Goynar Baksho-Why it is refreshingly new!

I watched Goynar Baksho today. Obviously! it's poila boishakh tomorrow and since the urban bengali's 'bangaliana' is tested by allegiance to two things nowadays- 'durga pujo' and 'poila boishakh'..I could not resist catching the 'noboborsho' release with my family. Of course the trappings of the corporate life has made the bhodrolok celebrate new year a day earlier on Sunday since Monday will again be a busy day with impending client calls and meetings :)

These days Bengali films are nicely publicised and packaged. Goynar Baksho was no different. That coupled with the assurance of an Aparna Sen's finesse was enough to guarantee the connoisseur Bengali a nice evening out. Needless to say, I was not completely disappointed.
'Not completely' since I went with my mom, dad, sister and my husband and the cumulative verdict was different. What I admire about every Sen movie till date is her adept portrayal of a subtle liberal/feminist approach which is sometimes unimaginable in the situations depicted. Goynar Baksho is no different. The story chronicles the journey of three generation of women of a family which traces its roots in erstwhile 'purbobongo'. Set in the time when India had just gained her independence, this erstwhile wealthy landlord family from Faridpur had to transfer base to West Bengal and are shown as still getting accustomed with their now non existent 'aristocratic' habits.

 

Moushumi Chatterjee portrays the role of a child widow who vehemently guards her box of jewels...even after her death. She is worried about the fate her '500 vori' jewel and entrusts the newly wed Konkona SenSharma with the responsibility of protecting her jewels. But she is not the benevolent image of the elderly 'Pishima' we get to see in the movies. Moushumi, as the abusive, venom spewing, strict taskmaster 'pishima' is a revelation. And that 'bangal' accent...this movie makes me realise that overtly beautiful women have often remain hugely underused in our cinema.

She threatens Konkona with dire consequences if she even thinks of touching her jewellery..including killing her husband. And what follows is mayhem. Hillarious picture sequences and characterisations make the first half an enjoyable watch.

The second half is the part where Sen leaves er mark again...albeit with the hilarity this movie is conceived with. Konkona, as a first generation entrepreneur..probably the first of the working women of our society sends a message and so does Pishima. 'Pishima's' words of wisdom  about all that thoughts we have about sin, lust, benevolence is just a sham- is the high point of the movie. 'First hand experience' as she puts it. And there comes the fiery expression of suppressed sexuality and celebration of womenhood. Sen has a knack of portraying feminist discourses in the relationships you least expect. Be it the timid housewife in 'Paroma' or the mother in law and daughter in law relationship in 'Paromitar Ekdin'...she finds the bond of being a women, a reason to celebrate.

The initial portrayal of Moushumi's character makes you least expectant of the bond that a ghost will share with her daughter in law...but even more surprising is her words of encouragement for Konkona to pursue a love affair and not be trapped in a marriage where her husband can have a mistress but she cannot afford to have a male companion. The subtlety with which she points out the intellectual difference that she has with her husband, or her openness of Srabanti's character smoking when the film shifts base in the 70's is well scripted and portrayed.

To think that a women who belonged somewhere in 1920's could have a mind which thinks and how, is definitely encouraging for a society which still tells it's women to dress up properly or not to wear that short dress when you go clubbing. My juniors have recently faced the wrath of moral policing in Hyderabad and that has been the shoddiest of the shows ever. But Goynar Baksho gives me faith.

There are a lot more layers to the story which needs to be discussed, but I thought of writing this post to jot down these points since while coming out of the theatre my father expressed his disappointment and so did my mother. They expected the apparently carefree mood of the first half to continue. I disagreed. Thank you Sen for making this one.....because we need more of pishimas in our lives and in the society where we currently live in.

Go and watch. My husband does not watch many Bengali movies. But he for one enjoyed the movie, may not to the fullest but glad that he appreciated the subtext of characterisations. There lies the success of the storyteller. Shirshendu Babu, I have not read the original story..but after the portrayal, I will surely do so :)

Shubho Noboborsho :)

Once upon a time!

There was a time in all our lives when we were naive. And young....and stupid!

My mother often told me about the rose tinted glasses that we often wore while seeing the world around us when we are young. Don't know about the mushy red rose or the humble white one, but I do wear hose tinted glasses..

I still 'do' :)

I am known as the pretty 'romantic' types...and that's where the significance of the opening line of this story finds significance. Once upon a time, I was naive and very, very stupid! I believed a lot of people. I believed one day I could really meet Zaheer Khan and get married to him (!:P).

I once had the hugest crush on one of my teachers who taught the most dreadful subject of my life- Maths!

My next object of fascination was a literary character called "Kabir" from Vikram Seth's "A Suitable Boy". there was a time when I dreamt of being born in 1960's Calcutta. And then changed my plan and thought of exchanging niceties in the unique style of 'Lucknowi tehzeeb'!

There was a time when I thought of studying Literature in college. I also thought of meeting Amit Roy on the celebrated English/CL ledge of JU.


Once upon a time I also that College Street, Coffee House, Madhabilata, Animesh and the ability to write Jhumpa Lahiri were the most desirable things in life (I still do!)

There was time when I thought of my dream man being a poetry writing, typical bong guy... who could seep me off my feet at one go.

I wanted that man to love Phuchka. I wanted that man to love Tagore.


I went to college and some of my aspirations changed. But I still stuck to Tagore. I met great friends. I met someone with whom I could say all the dirty jokes aloud 'Wakao'!

I met a girl who actually had terrible fights with me regarding my bong-fascination!


And they are friends for life.


But in between, I always believed Calcutta is the most romantic city on this earth!

I still do.

I got married. It was quite a crazy idea. My friends could not believe that I would take the leap of faith so soon.

Yes! quite a leap of faith it was....I had been disillusioned. I checked up a few real love stories in between. they don't make them like the 70's style anymore...the ones where the guy or the girl rebelled to be with the partner of his or her choice...sacrificing many things in between...like the way my aunt's or my mother's generation did.

