Another Year Gone By

A very happy new year to all the readers. I know I haven't been regular over here but i am glad to see readers visiting my blog and reading my posts. Another year has gone by and this year I must say had many things in store for me. Honestly this year was not really a bad one and had more pleasantly remarkable memories. I have this strange feeling the beginning of every year about how 365 days passed by in a wink, and this year I feel no different.

In the first few months of the year I traveled quite a bit. some places with family. others with friends. I went to the sea, the jungles, the hills and enjoyed both the company and the places to the fullest. A lot of good movies were released this year and watching them raised my hope in Indian Cinema. Movies like Piku and Natoker Moto getting good viewership and better reviews make me believe that there are people who make movies like this and surprisingly quite a decent part of the audience do watch them. The movie lover in me dies every time someone calls Student of t he Year a good film.

The fear of losing friends and close ones had made me wary of coming close to people and naturally when I joined university i shut myself off completely, building a wall around myself. But thanks to the extra effort of some people, the wall has cracked a bit and 2015 gave me some very good friends who unlike those I had encountered in the past does not seem to show too much fake love and interest but none the less can be relied on.

I spent quality time with my family this year. Not only my father but some of my cousins whom I had smartly kept myself away from all these years. Spending time with them made me realise how wrong I was in judging them. They are actually good people with a good heart. happy to come forward when I need them and be there when the time is not on my side.

They say all things of the past teach you something before going away. So did the last year. It renewed my hopes in humanity which was fading away. It t aught me to open my heart to people who care and that not everyone has an evil intention of taking advantage. It renewed my lost faith in love. Though a chimera, I believe it still exists. I am happy to know that someone from fifteen thousand miles away can still make my heart skip a beat.

2016 has just started and I know this one is going to be a tough on for me. Handling a long distance relationship with a time difference of twelve and half hours can never be easy and this one concerns someone I don't want to lose at any cost. I hope and pray that the Almighty gives me strength  to get through all the missings and lonesome nights.

Here is wishing all my readers a very happy new year. May love and good health prevail.

Off To The Jungles

The month of September have been a good one. It started with my semester getting over and there was a seven days long sem-break.While I was reeking my head about what to do in those ten days, a splendid opportunity came my way. A senior of mine from the university, who is presently writing his doctoral thesis, proposed me to go on a backpacking trip to the forests of Bandhavgarh in Madhya Pradesh. It was last in 2013 that i went on a trip like this, and naturally was very excited and said yes. I am generally very choosy about my traveling mate, and considering that i know this man for quite sometime I was sure this was going to be fun, and I wasn't disappointed  at all.

So we left on the 9th by train. Since it was a last moment plan, reservations were a big deal, but we managed two seats in the sleeper class. The journey was not a pleasant one considering the heat and the number of ill mannered co-passengers. But our tiredness vanished when we entered the forest by jeep, arranged by his father, who luckily for us happens to work in the forest department. He arranged a wonderfully comfortable forest bunglow for us as well, right in the heart of the forest. After freshening up a bit, we went out for a walk around the bunglow. As it was already 4pm, we couldn't venture farther into the forest.

The sun sets suddenly there and by 6 PM, its pitch dark. We spent that evening sitting in the balcony and listening to the birds coming back home. As the night grew darker, the sounds of the forest became interesting. now and then we could hear a deer bark or a monkey chirping and then the elephants. There was a salt pit about 2KM from the bunglow and if we stood at the window, and flashed the search light, we could see herds of elephants coming to lick the salt. The first to come were the elephants. then the monkeys, the deers, the jackals, and wild boars. All night long, I would stand at the window and flash the search light to look at the animals. No animal caused any trouble to the others. They behaved like a united lot, letting everyone get their fair share. It was a wonderful thing to watch. They came in groups, licked the salt and when they were done, went away in herd.

My friend told me that the early morning sunrise is a beautiful thing to watch and he spotted some rare birds as well, but I was fast asleep then, having stayed awake all night. We left the bunglow at around 9 AM for a jeep safari. We had expected to spot some animals, but sadly elephants and deer were all we could see. According to our forest guard, its too hot for the animals to come out during this season.

However, I enjoyed the evenings in the bunglow balcony much more than the safari. The sounds of the forest are much more a beautiful and thrilling thing to listen to than spotting animals.

On the last night, while we were sitting in the balcony sipping our drinks, I heard the sound of rain falling from the leaves, but when I looked closely it wasnt really raining. When I asked my friend if he could hear something, he closed his eyes and said, "Sri, this is the most peaceful sound on the Earth. Dew drops falling from the leaves." I was amazed. I never thought, the sound of the dewdrops could be heard. It was indeed the most peaceful sound. Serene. I closed my eyes and took in the sound. Everything the forest had to give me. We the people of the cities, miss so much that the nature has to offer us. The sound of the dew drops, the mating call of a deer, the sight of a mother elephant protecting her baby. The peace that I felt that night, sitting in the balcony of that forest bunglow, is something I have longed for. Something I will always be thankful to my friend for giving me. That was the best gift he could ever give me.

We came back on the 17th of September and got back to our regular lives with a renewed energy and freshness. However I had more to look forward to. My cousins and I have planned a trip to the Sunderbans in the following weekend. 25th being eid, it was long weekend till the 27th. So we took leave from work on the 24th, and left for Sunderbans, early in the morning. Now unlike the earlier trip, where it was only the two of us, this was considerable a big group of us 7 cousins. Daddy was kind enough to book a car for us till Godkhali, from where we would have to take the launch to our resort. The road to Godkhali via Bantala was anightmare. As soon as we crossed Malancha, there was practically no road at all. It was a bumpy way with huge potholes. we couldn't sit straight in the car for at east 2 hours, and when we reached a proper road, I started feeling pukish. From Science City to Godkhali, was a 4 hours ride. At Godkhali, port, we were greeted by a plumpy, friendly, amicable man, who was supposed to drive our launch to our resort. We boarded the boat and was informed that we would go through the forested area and it would take us 2 hours to reach. All through the journey we anxiously stood at the deck, straining our eyes, looking at the green surroundings, hoping to see some animal. But not even a monkey was spotted by us. We were utterly disapointed.

By the time we reached the resort, it was 3 PM, and our manager told us that we can't go anywhere that evening. So we stayed in and walked around the resort garden and talked about this and that. I found the ducks very amusing. They would stare at me and when I turned around and walked away. they would follow.

The next morning started early, and we left on our boat for Burirdabi, which was at a 4 hour distance from the resort. The weather was terribly hot and we were all drained of energy and any hope to spot any animals in this heat, by the time we reached the watch tower. There was no luck on the watch tower as well. I guess only we the humans were mad enough to come animal spotting in this heat. Not even a bird could be seen. However when we spotted a few tiger pug marks, we were very excited and the cameras went clicking away.

