I don't care... I'm not offended. So I don't apologize for these things any more: it a real extreme! And the funny part is, when this happens between two people from here, they seem to apologize to each other, no matter whose "fault" it was. I have fun when I am one of them. If I was on someone's path and had to step away to let her pass, she will inevitably apologize for my "inconvenience" of taking a step. I always nod with a gesture that says, "Apology accepted!" :)