But, since I am a pocketful of contradictions, I still believed in Amit Roy, Kabir and Raj!!!

And Tagore......

To cut a long story short!!! after all this I met Biswadeep Roy.


He did not like Tagore. He read World War II stories, loved Mathematics, was fascinated with world history and economic, finance and all that jargon. He was not a bong if you went by my dictionary till date.

And then I fell love...head over heels type!!

Those rose tinted glasses are here to stay for me...forever....Love can make you do weird things. He listens to Robindroshongeet nowadays and I take a fascination towards his research on gadgets. It's a lot of belief, trust and a little bit of mush!

I am happy that he made me realise that the romantic little girl inside me has not died :) (*Touchwood*)


Have you felt love lately? that very stupid, naive thing to do in life :)

Lyrical journey of a year :)

 Since it's almost that time of the year- Part 1!

I am not so eager to part with my 'newly married' or 'notun bou' tag just now but 'times'- they keep rolling and it's almost that time of the year again. The memories of the butterflies of the impending celebrations and anxiety of the big day are back again....almost a year later......1 whole year since 11 December 2011 when 'we' got hitched! (or rather as Deep puts it- 'phaans gaya')

It's a lovely Saturday morning outside and I was listening to an almost vintage 90's  song "I am very very sorry, tera naam bhul gayi" on TV from the film "Chaand ka Tukda". The song immediately brought back memories of the times when "Superhit Muqabla" was the most eagerly awaited thing in my life. It was also then that I had listened to some of the most remarkable songs of my life. And also college! where I made my Oriya friend listen to Kabir Suman and was introduced to the music that Beatles and Bob Marley made. Not to forget the eternal Kishor Kumar.

I suddenly struck me that a song tells a thousand stories. So why not tell our story the old world style? when we actually exchanged love letters :) (over the internet of course!). Deep, let's make this wonderful milestone a memorable one for us......because this is the beginning of a journey that we will cherish for lifetime(s) to come. Let's make this journey lyrical and magical!

The times when we had heard stories about each other from our parents, wrote long letters, had chat-a-thons :)

When we discovered the common joys over chai (aam panna :P), books, history and life in general.

The pangs of separation! Miles apart...foreign shores....unknown skies....and endless wait.

Dating Days! (brief but memorable)

Dating Days :))

Songs we liked :)

Biswa's expressions during the times we shopped for the wedding :P

Expressions of love :)

obhimaan :)

 

Ragaragi!

Phyach Phyach! :(

 

Maanbhonjon :)

 

Biye :P

  Bibaho poroborti somoy :D

     Honeymoon times! 

Deep's expression nowadays!

 

The story continues.... :) (I don't know if it is a fairytale...but I like it this way :)) And lets promise to remain newly married forever :)

 

For you Deep :)

To say or not to say is the question!

"Have you seen the Taj before?" Amit asked Deboshree while staring at the white monument termed as the symbol of eternal love by everyone alike.
                                                                             I
Amit could never recall being in love. He was not flamboyant, rather shy by nature. His small town upbringing did not give him a chance to be suitably equipped for a lengthy conversation with a lady. Probably this was the first time in 26 years since his birth when he was alone for so long with a lady, the daintily made Deboshree, his newly married wife of 14 days.

Amit's father worked in Jamshedpur. Throughout his childhood days, he was always taught to study hard and be suitable enough to fetch a job in the company which defined the future of iron and steel industry in India and needless to say, Amit was very successful in his endeavour.  He bagged a job in the company as Graduate Trainee after completing his engineering from IIT Kharagpur.

On the other hand Deboshree hailed from the big city that troubled Amit all the time- Calcutta. He visited the city during every school holidays since his grandparents still stayed over there, but the sight of the the monstrous Howrah Bridge made him feel uneasy. The crowds on the streets, the 'phuchka' vendor who served his mother's favourite flour balls with tamarind laced water, the tram ride from his Kalighat home to Dalhousie- every thing reminded him of how his world had the peace and vanity of silence where nobody intruded. He sometimes wondered whether he was a loner...whether he disliked Calcutta. He durely did not because he loved his breakfasts at Flurys and the pending birthday treats from his grandfather at Mocambo. But his heart was set out in the peaceful haven of his Bistupur home.

In fact, Amit was stunned by the opulence and grandeur of Deboshree's Shyambazar home when he first went to see Deboshree. He wondered how she managed to stay in such a big house alone with her parents, whether she would be able to stay in that 3 bedroom company provided accomodation in Jamshedpur. He truly had the luxury of a small custom made garden, but it was no match for Deboshree's house which was at a stone's throw distance from the famous eatery which serve Calcutta's most favourite mutton curry. However, 15 minutes in the drawing room of the Mukherjee household he understood that Deboshree had company, a rather large one including her cousins, uncle an aunts who were rather excited with the prospect of Deboshree getting married off to an engineer.

He was scared, very very scared to meet the Loreto Convent educated girl shortlisted from the bunch of photos by Mr. and Mrs. Banerjee becuase she was pretty, had a degree from Shantiniketan, was apparently well read, cooked, sewed, had a good family lineage and to say the least- could be the ideal companion for their son.

Amit was not a part of this decision making process. He had left the choice on his parents. But he could not deny that there was something in that one photograph of Deboshree that he had seen, that made him agree to make a very short visit to Calcutta in the scorching April heat. The match was finalised soon enough. The families talked, Deboshree was asked to sing by his mother. The customary questions later Amit's mother had asked her whether she would be able to adjust in Jamshedpur, since it would not have all the amenities of  a big city.

Deboshree's 'jethima' (aunt) had replied - "Parbe, Parbe! sob parbe- Of Course! she can, girls can adjust to anything didi.....consider me, when I got married I was just 16 and I did not know how to cook dal even...from there on, I have been cooking every day for this entire family of 34 members. You don't need to worry at all."