The next day we cancelled the plan to go to the buffer area anymore and coaxed and convinced our manager to get us a permission to the core area. He finally agreed and we set off for Netidhopani, about 2 hours away. The good thing about the journey was, only half an hour after we started the ride, the unprotected forest started and we were glad to spot a few deers, and monkeys and crocs. However no tiger luck. But the watch tower at Netidhopani was a beautiful place. We had to walk through a canopy and reach the watch tower. There were a number of butterflies fluttering around and none of us could sulk anymore. By the time we reached the boat, we were all smiling and talking about the canopy walk and even though we just spotted deer, we were happy.

The next day we took the boat back to Godkhali and then we were back home. We were sad that our trip was over and it was monday again and the monday blues were starting to take over, but there was a renewed energy in us and we promised to go back to Sunderbans again. After all we spotted the pug marks, who knows next time it might be the royal animal waiting for us...

Of Father and Daughter

Dad and I was recently having a conversation about what we mean to each other and what the love for family really is. This rare conversation was spurred by watching of Piku.

The movie talks about the love we have in the family or the lack of the same. My father reminisced that all fathers are Piku's father. Some like to come out with it and others pretend to be strong. For some of you who haven't watched the movie yet, Piku's father is a character who is very much dependant on his daughter on almost everything. He won't let his daughter marry someone or even come close to any man because he thinks otherwise he will have to live a lonely life.

My father is still going strong, with God's grace and is not at all dependant on me in any way. Well not at least physically. I mean he can take care of himself and go for his walks and even cook his own meals. But somewhere down there he is Piku's father. He can easily go and stay at his kolkata flat by himself and quite comfortably so, but he would stay with me in Burdwan and cook me meals and take care of me. If I am not there for a day, he won't go for his daily swim, because he is used to going with me. When it comes to marrying me off and mother expresses her regular anxiety about it, dad would calmly say, "She is just 25, now is not time yet." I somehow get a subtle tone of Piku's father, when he says, only uneducated lowly women, who has got no aim in life, gets married.

Dad and I am very close to each other since the time I can remember. Yes we had rough patches and both of us hurt each other in ways which we though were irreparable, but we can't do without each other at the end of the day. Obviously, I don't want my father to be Piku's father, dependant on medicines and thinking all the time that something is wrong with him. I want him to be a healthy man up on his feet as long as he can, but i like the small dependencies he has. I like it how he wants to live with me and how he wants me to accompany him on our daily activities.I like it how he goes for all the movies with me and how he stays with me so that he doesn't feel lonely.

True at times this closeness feels a burden, which makes me worried about his future, but I love him and I don't mind how he is possessive about me. He won't show it but I know he can't live a day without me coming to his room at night and covering him up or adjusting the temperature of the room.


I know someday I will have to live without him, and get used to the absence, but till I have him, I will get the most of him. I don't mind his crankiness or his scoldings, as long as I know he loves me.  

After A Long Time About This And That

I have been absent for a while, due to some personal and some not so personal reasons. it took me some time to recover from some unwelcoming changes that came to my life. However its summer again and though I hate summers, and this year I am in Burdwan so they are much worse.

Durgapur being a familiar place I knew the little pleasure spots of the city, But we moved out of the city and I thought I had enough of the place and would never miss it again. But with the summers setting in and the memories of that wonderful swimming pool makes me miss the place (Just one of the few things I miss.).
However to make me happy daddy pleasantly surprised me today by enrolling himself and me in the local swimming club in the town and we would be going swimming from next week.

Over the last one year I have changed two houses. We moved out of our 20 years of residence in Durgapur to our flat in Kolkata. Mom worked hard for over a month to make the house a home and she did a commendable job. But as soon as we were settled there and I started feeling at home after arranging and rearranging my room for like the 5th time, I got through the Masters course in Burdwan University. I tried travelling up and down for a few days and realised it was not very possible for me. So I took up a rented apartment in the town and Kolkata is just a weekend runaway for me now.

It took me some time to settle in but I like the course, and the people in my class. We are a small class of fifteen people and hence very close knit. I am getting all the attention from the professors and my Computer professor is really kind enough to give me extra time and extra effort to drill the very innate mechanical ideas into my head. I never understood machines and their process. They scare me.

The university campus is huge and green. There are three ponds in the campus and the buildings are old and thick walled. Its really comfortable in this summer heat.

Since my interaction with the world in particular was completely cut off, I had come close to my family and cousins because they were all I had. My cousins and I made some short winter trips and are planning to do some summer trips now.

Cutting myself off gave me a chance to think and I realised that all this time I was running after a mirage. I was running after and looking for the kind of feeling and companionship which can never exist. It was kind of selfishness that I was looking for. Good that i was hit hard on the head and brought back to reality. No I haven't given up on love but my perspective have changed. I still love but I dont expect to be loved back anymore.

The truth is the more we run after it the further away it goes. The trick is to just let it be. Just enjoy the feeling of love. Happiness is to realise that I was in love with the idea of loving and not in love with any particular person.

It took some time to sink in, but once I understood the feeling completely what I experienced was peace. A peace of mind which is bliss. Its like loving the lord himself and knowing that he is always looking over me. It doesn't matter if he cant be touched and felt.

That's all for now and I promise to be regular again.

People II

My first write up on People was a humorous one, where I met only one kind of people coming with only one agenda in mind: getting their children admitted to Sir’s tuition and yet there I saw so many different reactions. I have been spending a lot of time with Sir over a period of six months, and among other good things I have got the chance to see and observe the human kind as a whole. I have come across many parents and students and observed and analyzed them at close quarters and just reached one conclusion: people love to think that they are different and unique; but they are incredibly similar to each other.

As Sir often thinks and talks about how so many people come so close to him and then go away suddenly, I tried talking to a few of them to find out a reason for their sudden disappearance. So a certain X who had spent a considerable amount of time with Sir, spoke to him almost twenty four hours seven days a week over chat for almost a year, had suddenly run out of things to say to Sir. The reason as pointed out by her is that, Sir being a very “serious” man, she can’t think of anything else to tell Sir. And also told me that “Sir is angry” and she doesn't really know why. However she keeps sending chats to Sir asking him, why he is not talking with her or responding to her chats.  Talking to this particular person makes me wonder, if she actually knows what she wants! And if she does know, why does she need to pretend? There can be just two possible things happening: One, that she was never really interested in Sir and pretending the whole time. And Second, she suddenly realized that any kind of relationship with Sir calls for a serious commitment and that scared her.

Another Y, had dropped out of Sir’s life, some six years ago. I tried talking to him too and asking him to come back. Much to my surprise, he promptly replied to my email and told me how much he had missed Sir for all these years, but did not get back to him because he was asked not to. He tried to make me understand that he was all in for a reunion with Sir but he couldn't because “Sir was angry” and he “did not know why.” He however called up Sir to say that he has got “nothing much to say” to him and then told me that it was all “Sir’s fault” that he couldn't talk. But then he kept bothering me about how he missed Sir and how he was important to him and how it is all Sir’s fault that he had to cut him off. Again I ask, why the pretense?