Amit had tried to steal a glance at Deboshree, to understand what she would have told in answer to his mother's question but the conversation had by then moved to the ideal marriage dates. A monsoon wedding and the customary "Oshtomongola" (visit to the bride's house after 8 days) later, Amit and Deboshree were off to their honeymoon to Delhi and Agra.

Amit had long planned for this vacation and she had once called up Deboshree on her family's telephone- the only time before their wedding, to ask for her permission. He could overhear the hushed tones of excitement in the background surrounding his call. Even on the day after Oshtomongola, when they were scheduled to catch their train for Delhi from Calcutta, he could feel the palpable excitement in the Mukherjee household for their daughter travelling on a honeymoon vacation.

"Oh! chordi, you are so lucky....he is a man of exquisite taste" Deboshree's cousin Nita had commented.
"Aha! how do you know?" Deboshree replied with a flirting gesture.
"Arrey baba! he is taking you to Delhi and Agra.....imagine you are the first girl from our family to go on a honeymoon.....last year my friend Piyul had got married and she was so prouf that she was going on a trip after marriage.....and that too, she was going to Puri...where everybody goes...but you are going to see the Taj Mahal in Agra...please get us replicas Chordi"
"Okay baba! I will" Amit could well sense the hint of pride in Deboshree's voice when she replied. Amit thought she was happy and that made him happy since he wanted to know about the person that Deboshree was.

"Acha! chordin." Nita had further enquired, "I heard that Amit da would be traveling to America for a training for 3 months...are you also going with him"

"Let's see, it's not decided yet re...but high chances"

Though Amit was eavesdropping into the conversation, he could see Nita's face turn a shade greener with jealousy. Of course! she was a year younger than Deboshree and was yet to complete her graduation. But she was dark and not as well mannered as Deboshree...rather coquettish to say the least, a fact which made her and her parents aware that she would not be as lucky as Deboshree in her quest for the perfect husband.

Amit and Deboshree had talked during the train journey. They had reached Delhi around the noon and she was excited to see the Red Fort from a passing distance on the very first day of their travel. amit had planned to visit Agra on the very next day and stay there for a night. So the very next morning they were off to Agra. Deboshree was initially not happy and wanted to visit the shopping arcade Karolbagh hat she had researched so much about. Amit had to pacify her that they were staying in Delhi for 2 more days while returning back. The conversation had led to breaking of ice between the two and Amit was happy about it. He wanted their visit to the Taj Mahal to be perfect, just the way he had planned.
                                                                               II
"I haven't. You?" Deboshree replied " In fact I have not visited any place other than Puri, Darjeeling and my college in Shantiketan". She giggled with a flirtatious wink in her eyes. Amit tried to concentrate in her eyes. In stead it was the big red bindi on her forehead, the shankha pola, the never ending vermillion streak and her crisp cotton sari that drew her attraction. She was the perfect bangali bou. The way he saw Ma Durga. The moment they entered the Taj, Deboshree was overwhelmed by the gigantic architechtural wonder....her hand quickly sought refuge in Amit's hands...and that very moment he felt happy.

"Yes, I have been here..with a few of my college friends".
"You are so well travelled na Am...err"
"You can call me Amit, I won't mind"
"But I am not supposed to na...after marriage you are not supposed to take you husband's name.....your mother can mind"
"As you wish...but in my college many of my friends had girlfriends and they used to call them by their first names"
"Pagol! they had a a love marriage na!"
Amit laughed. He was scared to tell that his college was reputed to have one of the scariest gender ratios in India...and besides the one or two love stories that he knew never ever matured till the wedding platform. He just wanted to be friendly with Deboshree. Besides he would be travelling to America with her in a few days time...he had read that there even the wives addressed their husbands by their first names.

"You didn't sya where else have you traveled" Deboshree interrupted his chain of thoughts"
"Me? well some parts of Bengal, Darjeeling, Delhi, Agra, Varanasi and Palamau in Bihar...you know Palamau?"
"Palamau's jungle? where Aranyer Dinratri* was shot?"
"Yes! have you seen the movie?"
"Of Course! it released 2 years back na?"
"Yes! a few of my friends...we were all very influenced an wanted to make a trip to Palamau"
"So very exciting.....even I want to go there"
"We may..."

The conversation was interrupted by a photographer who wanted to convince the honeymoon couple to take a picture in front of the Taj Mahal. Deboshree was eager and Amit had to relent. He was keen...he has been advised to tell the three golden words to Deboshree in front of the Taj Mahal..the perfect romantic setting by his friend Shyamal. His trip to Taj Mahal was planned accordingly.

"Ei...come here...let's go in....acha! can we see the original sones that were fitted inside or have they already been lotted away by the English before leaving the country." Deboshree asked. She talked a lot. Amit was not used to the sounds of lady's constant giggle and chatter. But here he was admiring a girl who had the child like char intact inside her crisp red cotton sari. And the bindi which made him fall in love with her again. Deboshree stole shy glances the very first time they had met in the drawing room of her Shyambazar home. She was too scared to look at Amit during their "Shubho drishti", a ritual were the bride and groom were supposed to look in to each other eyes's before being tied up within the knots of holy matrimony...but here she was free, thousands of kilometres away from the prying eyes of her cousins, her parents, her newly found strict mother in law....she was herself, the Deboshree Amit wanted to know. But Amit wanted to tell her that she looked extremely beautiful that day.

He could not. He was tongue tied.

The guide was explaining the history of Taj Mahal while they stood with the Yamuna river at their back. A few minutes later they were instructed to be back in the tourist bus after 20 minutes.

Image Courtesy:  http://rajivawijesinha.files.wordpress.com/2010/08/taj-mahal.jpg

Amit was busy wondering at what must have struck Shahjahan to build a mausoleum so huge, only to commemorate some body's death. and the poetic injustice that surrounded the walls of the Taj....a symbol of love built over the agony of so many..their pain and humiliation. He was lost for aminute when his blood rushed up to his cheek turning it a few shades red. Deboshree had just done the unthinkable. In the few moments that he had been lost, Deboshree had managed to whisper "Aami tomake bhalobash" (I love you) in his ears.

                                                                               III

Today is the 41st wedding anniversary of Amit and Deboshree and she still maintains that the moment which defined a lifetime of their relationship was absolutely spontaneous. Amit had tried to extract the secret about how many times had she carefully planned to say the golden words in front of the world's most romantic monument, but the answer had always remained the same.

*Aranyer Dinratri ( Days and Nights in the forest) is a Bengali film released in 1970 and directed by Satyajit Ray.


[This story is set in the mid 1970's when the world was a far more romantic place to live in, far removed from the cacophony of cell phones and social media websites (well! a necessary evil)]

Tales of the Timeless city- Part 1

That my love affair with Calcutta grows every passing day is a layman's guess. I love the city, in its every possible hue and tinge possible. So when the first blush of rain kisses the skies of my new Tollygunge home, I love the fact that I am lucky to be here.

 There have been umpteenth attempts to chronicle the life and times of the city on numerous occasions before. I will be humble enough to not compare them with my choice of stories. But as they say..every Calcuttan is born with words they want to share with the world...I am no different. So what stories does this city tell when you first meet her in an unknown landscapes.....the portraits we term as the 'North Calcutta gullies'.

(Photo credit: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/2/2a/Kolkata_Shyambazar_Panchmatha.jpg)

I feel ashamed to acknowledge the fact that I had never witnessed North Calcutta in her full glory before. The sounds and sights of that part of the city which witnessed the historically accounted 'Babu culture' at its crowning glory. I feel ashamed that I discovered the hawkers of Hatibagan Bazaar so late. All my life I had been this pucca well bred South Calcuttan who could never outgrow her posh neighbourhood. My visits to the Northern parts of the city were restricted to admiring its museum like atmosphere. The 'Mohunbagan Row' near Shyambazar reminded me that how much of this city is still enamoured by football and the ghoti bangal divide...but it was only recently I discovered the legacy of the fight when I came across a hoarding of 'Telengabagn sarbojonin' painted in 'sobuj maroon' (green and maroon) colours. It made me realise that Calcutta is not just called a city for everyone by fluke. It has something for everyone. While I could not stop laughing at the rival colours, it made me realise that it is also a walk through a time warp. The city which loves to have its ilish-chingri debates on their iPads. Whoever told that Calcutta is a city of the past should think again. Yes! we love to preserve our privilege, but there is no harm in that....why should there be if we love to talk about our 'Culture'..since we have one.....then why not flaunt it. And we do it far more subtly than other. But the presumption that goes with it- we cannot accept change....a newer wave, is horribly wrong. We are a city who love to dance on the beats of the dhaak during Durga Pujo at Maddox square...but we also love to listen to the bets of the music at Someplace else. Yes! we are a city who can successfully balance the both. We love food. We love to try everything new.....so in case we try out Italian at the newest and the costliest place in town (and don't forget to let the world know about it ala FB check in app)...we never fail to appreciate the Kobiraji cutlets and the biriyani from Arsalan. It's a huge crime if you don't.  Calcuttans are a happy bunch...because we live to tell stories of our joys, dreams, heartbreaks and pining(s). The pining for the city of love when they are away.....you can never get enough of the city when you are our.... so when the page on FB (Kolkata Tips) rationalises a meme saying something to the effect that when you are in here you curse the city...but when you are out...you long to be here.....they are actually true. You miss the city most when you are away. That's when you realise how much you love the gorgeous greens of the Golf club road, the pestering heat and the newly turned Bonga localised Kolkata metro. Its everywhere. Ask me!

People termed me a fool when I left my big fat pay cheque and whims of a corporate life at Hyderabad last year. They warned me that Calcutta will not provide me enough of opportunities to explore. But did it really matter? What is an opportunity if you cannot share it with your loved ones? May be that is how I look at life and I longed to be back here....the only place in this whole wide world that I call 'home'.

And I am happy I stood by my decision....even happier because Deep saw my point and supported me throughout. It took time, but Calcutta gave me an opportunity to explore in my career which I would have probably not got if I had decided to stay somewhere else..somewhere I don't belong. I always had this dream of calling the shots..and I think I am getting there. And I love the fact that it hugely helps my bank balance too. I really want to make this perception clear that myths like money is less in Calcutta is hugely overdone. You really want to be exploited in the corporate world...bingo! they will give it to you anywhere...Calcutta to Colorado. Why blame this city only?

(To be continued)

Shanghai- It really makes you think!

The joys of weekend is back in my life since I decided to take another plunge back to corporate life and it has been a nice experience so far. I will not deny that the amount of money, not obscene but the decent amount in Calcutta, that they are paying me has been a deciding factor. I am still not sure about how can I keep my promise to myself about taking up writing seriously going (and my blog bears testimony for it), but will probably never stop loving it enough.
So, enough of chit chat over, let's come to what is more relevant. And that is Shanghai! what a movie! probably the best after Kahaani this year. In fact, we should feel lucky to be part of a year which gave you gems like Kahaani and Shanghai, albeit with Bong boys and their sentiments written all over them.

Shanghai is special, Shanghai is close t my heart because it touched a chord. Back in college I had this favourite Professor of mine called Prof. Amita Dhanda. I remember doing a jurisprudence project on "Dev D"  for her. Wish I could do the same theroisation for Shanghai for her class. I so miss NALSAR and the wonderful course readings we had. Nietzsche, Nussbaum and Tagore in a melting pot. Ah! life.

And before I am overtaken by nostalgia, I just want to let everyone know that go and watch Shanghai- a must watch for the very underrated and subtle performances. For Abhay Deol who never fails to surprise us. A Jat speaking in that immaculate south indiaised hindi accent. And he is a dream of an IAS officer as Krishnan. For Emraan Hashmi because this is undoubtedly his career best performance till date. As a local ruffian he never fails to surprise you. You can never relate to his serial kisser image. For Kalki Koechlin, and thank you anurag Kashyap for discovering her( and making her an integral part of your life). Kalki's enraged performance engulfs you. However, her roles are now becoming a tad bit repetitive. For the supporting cast who makes Bharatnagar special. And for the none other than Prosenjit Chatterjee's Dr. Ahmedi. The very dapper Dr. Ahemdi is something you will cherish through out the movie even though his screen time is limited.