A certain Z, wanted to come back to Sir, and wrote to him telling him how she wants one more chance and won’t disappoint Sir. The day after was spent by her chatting with me and telling me how she missed him and how she wants to come back. How eager she is and all the other things which made me believe that she was really interested. Just twelve hours later she shot an email telling us that she should be left alone and that she is not really interested and again pointed out how it was all Sir’s fault.  I again wonder, why did she have to pretend that she was interested in him?

These are just a few of the many who behave exactly the same way. You might have noticed what I am trying to point out. Without being judgmental, I am just surprised at the incredible similarity between these individuals. Irrespective of age and gender, they all think the same way, behave the same way and even talk the same way. Their way of dealing with certain things is also very similar.

I came across a number of parents as well, and one thing very common in them is that, they tend to think, that since they have given birth to a child, they can treat him the way they want to. They can behave like dictators and treat them like slaves, abuse them unnecessarily, both physically and mentally, and when the child can’t take it anymore and stands up for his rights, the child becomes a “bad boy”, who doesn’t know how to behave. So many people come over to Sir to complain against their sons and daughters, speaking in a way, completely forgetting how they are at fault as well. This makes me wonder about how these parents were brought up! Certainly parents have been the same way generation after generation and like every generation of parents they claim that they are better parents.

I have been teaching for some time and that has helped me meet some more people. Students and parents alike.  Sir often tells about children of 15 being more grown up than the parents who are 50 years old. I realize how true it is. A certain W, had a bad childhood and was sexually abused by her maternal uncle, and is still traumatized because of that. She came to me asking for help. She just wanted to talk to me and eventually to Sir because she hated her counselor. Just few days later, I get a phone call from her mother asking me to stay in my “limits” and not “provoke” her daughter against the woman’s brother.  I wonder did she really think before saying what she did? Her daughter has been sexually abused and all she cares about his her brother. That person, who hurt her daughter, became more important.  I laugh when these mothers come to me and tell me that they love their daughters and are “worried” for them.

I will tell you, she is not a very strange case. She is just one of the many mothers who behave in this way. My mother is no different. They somehow revel in being tyrannical and think that physical and mental abuse is the easiest way to keep their children under “control”. That is how they can gain respect from them and that is how the child is going to “love” them.

The purpose of writing about all these people is not merely to judge them or improve them. It is just a way of expressing my sense of wonder and amazement to the fact that human beings are so similar to each other, in the way they behave. You can actually group them in certain categories. When observed closely, you can notice how desperately people try to fit themselves in that category. Females, irrespective of their age, try very hard to look pretty, have an obsession for shoes, cry for every small things possible, have a strong liking for tall handsome hunks, have to wear dresses that “accentuates” their body (and then shout if men lech at them!), talk about fashion and dresses and make ups, consider reading to be boring (I am talking of the majority of women here, and not about the smaller group who thinks differently.).

Males on the other hand like to pretend to be the “cool strong handsome hunk” types, who don’t have a heart and can’t feel anything. They don’t have emotions and can talk only about cars and bikes and read Playboy and other sports’ magazine.

Parents are supposed to be strict, tyrannical, inhuman beings who can only shout at their children and force them to live their life the way the parents want them to. They expect to be respected and consider their duties towards their children as favors and keep talking about it all the time. If the children stand up for themselves, they are considered to be ill mannered. 

What is funny is that in spite of people being exact mirror images of each other; they claim to be “individuals”. Little do they realize that they are no better than herds of animals who come and go in groups making no significant difference in anybody’s life. I wonder can’t they see each other? Or is it that they like being one of the herd?  

The Box Of Fond Memories

Cleaning up the cluttered book shelf and an old suitcase is messy, but also filled with pleasant surprises. I was looking for a few note books from my school days in an old suitcase and the suitcase soon became a box of memories. 

I came across an old photograph of me and my first ever friend, relaxing in the sun on a winter afternoon. I was hardly 5-6 years old then, and all I was concerned about was the sun setting too early and reducing my play time. That was the biggest worry then, and the biggest responsibility was keeping an eye on my toddler brother and going after the boys who did not give him a chance to be the batsman. The gully cricket was the biggest match ever and cycling around the neighborhood the biggest rebelling act.

Then I came across a few old letters. Yes back then I used to write letters to an old teacher of mine. She used to teach us Bangla and retired and shifted to Calcutta when I was in class eight. She left her address behind and I used to write letters to her. She was kind enough to patiently go through that almost illegible bangla handwriting of mine and reply to me. The smell of those inland letters made me smile and of course the innocence of the words written on them. I wonder if I can still write like that. It is sad how no one writes letters now and the closest alternative now is the email. I have been told a number of times by so many people to write small emails. Alas! I just can't. I am pretty old school here and love writing and reading long emails. Yes now we can chat over the various social networking sites, but then they are not as personal and beautiful and thoughtful as letters and emails.

A little more rummaging through that box of memories and I found an old, pages almost yellow, book by Albert Camus. On the first page of the book was written, "For being an attentive reader, and liking this book so much! --Sir" I remember borrowing that book from Sir and liking it so much and talking about it to him, that he had allowed me to keep that book. It was so precious to the 16 year old me, that I had not displayed it on my bookshelf. 

There were birthday cards and new year cards and gift wrapping papers with small notes from a special someone. An old t-shirt which belonged to the person I first fell in love with. Wrappers of chocolates, movie tickets, and so many other small gifts, and even a glass jar labeled, "a bottle full of sunshine and fresh air from the hills." That was my brother as a seven year old, bringing back fresh air from Darjeeling. I know these things probably mean nothing to so many people, but brought back fond memories to me. 

The final thing I found in that suitcase was a box full of shells. That collection was a recent one. When I was in Chennai, a few friends and I, on a whim went sea digging for shells. Chennai beach has got the most beautiful sea shells ever. We spent almost two hours collecting shells till our fingers were sore with numerous cuts and our back stiff from bending down for so long. But we were happy. We had the best collection of shells ever and we proudly flaunted it around.

These are the little joys of life which makes us happy. Maybe the friend doesn't remember me anymore, or that special someone has drifted away somewhere. The old teacher is no more today. My grown up brother considers it stupid to bring back fresh air in a jar now, and probably Sir doesn't remember giving that book to me. But these things made me smile, and I know what they mean to me. Being responsible and serious is important, I know but then it is the memories of those completely impulsive and careless times which make us smile. Rummaging through this box of memories on a hot summer lazy afternoon really made my day. And may be it is these memories that still help me to be the happy person that I am today.

Pretense: An Easy Way Out

When I was a little girl, just in to school, I was taught not to tell people things that can hurt them. For example, a fat girl shouldn't be called fat. A stupid girl shouldn't be called stupid and some other things. But being the girl I am, I had a hard time pretending, or not telling people what they really are.