And thank you Farooq Sheikh. I seriously miss you on screen. That we had something going on since the day I saw Chashme Buddoor on television or heard a portion of the recital of 'Tumhari Amrita', is a different story altogether. Something that Deep will be utterly jealous of maybe ;)

Shanghai shakes you up. It stays all over your mind long after you have left the theatre. May be because it stands for a cause I find my self deeply attached to- "Kiski desh? Kiski pragati?" A question which gets lost in all the rat race that we are in today and in between all the probabilities of a better lifestyle. Probably the water that costs you Rs.35 per glass :) Shanghai is based on a Greek novel, but Dibabkar Banerjee makes it relatable...and in every aspect.The irony is I watched Shanghai seated in a plush multiplex where the irony gets lost in the overpriced coke glass that you buy for yourself during the movie. But I sincerely hope the portrayal and the idea behind Shanghai doesn't remain solely limited within the arty farty multiplex classes. Because its something which we need to answer now...soon! An answer which we face every day...my state faced it a few years back. And it has been a constant struggle since then. What is development? what actually? Can that plush house in the neatest corner of the city compensate for real smiles? Or do smiles generate otherwise. Think! because we nowadays rarely do so. Shanghai is disturbing that ways. It makes you think.

"Bharat mata ki jai"

City of change

Calcutta, they say, nowadays is changing. I differ and I agree. I differ because change is not always good. And this one I say from a very personal experience. Robi Thakur has been a never ending experience in my life, in fact many of our lives. I look up to him in times of trouble agony and joy. But the cacophony which surrounds him nowadays is something I find very troublesome, something very uncomfortable. I don't if he would have approved of this 'God'-ification of himself. It's definitely worthy to read, appreciate and spread his values. But it is necessary somewhere to inculcate those values within our given spaces. Personally, I find it a very annoying idea- idol worship of an iconic figure, almost making a 'God' out of him (yes! I mean it, the incense stick and the garlands) with complete irreverance to what he said, what he wrote, what he meant.

I don't mean to say that Robi Thakur should remain within the confines of the intellectual four corners of the Presidency college canteen. But, it really pains to see his song praising the nurturing charm of the rain being played on a traffic signal in this scorching heat. Seriously! why???? And as far as I know he was a very sarcastic person, a person who never stopped short of making fun of himself, a person who loved breaking norms. A study of his wedding card (we share same wedding dates in Bengali- 24shey Oghrohayon) shows glimpses of this polymath. He steered clear of all established norms of the invitation cards being printed in  the name of a senior in his family. He invited everyone on behalf of a very dear person of his. The subtlety and the innovation is something to look up to. So if you claim to be influenced by him, show some innovation in your thoughts. It might not be as radical as thinking of creating a form which will be later known as "Rabindrik style" and encouraging girls and woman to go up on the stage and dance while being shouted at by Bengali Intellectuals of his time, but in casd e granting a simple SEZ status to an upcoming IT hub draws some investments for this money strapped state, so be it. The reasons for your disapproval in this case do not make a healthy ground. Singur had a different background story and we cannot customize everything.

But that does not mean that every change is bad. The way the work of the metro corridor in this city is progressing, I grow hopeful everyday. And I salute her spirit. She might have a thousand flaws, but she is an inspiration too. I visited Rajarhat recently and I was amazed. The building complex that I was visiting and the surroundings still did not match up to the glitz, glamour and life of the city, but there was a buzz. And what Roads! My frequent visits to the airport had always been through the Keshtopur-Baguihati route. It was only recently when my family was leaving for a holiday to South India and I had decided to drop them till the airport that I discovered the beauty of the roads. The recent trip was on our new car and that gave us another opportunity to be hopeful about the city. I think I have the deepest regards for our CM. You may say, Rajarhat is a gift of the bygone left rule, but she maintains it and how. By that logic most of the policy making and Bidhannagar- the satellite township  is a gift of the erstwhile Congress Rule in the state- the brainchild of the best CM we ever had- Dr. B.C. Roy. We are at discomfort with her also, may be because it pains that somebody with as humble beginnings as hers, is calling the shots today. Her story will be the fodder for a different post though.

Every story asks for a perfect ending. This story will see one, if the gap between the two decimates gradually and I remain hopeful. Calcutta, I love thee.

To Dada- a day before the coveted duel.

This is not important. This was not necessary. But a day before the match that we all have been looking forward to this IPL season, it was necessary for me to stop and write this one down. It's not a classic 'fangirl' post, but this one is intended to be a reliever....purging of emotions and volatility you may say :)

I am not a cricket writer, not even an avid cricket writer. My brief one night stands with cricket are like the ones when national glory reached its peak on one April night in the year 2011. Apart from that I have pretty much stopped watching cricket since the time he was forced to leave. Yes! you may still decide to stop reading this as another fanatic 'Sourav Ganguly is my God' post. It indeed is going to turn out to be one. For me, he was, is and will be the only cricketing god I know of.

This is the story of my hero. A man I admire. He was my teenage crush. Like any other. Like my didibhai had on Rahul Dravid. But beyond that he was something more to me. He was/is my inspiration. The one who loves to prove everyone wrong. Takes the less traversed road, but makes it a journey to remember. After all we all know that it is the moments which make the journey memorable, not the end of it all. So when he failed to convert that eventful 2003 evening a celebratory one for us, Indians, I still celebrated his spirit, the journey of the original 'men in blue'.