I hated pretense as a child and I hate pretense now. But what surprises me is the innumerable bunch of people who love to pretend. They somehow love holding on to it and I don't know what they get out of it?Doesn't it feel like living with a lie? That is not a good feeling I know. So how do they continue doing it for years at a stretch? Or may be even a life time?

It is not only about pretending to call an ugly girl, pretty or pretending to like someone's cooking or dresses or shoes. It is also about pretending to love someone. Pretending about the fact that a certain person is very important, or pretending to be grateful even! 

Small things, small stories tell me how people love to pretend, till their work gets done. I lived very close to the school, and for fourteen years my house was like a telephone booth, a first aid center, a lost and found box and even a "My daughter needs that thing right now" place. Besides giving my classmates a place to wait if they missed their transport back home, my mother provided tiffin to so many girls in my school that it is not even funny. And she did it gladly. A phone call from some tensed parent and she would calm them down and assure them that she would take care of everything. My father even went out of his way to go and drop a few classmates of mine, home, because they missed their transport, and their daddies were too "busy" to come and pick up their own daughters! 

Mothers used (yes USED it is) my house to wait for their daughters to come back from tuition classes, without even thinking that we might have some work to do, and need to go out. They did  not even have the courtesy to ask! 

My father being a gazetted officer, could attested mark sheets and other official documents. He would gladly do it, without much fuss. Naturally, he was taken advantage of. People came with 10-20 copies of their mark sheets and expected my father to sit and sign them all. And being the person he is, my dad did it, till he grew sick and tired of it and stopped bringing his office stamp home. 

We helped everyone gladly, firstly because helping is something good and we should always do things which make us and others feel good. But then is it too much to expect that these people would have a minimum courtesy to feel grateful? Express their gratefulness by at least staying in touch? No sooner did school get over than I lost touch with every one. Now true that I am not a very social person, but then I at least smile at the people I know when I see them here and there! I wonder what are people made of? Is this natural to behave this way? to forget once the work gets done? Doesn't it hurt them somewhere deep down? Don't they have something called the heart? Or at least a conscience? 

I don't know whether I should be grateful for not being like all those I have mentioned above. I mean it must be much easier not to feel anything at all. Not to bear the burden of being ungrateful. Not to have any emotions or memories to make them sad. I am sure it must have been easier... Unfortunately I was born with a heart!

About Books and Reading Again

I happened to come across this. Generally I ignore such buzzfeed lists, but then this one was about the stages of a “book addict”, so I decided to glance through it.

Yes reading is an addiction, true and as I go through this list I realise I have gone through most of these stages. I have bought a book on a whim either because everyone was talking about it or because no one was talking about it. And I swear most of the times, I liked those books which few people talked about, or cared to read. But then may be people around me hardly read good books.

Then comes the next stage where either I am hooked on to the book and don’t want to put it down, or it is one of those books which you want to beat your head with because you bought it. I had also sometimes taken the responsibility of promoting the book I like among the people around me. I remember how I went around telling each and every one I knew to buy and read Shantaram.  Sadly very few people enjoyed it. I spent hours trying to figure out why they did not like this book, but then someone told me, “It is such a fat book…” After that I gave up thinking. I knew the reasons.

When I like a book, every idle minute seems like a minute wasted. I remember how I regretted not carrying The Little Prince to school, because there were free periods when I could have read pages.  But I agree the best reading happens may be after 11 PM. True, it is very annoying when so many people looks at you bewildered because you are reading a book while waiting for a bus or travelling in a metro.

Then when you are almost towards the end of the book, comes in the dilemma. I mean I know the book is so good that I am going to miss reading it once I am done with it, but then again, I want to know how it ends. This happened with me while I was reading A Palace of Illusions.

Drifting to the world of the book happens to me often, and then getting attached to the characters of that book. Feeling their pain, being sad for them, being happy in their happiness, Feeling their longing, their love. And then the change in opinion about a character as the story advances. Like I am almost done with Cuckold now, and I felt so many things for Maharaj Kumar and so many things for Kausalya (No I won’t go on about them over here. I don’t plan to write about the book in bits and parts in all my posts.).

I am sure some of you will be able to connect to this list and appreciate it may be. But what is sad is very few people read these days. And I will tell you what is sadder. People buy well known books, so that they can just flaunt it. Ask them to talk about it, and they would become very busy. And what hurts "book addicts" like us is the fact that we lend books happily, to encourage reading, but then people either don't return those books or return them after soiling them beyond recognition. For Heaven's sake, when would they understand that books are like a part of the heart we are giving out?!  I think they never will... Facebook-ing and texting and shopping and other trivialities are more important. When I ask my students to write about their favourite authors and books, they look at me blankly. My heart aches…

My Experiences As A Teacher

About two months ago, a paranoid mother called me up to say that she needed my help. She needed me to teach her daughter. She was sure that the kid would not pass her final exams and wanted me to teach her English.

I did not know how I would be of any help. I mean yes I can teach her English but then that doesn't mean that I can assure her mother that her daughter will pass the examination. I did not know her level of intelligence and how much hard work she could put in. And with just a month to go, I was a little sceptical about taking her up. However, since we were sort of related, I agreed to teach her and help her as much as I could.

The kid was not as unruly as her mother had portrayed her to be.  She was a talkative soul and a little bit fidgety. She loved to ask questions about anything and everything she saw in my room and had an uncommon interest for old coins. No doubt we connected soon enough. Being a children lover, it wasn't much of a task for me to get her to like me. Once that was done, I knew she would listen to me. 

We worked hard, her and me for one whole month. She is an obedient child and listened to everything I asked her to do. Many things she did not like, but she would do it because I demanded of her. Like writing with a fountain pen and writing neatly. Making her understand the prose and poetry was not much of a task. She was a fast learner there. She grasped the text pretty soon and did not have much trouble answering questions from them. Grammar was her weakness and the worst thing was she was scared of it. So I knew I had to overcome a big hurdle there. I had to get the fear out of her.

Slowly and steadily she started getting a grasp of the prepositions and the adverbs and the conjunctions (She was actually good with the conjunctions.). We had a hard time trying to understand the tenses. No matter what I did, she failed to differentiate between the present tense, the present perfect and the present perfect continuous. I scolded her, I drew tables for her. I made her repeat after me. But whenever I stopped, she would look at me blankly, and just could not understand the difference. After repeated tries for about forty-five minutes, we were like in a trance. I was going on saying the same thing and she would just repeat after me. I stopped halfway, to give it one last try, and I was surprised that even though she was tired and frustrated, she could finally differentiate between the tenses. She had not realised that I had stopped and went on on her own. When she saw me smiling, she understood that she had done what had seemed impossible about an hour ago. All her frustrations and tiredness vanished and even though she had tears in her eyes, her tear stained face lit up with a smile, and that was the most priceless smile ever.

I felt the warmth of it and realised the joy of giving. The wonderful feeling which comes with the realisation that I have done something for someone. I could make her understand something she feared to explore, and she was thankful for that. I knew I have touched her heart, when she said, “The tenses don’t seem that difficult any more.” What more can I ask for?