We all know the story, we know the face behind it, we know the emotions that engulf us when we talk about dada. We all know about the way we are laughed at when we mention "Sourav Ganguly" to be our favourite sports personality. The presumption runs that we are a Bengali? Tragic. Yes it is, considering he was the most non regional-istic captain of Indian cricket. Targic, more so when the God of  off side's cricketing genius is never questioned.  Do we ever question a Rahul Dravid fan with the very obvious question that "you must be a Kannadiga?" For that matter, I know many more non Bengali/non Calcuttan fans of Dada than the originally presumed. I tell you, presumptions are bad. And he loves to prove them wrong every time. That attitude to die for!

So Dada, I don't know if you are ever going to read this, but for me it is important to make an effort to make it known to you, on behalf of many like me, that we will never cease to support you. You are our inspiration, an inspiration to fight against what you feel is wrong, standing up for what is right, answering your critics where it matters the most. I may be the most ardent SRK fan ever on this earth, but he or for that matter his pool of 'knighty brats' have no qualification to judge who you are. That too in a circus called IPL. I hate IPL, but I will be there tomorrow at Eden Gardens to watch you play, shout my heart out for you as you make me learn that you should always answer your opposition in their chosen field. And there you are, Thank you for giving one of the most memorable frames of the season. A 'hair raising' one at that :)

I know your team is not doing well, there are chances that you might lose tomorrow, but then again, who cares? It is all about the journey, you know Dada. I will be there tomorrow. For me and for many others the true Calcutta boy will play on the home ground tomorrow. Also, thank you for letting us know that how we still truly feel about the city. We never like to be imposed upon Mr. SRK. That might be your fancy franchise with lots of imported showpieces. A winning one at that. But the true Calcutta will elude you at the Eden Gardens tomorrow.

(P.S.- The post is mostly incoherent and not of much literary value, but the moment was necessary....and so was the expression)

How to tell the world that you are in love- a bong woman's guide to glory :)

(This is something I wrote as a facebook post a few months back. Back then, I was still a corporate slave. A lot of things have changed since then. And suddenly one fine day it turned out to be one of the controversial notes that I wrote. Sarcasm, thou is not every one's cup of tea. And so are you Mr.' sen'se of humour :) A little editing later, the much hallowed note makes it's debut on my blog. Read on.)

Google is a wonderful thing. Nowadays every other person claim to know a lot and even more dangerously have an opinion on everything, all thanks to- yes! you guessed it right- "Google" [The veracity of what they speak and the grammar (ah! spellings) are completely different stories though.] So in case you don't know it, just google it..or log onto Twitter. But the point is not that. The point that I am solely concerned as of now is about the search options Google gives. Once you punch in a few words, it gives you suggesstions.

So I am this seemingly well paid corporate slave trying to unearth some data on the business profile of a client and I have to start from scratch. What better options than logging on to Google? I did that and was stumbled. Google gives you suggesstions like "how to get pregnant" (?!) No seriously! And then there was this one suggestion which really got me hooked- "How to tell the world that you are in love" You may laugh yuou heart out but how bourgeois can Google get? Sorry! but that's the only interpretation I can think of right now (with all the seemingly colourful activities going on around me :P) I have a few pointers though. The way you can tell the world that you are in love- or to put it simply to show off your High market value boyfriend/fiance :P Don't blame me it for being an inherently 'bong' take on the issue as you might well know by now that I was the one who had once famously propounded that -"Being Boing is a state of mind" (Don't believe me, ask a few people from NALSAR) :)

1. First and foremost- update your relationship status on Facebook. In case you doing that on Orkut, you are plain and simple orkutiya. Count the comments, and individually reply to each one of them. Behave as you are blushing and play the cat and mosue game about telling 'who is the lucky one'

2. Post some randomly nice pictures taken on prinscep ghat or victoria. Of yours alone....but make it evident that you were with someone. Of course! who goes to Victoria alone, until and unless you still believe in "Long live the queen" 

3. A few days back "someone's" mother gifted me  a Nabaneeta Dev Sen book. She writes there in somewhere about the crisis called love :) and she quotes a famous saying of her generation that Bengali men and women used to quite religiously follow- "Prem korbo jethay sethay, biye korbo baper kothay" (roughly translates to- Will love/flirt around with anybody or somebody, but will marry some one proper as per my father's wish). Sadly, this holds true for my generation and may be everyother generation to come. The generation befores iconized the proverbial 'love marriage' (the concept which the 'west') still fails to understand and nowadays it's not even looked down upon. But the truth is even more simpler. Love marraiges nowadays are more akin to marriages of convenience (and I am no where excluding arranged marriages, just that they are more 'to the point' :P. The bengali girl's heart, more often than not, reaches out for that software engineer from an ivy league institution and ample monetary opportunities. That background was heavy, but that brings us to the thrid point.

She will wear those off the racks designer dresses that he must have got for her and will gleefully smile at those jealous glances of her friends and tell them "O na baire thekey eney diyechey" (He has got it for me froim abroad). The more the glances, the borader the smiles :)

4. She would be th hottest chick having a ball around the town, but once he meets that perfect IITian boyfriend of hers, she will gladly move on to salwar kameezes. When asked she wil say- "O na amar low cut blouses pora pochondo korey na" (He doesn't like me wearing low cut blouses). Telegraph rightly said- "O boleche" is the end of the world! (sigh! for those non bengali speaking people who don't understand the greatness of "o boleche" :P)

5. She will speak  in hushed tones and will grin ear to ear about those constant phone calls and when teased about them in the family gathering full of mashi, pishi and didimas. And then the proverbial  bengali meyer ma (girl's mom) will jump into the action. Mind you that's another way to show off- "tutun er jonyo na ekta khub bhalo patro peyechi. IIT r chele. Software Engineer. Amerciay thake. Ora khub jorajuri korche biyer jonyo...chele to amar meyer jonyo pagol...biyer pore ora states ei chole jabe....newo na ei chocolate ta arektu newo na....oi pathiyechey..onek to pathateyi thake... chocolates, perfume, dresses....sob tutun er jonyo" (We have found a very good match for tutun you know. The guy is from IIT. He is a Software Engineer and stays in America. The guy's side is pressing for marraige soon....the guy is crazy about my girl you know. They will live in States only after marraige....have some more chocolates...he only sent....arey! he keeps on sending chocolates, perfumes, dresses for our tutun")

IIT, software Engineer and America. Three words and the magic is done on everyone....the mashima, didima, uncle, aunty....they will now discuss about the guy's pay package and the Dollars he earns. Recession, Credit Rating downgrade are forgotten words then :P

6. Trust me, she will never forget to mention the IIT and the America tag everytime a friend asks her completely unrelated stuff like "How did you meet?"