Just a day before her exams, I had given her a revision test, and she faired quite well.  When I told her that she should keep studying like this, she very innocently said, “Oh I haven’t studied at all. I just remembered what you have taught earlier and answering this test seemed very easy.” I knew then I had hit the right chords.

My added gift was that her mother had developed a faith in me, and believed that only I could make her daughter study and make her do well. Quite an achievement no?  I know, this faith would demand a lot of hard work on my part, but then when it comes with these small added perks of love and thankfulness from the kid, I am willing to put in my 100 percent.

Teaching as I have understood requires a lot of commitment and patience. May be even more than parenting. When we are parenting a child, we mostly tend to do it carefully because that thing out there is our blood and flesh. So a bit of commitment comes out of that I guess. But then again we have parents like these, so I won’t comment much. Teaching requires a bit of extra care may be because we are signing up for someone else’s child. Someone who is just starting to know us. We are taking that child’s responsibility and promising her parents that we would take care of her studies. Making a child love us, attach to us and listen to us, requires a lot of patience and hard work. The child needs to see that we as teachers really care for her and then the rest won’t be much difficult. Most important is that we should learn to love the kid first.

A teacher leaves a strong impression on her students and hence being a teacher calls for changing or at least controlling a lot of our own habits. Smoking in front of a student leaves a bad impression of us on that child. Children pick up bad habits very soon. If the teacher picks her nose while she is teaching, they will start doing the same. If the teacher is cluttered with her notes and books, the child will pick that up. If the teacher keeps checking her phone while teaching, the child will learn that paying attention to one thing at a time is not really important. So when we take up teaching, it is not only the particular subject that we are taking the responsibility for. We are taking up the responsibility of the child’s overall development; as a better human being.

Rest assured if you can reach out to the child, there is no other job as satisfying as this one I guess. As a teacher of mine, who has been teaching for the last thirty three years keeps telling me, “It is a job where you are the boss and you don’t have to call anyone ‘Sir’. Everyone calls you ‘Sir’.” I am sure after all the hard work that a teacher needs to put in; s/he deserves to enjoy that privilege. I have just started, and since I am quite enjoying this profession, I hope to touch some more lives and do something for some souls. Leave a small mark may be after I am gone. That is the hope which keeps me motivated and going, and of course that priceless smile. Something I will remember for a long long time to come. I hope to get many more such smiles down the years.

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Due to some silly and some not too silly problems, I removed my last post titled, "A warm Thank You And A Request". I will put that up may be next month, when my blog will be four months old. That will be on the 9th of April. Till then do keep reading and keep me enthused with your comments and visits. 

A Book And A Few Things About Love Again

I was musing about love again, and reading Cuckold opened many more new avenues in my mind. In Cuckold, I came across different kinds of love. Maharaj Kumar’s love for Leelavati. How he treats the small kid as her sister and loves her with all his heart. He considers her as his only connection with Sumitra: his sister whom he lost at a very young age to a deadly infectious disease.

We come across Maharaj Kumar’s love for his sister, Sumitra, whom he still remembers and aches for after so many years of losing her. The wound has healed but the last memories of her is still very strong in his mind. How he hated to sit beside his sister when she was on her death bed, yet could not leave because he knew she needed him. How he hated to see his sister die in front of his eyes, yet could not turn his face away. Made me wonder, is it possible to love someone so much, that we do things which we actually hate to do? May be loving is doing things for others which make them happy, and not really thinking about my happiness. May be someday I would be able to love like that.

Then there is Kausalya, Maharaj Kumar’s dai. This character intrigued me the most (well I haven’t finished the book yet. So I must say, so far.). She breast fed the Maharaj Kumar, thrashed him, when he needed it. Looked after him like a mother, loved and protected him throughout, and introduced him to sex as well. Can we imagine such a woman living around us? Very rare no?  Maharaj Kumar realises his depth of love and yearning for his “mother, guide, protector, friend, confidant and lover” much later in life when he thinks he had lost her. The most precious moment for Kausalya, I think was when, Maharaj Kumar lies down on her sore ugly distorted body and says, “I will never let you go away.”

It hurts me to see how much Maharaj Kumar yearns for his own wife. How much he wants her to love him back. He just can’t do anything that would make her love him. It is sad how he tries everything, from praying to the goddesses to beating her up, but in vain. He just can’t accept the fact that his wife could be married to the “blue God”. It is more difficult for him to accept this may be because, he love Krishna as well. He loved Krishna in all forms and all his ages. He grew up listening to stories about Baal Gopal and reading about the grown up Krishna. He often wondered about Krishna’s varied character and more often than not connected with him. Of all the Gods, Krishna was the closest to him and easier to reach out, and now his wife claimed to be married to that God. It was difficult for him to accept that.

To soothe his heart aches he tried to get satisfaction from the washer man’s wife, Sunheria.  Though he wanted the relationship to be only sexual, he got many other pleasures from her. Suheria could put him to sleep, could ease his pain, could talk to him, and somewhere he thought, Sunheria understood him more than his wife could ever do.  He loved her too… For making him believe that he needed to let go off his worries and sorrows at times. For making him realise that, “Self-pity is an indulgence one cannot afford.”

Then there was the princess. Maharaj kumar’s wife. The poor thing couldn't help it. She understood her husband’s pain. She tried her best to make him happy. She did the little she could. But at the same time she knew she could not do any more. How could she do anything more than that? She was betrothed to someone else. She loved him and was dedicated to him. She was forced to marry Maharaj Kumar as no one understood her love for the Blue God. She wrote letters to the Blue God, complaining about his ignorance towards her. She sang songs for him. She was not even concious about her actions when she sat in front of him to pray. Her love for Krishna was something which I would call pure in the truest of the meaning. She worshipped him, loved him and was married to him. The relationship was so pure that she failed to understand why her husband was upset with her and why everyone called her names. She cried out to Krishna and asked him to protect her honour. Such deep was the trust that she knew that she would be protected. Her love, her Blue God would come to her and take care of everything. Take away all her sorrows and make the "Blue Sun" shine. 

I will probably write more about the book later, when I am done with it. It surely deserves an individual blog post and a much longer one.

Love is like a mirage I think. It is an impression we want to hold on to for as long as we can. It is like a belief that keeps us going. It is like the first shower after the scorching summer. When we can’t find that love where we expect it the most, we feel helpless. We look around desperately try all measures and means to find it and get it.  What we forget is that love is not possessing someone; it is all about giving the person we love as much freedom as they want… It is all about making that person happy, enjoying moments with him, understanding the person, passing through difficult times together and looking forward to spending happy times together.