7. Last on my mind as of now...(but definitely not the least)....a person I knew once used to show off her love by posting cosy (ok! that's not the word)...ummmm seriously lovey dovey (read: toucht touchy) pictures of her boyfriend(s)...(she eventually married one of them) on a very public forum like Orkut....and the album was for everyone to see. so you know that next time you go on a date, know how to click pictures and how to upload them on facebook (orkut, sheesh!) 

P.S. Not everything written here is from personal experience, nor did I ever deny that I wasn't the true bong girl who doesn't mind showing off her Fiance who can buy her.....(let that be a seceret) :) :

A few springs in between....

                                                                                   I

"So, Mamoni! all set?"

Dr. Rajat Mukherjee was all smiles today. A glint of pain showed up now and then but he hid it well enough. He was proud, very proud of his only daughter Debolina. Getting one's PhD application accepted in one of the world's most revered universities is not an easy ask. Debolina had done it and how!

Debolina was happy. Relieved to the core. For years in to her graduate and post graduate studies in Jadavpur University, Debolina was always taunted by her relatives- for studying Literature. She was glared upon when her father's friends from medical school asked- "So what are you studying now?" and she answered back in a wimpish tone- "Literature, Comparative Literature." The presumption was always in favour of Medicine, Engineering or for that matter Sciences. But Literature came as rude shock to all.

And now she was going to Harvard. What an answer to all! A country where "Made in Vietnam" but "Marketed from USA" still sells like hot cakes, this was an achievement, nonethless. Dr. Mukherjee had arranged for a family get together before the day Debolina was scheduled to leave for foreign shores. Mrs. Mukherjee was busy attending to all. 

"Taposhi Di, take one more bhteki fry, please!"

"Laltu Da, one more, one more chom chom...this for Tukun"

Bits and pieces of conversation strewn across the roof followed Debolina, Tukun to her immediate family. She was ready to leave this place of her own, the only place she called home in her twenty two years of existence. She was excited about all that was awaiting her. But she felt remorse too. Boney mashi, the one who had trashed her future prospects as- "Useless!" a few years back came with a bouquet to congratulate her.

"Daroooon Khobor!! Congratulations! So very proud of you :)"

"Why are you so late Boney di?"

"Arey the traffic....so Tukun when is your flight tomorrow? Are you carrying woollens?"

"Take a few spices also....for immediate need"- Rani dida jutted in the conversation.

Tukun smiled. She smiled a lot, until she boarded her flight. May be that was the only way she could console Ma. Her mother who always took a backseat in every decision made in the household. Her mother who loved playing second fiddle to the awe inspiring personality of Dr. Mukherjee, her father. Her mother who did not cry a bit before she vanished beyond the point of security check and immigration cues in the airport.

Tukun looked up. The Air Hostess was here to ask for her meal preferences. She had a long flight ahead....and a longer journey.

                                                                                   II

"Are you looking for this?"

Debolina was startled! She was so engrossed in her search for her cell phone that she failed to notice that someone was standing right next. The Library still felt jolted to be waken up by the shrill sound of the cell phone ring. 

"Thank you so much! I just couldn't place it."

"Happens! Happens more in case you read Jhumpa Lahiri too much"

"Hey! you like her?"

"Well, being a Bengali, and that too a graduate student in an American University, if I claim that I don't like her works of Bengal, Boston and Beyond...I will surely be lying."

"You are a  Bengali?" Debolina exclaimed with joy!

"Yes Madam, 100% pure breed Bengali....I swear by my Robi Thakur."

Kabir had already extended his hand for friendship and Debolina couldn't refuse the easy going charm. Kabir, as she later learnt was a Bangladeshi. Debolina had first mistaken her for a Calcutta bong. To which Kabir had joked- "Snobbish Calcuttan, It seems you think all the bengalis you know hail from Calcutta and read in your convent schools. Huh!"

In stead Kabir Siddiqui hailed from Dhaka. A bright young Statistics scholar from Dhaka University, Kabir was also here on a full scholarship. Their area of research was way different, and the cities varied, but poetry and rhyme found them. And the language. Debolina had spotted almost thirty desis in and around her apartment and Department but none of them spoke her mother tongue. 

Language, what an amazing creation was it. Debolina sometimes wondered whether she would have taken that instant liking for Kabir, if not for Bengali language, a language they both communicated in. There were days when Kabir stayed back in her apartment for an extra cup of tea while they both hummed their favourite Rabindrasangeet. 

"Bujhley Debolina, This tea is a wonderful boon to us...the 'still' colonized souls from the British. This Starbucks fed nation doe snot know how much are they missing out because of coffee."

Laughter and a Joy Goswami later, Kabir would stood up to go and finish his assignment due next week.

Debolina, would wave her goodbye.

Two months had passed on since the day Debolina had left Calcutta. Her mother now knew how to use Skype and communicate. She wrote her emails. There were emails from her dad too. He spoke to her at length on the weekends. Today was one such day. Her parents were pestering her to come back home during the winter break. Debolina was disapproving. She and Kabir had made plans to visit New York around that time. A plan her parents would never approve of. She tried to divert the topic of the conversation.

"Bapi, you always told that our ancestors were from Dhaka"

"Yes, from erstwhile East Bengal. Why?"

"No generally. Where in Dhaka Bapi?"

"Bikrampur. but that was long back....why are you suddenly interested Mamoni? I say you come back this winter. Don't think about funds. You won the scholarship and am mighty proud of that. But I can fund your travel expenses."