Some people are born with the capacity to love. To love with a warm heart, anyone who seems to touch their heart. Leave an impression on them. But it is sad how these are the people who don’t get the love back most of the times. The fault or the shortcoming is not with them. It is the incapability of the greater mass to understand such depth and seriousness and take that love. To enjoy the privilege. It is however sad that these people don’t feel the loss. They are not capable of understanding the importance of love may be. It is sad how the world is full of these trivial people: People who would live their trivial lives with a pit of emptiness at the bottom of their stomach, and try to make themselves feel important by going to “happening” parties and buying smart gadgets, Only to realise when it is too late, that someone somewhere loved them deeply and wanted something good to happen to them. But by then it is too late and all they can do is sigh and wish that their minds worked differently when they were younger and when there was still time.

The First Time I...

...climbed that big mango tree in my grandfather’s DPL quarter. My mother looking for me all over the house but in vain. My cousins and I, sitting huddled up around grandma and listen to ghost stories in those stormy dark nights. Playing with kalu and Bholu(My grandfather's pet roadatians). Force feeding them. Giving them baths. The wait for Poila Baishak. ( Bengali New year). The thrill of getting new clothes. Me and my cousins fighting over which dress which one of us would take.

Fighting battles with daddy. Playing the brave soldier. Travelling on his shoulders and feeling like the princess. Feeling the warmth of his hug. Using a camera for the first time. Making daddy pose like a model. My first Diwali. Lighting a cracker, while daddy holds my hand steady…

Requesting grandpa to get our favourite biscuits. Stealing raw mango pickles on a hot summer afternoon. Going to Durgapur barrage during monsoon and watching the water roar and rage as the gates of the barrage were opened. Shouting in the wind and hearing our voices crack. Getting drenched in the rain and doing that awkward dance with my parents watching. The first taste of the hot tea and feeling all grown up.

Holding my new born brother in my hands. Looking at his extremely tiny fingers and toes and wondering if he is human. Watching him sleep. Feeding him at times. Holding that tiny feeding bottle in my hand as he sucks at it. Looking at him with wonder. Feeling his tiny fingers curling around mine as he falls asleep. Feeling that first tinge of jealousy, on realising that I will have to share my mommy and daddy.

My first day at school. Wearing that white and blue uniform and going to school, holding daddy’s hand. My first class teacher, Ms. Disilva. Her kind eyes. soft hands, patting my cheek. My first friend in school. The first time I share my tiffin with someone.  My first medal in sports. The first time I perform on stage, with make up on.

Romping over MAMC township with my cousin. Learning to swim. Making up stories for each other. Going out for picnics. Cooking our first lunch. Building a tent for ourselves. Learning to ride a cycle. Falling down, scrapping our knees. Consoling each other. Staying awake all night and giggling over silly things. Starting to write our first journals...

My first love. That thrill of going to meet him secretly. My first pillion bike ride. The smell of those letters. My first rose, my first secret trip. The first puff of a cigarette.  Stealing money from daddy’s wallet to buy the love a birthday gift. First heart break. First tears for someone who meant a lot. Realising for the first time that love is a chimera and it passes…

My first trip on a plane. Feeling that first rumble in the stomach as the plane takes off. Looking at the clouds from so close. My first view of the mountains. My first trek up the Khardungla Pass. The first sip of Whisky with daddy on a cold night in Ladakh...

First day in college. Feeling grown up. Staying away from home. Taking up responsibilities, making mistakes. Learning from them. Losing my heart again. Meeting some wonderful teachers. Getting the wonderful opportunity of celebrating my 20^th birthday with a teacher singing to me on a silent night in the hills.  Joining the SFI. Going on marches. Standing for the students’ union elections. Winning it. Becoming the Class representative. Being a senior. Convincing juniors to vote for SFI. Attending meetings. The first puff of Marijuana. Getting drunk getting stoned. Being irresponsible. Learning from the mistakes. Promising never to walk that path again.

My first view of the Chennai sea. Connecting with him. Falling in love with nature. first road trip with my friends. Exploring new places. The first joy of sitting with someone on the rocks by the shore and sipping beer, looking at the moon. First time in Auroville. Experiencing the peace of mind. My first job. That first smell of money earned by myself. Giving someone something with my own money. The first joy of financial independence. Setting up my own flat. First failure. First setback. That sense of losing everything... Facing a blockade... Starting from the start again.

Watching myself growing up. Standing in front of the mirror at the age of 23 and promising to be responsible and serious. Looking back and laughing at my own silly self, smiling at the good old memories and trying to bury the horrid past. After all it is all about letting go and moving on… doing new things and creating fonder memories…

Being Naked is Being Liberated

A poster in one of the anti-rape marches organised in Delhi, after the Delhi gang-rape, said: “My body is my Property.” Another one said, “Just because I show my legs, doesn't mean I spread them.”  A third one said, “Don’t you dare tell me what to wear, tell him not to stare. My body is not public property.” The most interesting one was: “I can walk the street naked if I want, but you can’t rape me. I am a liberated, self–respecting woman.”

We are the liberated women of a liberated country. We understand freedom and rights and shout for them. We call ourselves “self-respecting women” but we can’t act like one. Why would a “self-respecting” woman want to, or even think of roaming the streets showing her legs? And if she thinks it is her ‘right’ to show her legs or whatever, why should she shout and protest when a man’s body reacts to a natural urge? Sure, a gentleman won’t lech at or try to rape a girl who is walking past him half naked. But the fact of being aroused by naked bodies unless they are entirely ugly is biological. It is nothing short of cruelty to condemn men for it.  It is like calling women dirty because they menstruate!

Why would a woman like to flaunt her near-naked body and call it ‘liberation’? Liberation from what, I wonder? One reason can be seeing women in the household being oppressed for years. May be they are tired of seeing mothers being beaten up. Not being allowed to do what they want. That suppressed anger might have come out this way. If they can’t stand up against their fathers and brothers, they choose to show their freedom by dressing how they want to.  And they call themselves liberated.

They call it ‘protest against gender bias’ too. If that is so, why are there so few protest marches against female infanticide and ‘arranged’ marriage and in favour of education for the girl child and better opportunities for women in business and politics? Is it that women are by and large incapable of talking about serious things or is it that liberation and equality for them is only about being able to dress how they want to? Why do women need to be vulgar to call themselves liberated (and if they are so keen on their own rights, why would they not accept that others, both male and female, have a right to call them vulgar if they want to?) What happened to claiming equal job opportunities? What happened to saying proudly that I stand equal to a man, because I am equally educated (why are there so few women mathematicians and writers around, even after at least three generations of ‘education’)? And what happened to general human sympathy – remembering that people suffer for reasons other than being women too, and speaking up for their rights sometimes?

As a kid I was always asked to study well, to read a lot of books. I was told, if I am not educated, it won’t be easy for me to get my due respect. Today when I see that “respect” can be gained and measured by the way I dress, or rather my freedom depends on the length of my dress, I wonder, did I waste my time reading all those books? May be I would have been respected much more if my parents had taught me to show my legs to random strangers on the street. Fact: I am still young, and not quite ugly myself!

It is ironical how women from a lower economic strata (e.g. the household helps), buy clothes which cover them decently, whereas women who have loads of money buy clothes that barely cover them. And I have been told, the shorter the dress, the costlier it is. So can I safely say that, decency and self-respect is inversely proportional to the economic strata we belong to? Also these women, from the lower income group have learnt to feed themselves and be independent from a very young age. Something the so called “decent, educated, independent” women can’t even imagine.

Being a woman, I am ashamed to say that I belong to a clan who call themselves civilised but don’t behave like one. When I see women claiming their ‘right’ to roam around near-naked, I wonder: are we going back to the Stone Age? Not wearing too many clothes was normal back then. Only they did not call it liberation or being smart.

Why does a woman need to go around showing her legs and other ‘assets’ on the street? If she doesn't enjoy the way the ‘pervert’ looks at her, she would take care to cover herself as much as she can, or is it that she enjoys that gaze, but cannot honestly say so, and cannot handle it when men ‘over-react’? Is it about the attention she is getting? Is it that she knows that she can’t get that attention in any other way? If so, why can’t she accept it? Why does she feel the need to cover it with a veil of protest? These same women usually cover themselves from head to toe when they stand in front of their fathers and brothers and husbands and teachers because ‘they don’t like it’. Do they forget that there are decent men out there who don’t like to see near-naked bodies of women being publicly flaunted? If women don’t care about what others feel, they shouldn’t shout and expect others to care about their feelings. Should they?

 The offended feminists would say that they are ‘intelligent women with personalities’. So they can do and wear what they want. Men should look at their personalities and not their bodies. I would say, women with personality don’t need to display their bodies. Mamata Banerjee doesn’t need to.  Damayanti Sen doesn't need to. They know they can attract any intelligent or even ordinary men by just their personality. They know if they talk, people will listen. When they walk, men won’t be raping them with their eyes. They will be looking up to them with respect and awe.

Yes I agree that this is a free democratic country, and women can dress the way they want to. But then it is wicked to arouse men and then curse them for it, and very stupid to then complain, “Men only think of us as bodies.” That is what we asked for. If the body is visible to such a great extent, what else can a man think us to be? That is what we wanted when we decided to come out on the street wearing that almost nothing. Why complain now?

Why don’t decent men feel this urge to go about naked except for a very small pair of shorts? Why don’t they call it a restriction on their “freedom”? Because, they don’t want to arouse women so commonly. And also because they consider it vulgar.

J.K. Rowling very rightly said, “Women… they pee in herds.” They literally do so. When I was in school, I used to see three of my classmates going to the wash room together. I wondered how can they all need to relieve themselves at the same time? But then somebody explained how it was necessary because they had the “best quality conversation” there. I used to think it was a teenage thing, but then I saw the same thing happening in college and also when I started working. It may still be acceptable in school, but when women in their mid-twenties and thirties do the same thing, I can’t help but considering it to be a sickness. A sickness to copy each other. Be exact mirror images. That is how wearing almost nothing is “so in”. That is why protest marches shouting for “liberty” and “freedom” is cool. And then they talk about individuality. It would do them some good if they cared to look up the meaning of the word first. No?

We live in a country where the girls, who were once daddy’s darlings, suddenly start becoming a liability, once they cross the age mark of 22. The parents dedicate all their time in searching for the perfect groom for their perfect daughters, and if the daughter is smart enough to find her ‘soul mate’, the parents are after the girl to get her married off. Surprisingly most girls succumb to that family pressure as well. They say they don’t want to get married, but a few tears from the mother and a fake pains in the heart from the dad, and the girl is ready to get married. Independence, freedom, liberation and all those strong words are packed in the suitcase and sent along with the girl to the house of the in laws, to be brought out again, when she will realise that marriage is actually a very serious issue which she can’t deal with. It is better to walk the protest marches rather…

I have recently heard that being able to talk about the vagina aloud now makes women “liberated”.  Poor-Box production is coming out with a play called “Vagina monologues” where five “wow women” talk about “discovering, celebrating and protecting their bodies.” Excuse me for saying this, but women don’t need to ‘discover’ their bodies. Girls do that. (If these women are mothers, I’d like to know what advice they give their own daughters).They don’t need to write a play and spend so much money to celebrate their bodies in public and if they can celebrate their bodies, they don’t need to shout about its protection. If we call ourselves women, we should try to act like one. Where did ideas of privacy, dignity and self-possession go? Is it all about how many ‘likes’ you get on Facebook, and whether you are mentioned on page three, whether you are 15 or 55?

Also, it is funny how we live in a society where women shout about being liberated, but talking about sex and about wanting it with men one loves is still a very big taboo. I have already at this age encountered far too many women who are hypocritical even with themselves: ‘Oh, I don’t think of him that way!’... and how offended they are when they are told their hypocrisy is showing! We can roam around half naked in order to be ‘admired’, but sex should be hushed up, kept under covers and giggled over only while reading Fifty Shades of Gray.  The problem with far too many so-called ‘liberated’ women even today, I think, is that they are far too nyakaa as they say in Bengali (‘coy’ comes close in English, but not quite) to deal with the world on really mature terms, regardless of their age, education and careers. I can’t help but agree with my mum when she sighs and says, “Dark ages are coming. The way some women are overdoing things, soon the government would make it compulsory that women should stay under the veil.” If the feminists are not listening, I would say, for the good! And it is more than strange that while in Iran women are fighting for the right not to wear the veil, in France Muslim women were recently fighting for the right to wear it. What do women want?

People

Over the weekend I was helping Sir with the admissions of the new batch of students. For those of you who don’t know about the madness we faced, read it over here. It is almost the same every year. I won’t talk about this yearly madness and hysteria and repeat what Pupu had already said. Just that over the years, the numbers of students as well as the weirdness of the parents have increased.

I will be talking about my experiences with people. I encountered at least 200 parents over two days, and I met all kinds: the polite ones, the arrogant for no reason ones, the good hearted ones, the “my son is so smart” ones, the hyper ones, the no non-sense ones and the ones who argue without logic and in vain.

The admissions were supposed to begin from 10 in the morning. Some parents were waiting from 7 in the morning! I empathise with the poor kids. I know how irritating it is to wake up early in the morning and especially when it is technically still winter! These are the early birds by the way. They come with the hope of catching the worm, and yes they do so too. They get to choose the best convenient batches for their kids and happily go home relieved. I would put them in the hyper ones category too. They worry too much. For the good maybe. But then waiting there for three hours? What is the point? They could come half an hour before and still catch the worm.

As soon as we opened the gates, a father came rushing to me with a notepad in hand. He gave me the notepad and with a kind but nervous smile said, “These are the boys who will be admitted today.” He had listed fourteen names and thought he could get all the fourteen admitted at once, all by himself. I was so overtaken by his good helpful heart that I had difficulty telling him that we needed all the 14 parents and the boys to be present there. When I finally told him that, he seemed a bit disappointed, but very kindly apologised and said that he would immediately call them and ask them to come over. In my list, he falls under the polite as well as the good hearted ones. I mean, look at him. So kind. So rare.