"It's not that Bapi. I have lots of work pending here"

"Can't you come for two weeks?" Mrs. Mukherjee jutted in between the video call on Skype.

"Aha! can't you see she is telling that she has important work. you will never understand. But still Mamoni, try to come."

"I will try Bapi"

"Ok! Maoni I have to go now. I have an appointment with you siddhesh Kaku today. He is coming for a routine check up.You remember him right? His son is now working with Microsoft in New York. You can meet him during the winter break. He was thinking of visiting Boston too."

"I do Bapi and I have told you many times that I don't want to meet his son. I don't find him good."

"Ha Ha Ha, take your time. Signing off! Mamoni"

The window on her laptop disappeared. Sometimes she felt that her loving father was indeed very cruel. Very, Very cruel. He did not even let ma talk properly. She could not even say a bye. 

"Madam, busy?"

"No Kabir Da, come...look what I got...a brand new collection of Suchitra Bhattacharya stories. It's available on Amazon!"

"Aha! don't call me Kabir Da...how many times should I tell you that it doesn't sound good when a beautiful girl calls you as her brother. Btw, I am only 25 and quite eligible"

"You and your flirting."

"Madam, what will you understand of flirting. In this land of foreign beauties, nobody apart from you understands Rabindranath and Kadambari Debi."

"Aha!He was wrong. Kadambari was his sister in law."

"Debolina, when did you start thinking in the box full of black and white? Isn't there something called grey? Kadambari Debi was his inspiration."

Days Passed. The frolic and tinkle grew. Kabir was a year senior to Debolina. He had introduced him to many other Bengalis in and around Boston. Some were here for work. Some studied in the University. ! few were part of the IT crowd. Whenever they assembled, Kabir was always in the centre stage. Debolina's stolen glances caught Kabir busily distributing luchi aloordum to one and all during Saraswati pujo. The meet for Tagore's Birthday celebration found him hogging all the limelight for singing multilingual renditions of "Ekla Cholo re". He was the star. Debolina was his happy shadow.

"Your parents must be a big fan of Anjan Dutta right?"

"What?"

"Jah! You are from Calcutta and never heard of Anjan Dutta?" 

"Of course I have...but why?"

"Arey they named you Debolina after his favourite song, right?"

It was Ina di's house one summer evening where they had all gathered to watch the fresh off the rack DVD screening of the very popular and award winning Bengali movie of the year. 'Antaheen' as it was called. Rajeev Khemka, Kabir's batchmate had nervously followed him to this full of fishhead eating bong gathering. It so happened that Kabir had suddenly visited his apartment to find him doing nothing and being the strang head that he was, forced Rajeev into this. The Gujarati in him was very scared of being served non vegetarian food. It took a lot of coaxing from Ina di   to make him have the vegetarian pulao. A few minutes into the screening, Debolina was serving as Rajeev's official translator.

"What does Antaheen mean?"

"Endless wait" Debolina answered, only to be momentarily clouded by her thoughts of the wait that she was put into. Kabir was a Muslim. He was a Bangladeshi. Her father being the high caste Bengali Hindu Brahmin would never approve of the match. 

Was there a match? 

Kabir was flirting with Ina Di's sister who was visiting her from India in the other corner of the room. He was humming a famous bengali song to her. "I need you". Yes! that's what it was called.

So from Debolina to another songwriter's dream, it didn't take much of Kabir's time. Debolina often wondered whether Kabir even had a hint how since the New York trip of theirs, the stupid whispering of "Aami tomake bhalobashi" (I love you in Bengali) in the Central Park, her entire world revolves around Kabir?

Kabir obviously broke into a peal of laughter when Debolina turned a tinge red while being whispered those three magical words in Bengali. 

"Pagli!! scared you! Don't take it seriously. Actually the weather, the surroundings....can you not be in love right now?"

That was Kabir. Whimsical. He could make such fun of people. Debolina did not talk to him for the remaining two days of the trip. But she had to eventually give in.

"Madam, seems like you are day dreaming....what's the matter?"

Debolina was startled by Kabir's booming voice yet again. He was driving on the way back from Ina Di's house. They had dropped Rajeev in his apartment. There was a joke going around in today's gathering. 

"Odol bodol". They were obviously referring to Kabir paying more attention to Ina Di's cousin and Debolina sticking around with Rajeev for the entire evening.

"Seems like some one is turning green with envy."

"Why should I be?" Debolina reeacted

"Who told it's you? But, you may say whatever you like but Rajeev will take a million years to understand the pains behind Bhindeshi Taara (the distant star) in translation." Kabir winked.

"So who will understand Kabir Da?"

"Arrey, I was just saying that it has been beautifully sung by Anindya. The reworked version by Shantanu Moitra in the movie is quite good too."

"Don't divert the topic Kabir Da. You always do. Tell me who can be my distant star? ? My bhindeshi taara?" tears welled up Debolina's eyes while she spoke.

"Crazy woman" Kabir laughed. "Have you been possessed or something at this hour of the night? Ki bolchish? Go back home and sleep."

"You know how much courage did it take for me to ask you the question. You know it right Kabir Da? Who will under stand my language? that distant star"

"I do".

                                                                           III

That winter Kabir went back home. He returned with his wife Sakina. Kabir never spoke much about his family in Dhaka but whatever Debolina could make out from bits and pieces was that he belonged to a very wealthy political family. Sakina, who took an instant liking for Debolina, had later told her that she was the only daugfhter of one of the richest industrialists of Dhaka. Kabir and she were family friends. Theirs was a 'love marriage'. They had met at a party thrown that December in honour of Kabir. Their parents approved of the match and it didn't take much time for them to get hooked.

Debolina returned to India to teach languages at JNU. She later married a colleague of hers there. she lives in Delhi with her two kids.

(P.S.- All characters mentioned in the story are purely fictional. Any resemblance with anybody, dead or living, is purely coincidental)