One very common thing was that, the parents did not bring along their son or daughter. For heaven’s sake, this does not require much brain or logic! They are the ones who would get admitted, not the parents. They would choose the batches. They would read the rules. But of course, how can they come over for even one hour? They have their final exams going on. No not even the board exams. Just the ones which we have to take to get promoted from class 8 to class 9. I wonder what they did all the year round that they can’t even spare one hour for something which they consider so important. I don’t remember studying so much and so hard ever in my life and I was not one of those brainy kids either, and I still sailed through school and college. Either the kids have become unusually dumb or the exams are really tough these days.

Then there was this mother who after looking at the choices of batches, came over to me and said, “Batch four for now.” I tried explaining to her that she can’t decide to put her son in one batch “for now” and then request for a change in mid-session. She was too arrogant to listen (I don’t know where her arrogance came from though.).  She cut me off mid-sentence and said, “My driver is not available on that day. I can’t help it. Sir will have to change my son’s batch. I will make him do it. I did that during my daughter’s time too. And if he doesn't, my son will discontinue from his coaching. Not a big deal!” I was shocked by her arrogance, overwhelmed by her confidence and irritated by her attitude. I sat there gaping at her. Yes I did that. With my mouth open, I stared at her wide eyed. Obviously she was blinded by her own aura to notice me.  Clearly she falls in the arrogant ones category.

While the parents were waiting for their turn to come, I overheard one mother telling another, “My son is so smart; he takes his maths exam by himself.”  Yes of-course she deserves to be proud of her son. Who takes their own exams “by themselves”?  We used to hire people to take exams for us. Hence we passed. Otherwise, our futures would have been in the gutters.

The evenings were the most entertaining as well as tiring. Every child and parent wanted the Sunday batch. Some wanted it because their darling daughters can’t come to tuition without her friends. Some wanted it because then daddy could become the driver. Some wanted it because they stayed too far away (Yes, I don’t know how the distance will be reduced because it is a Sunday.). Naturally, by evening the Sunday batch was full. Some parents were reasonable enough to understand that and choose from the remaining three batches. Some would request in a meek voice with a small light of hope that something could be done. And some would just argue. With us and with Sir as well. As we were trying to explain to one father that Sunday batch is just not available and we could do nothing and there was no point bothering Sir with it, he thought we were not “allowing” him to talk to Sir (I was a little happy inside, because after all he thought I was the boss, and I decide who Sir talks too. I tell you, it is rare that people think of me that way.). In spite of all our tries to explain to him, that there was actually no point, Sir could not help it; he went inside and called for a tongue lashing from Sir. Firstly, for talking to us like that, and secondly for not listening (very few people listen these days, anyway.). This same nagging for the Sunday batch happened repeatedly and every time it got on our nerves, Sir would help us with his most needed stern warnings to the parents. If Sir’s tuition and Sir is so important to anyone, they shouldn't have any problem coming to any batch right? Five years ago, I did not have to nag and haggle and cry and argue.  It just took me five minutes to sign and pay the fees and get out of there.

One father however had a strange reason for wanting the Sunday batch so badly. “My daughter can come to your tuition only by car, and that car is available only on Sunday,” he said. (I gave another of my mouth opened, eyes wide expression.) Also he had the guts to tell this to Sir. Someone, who travelled all his childhood and most of his youth by public transports, Travelled in an A.C compartment for the first time when he was going for his honeymoon, travelled by a car only when he could afford to buy one himself, and never felt the need to send his daughter by car to school or any tuition (Pupu stays in Kolkata now and comes over almost every weekend by bus all by herself to spend time with dad. She is just two years older than this man’s daughter.). I wonder are the kids more nyaka these days or is it the parents who would never allow them to grow up? And then these parents would go out of Sir’s place (after admitting their child anyway), and say, “Suvro Sir is so rude.” Really now! Don’t you think you called for that rudeness? Try talking to him politely and reasonably, you would get the same reception.

 Most of Sir's "friends" who haven't spoken to him for like some 20-25 years, suddenly remember him when their sons and daughters need to be admitted in his tuition. Sir, being the gentleman he is, would smile and treat them quite well. However it became awkward, when those "friends", would come and tell Pupu how he had seen her as a kid and how she played in his lap. Pupu looked at them blankly and gave them a fake smile. That is all they deserved I tell you. It is strange how selfish, people can be. They just remember even their friends only when they need them. They are not even ashamed to come and ask for a favour after not even acknowledging Sir if they happen to pass by him. And then it is Sir who becomes rude, when he refuses to give them a special favour. 

Then there were Sir’s present students from class 10, who had come over to help us. They were our comic relief. One of them, a really smart but humble soul, was so excited every time she saw a car stopping in front of the house, that she would jump up and run towards the gate, shouting, “Look look more students are coming!” No sooner did a parent park his bike, than she would hand him a token and very seriously ask, “Yes, what is the student’s name?” Good for her and for us that the parents did not start thinking that she was handing them parking tokens.

Another one made us laugh and forget our irritations by blatantly passing comments about how fat a dad was or how ugly a girl was, or how short and small a boy was for his age. The best part was she had found at least six dadas cute. She just could not decide who was cuter, and who the cutest. However Pupu pulled the trump card here. We were talking about a certain girl in her school whom she did not like. While commenting on that girl’s nature, she said, “She is nothing more than a fox.”(For my Bengali readers, Khyanksheyal is the exact word she used.) Unfortunately she was staring towards the gate, and her loud uttering of the fox reference, coincided with a father entering. It seemed like she was calling the poor father a fox. I don’t know if he heard her, but if he did, he would surely warn his son/daughter to stay away from Sir’s daughter and all his ex-students.

Coming across all these people was fun, but then it felt strange. Five years ago(it still feels like yesterday though) I was on the other side of this table. I had come over to get admitted, and I was honestly happy, that I had come to a teacher who was not grumpy. He definitely was not rude, like most of my classmates told me, and he was very polite and kind and patient. Now when I am on the other side of the table, I know what it feels like. I know why Sir is rude with some. I know why Sir shouts at some and I know exactly why he is polite and kind to most.

I hope that at least some kids who got admitted, would some day be lucky enough to enjoy what several of us, male and female, 15 to 28, got to enjoy today-- Sir's ability to make us feel comfortable and good around him even while we were working, his own  daughter and us all together. Any ex student of his can get it if s/he wants it, I think: all it needs is a genuine desire to get close to Sir without hangups, which he himself makes terribly easy, actually. If anyone is missing out on that, it's entirely their fault. They never reached out the right way.

When people we know for years can stop talking to us or cut us off completely without any reason, complete strangers can surprise us. Two weeks ago while I was coming home from Sir’s place by bus, I had offered my seat to an elderly man. He was very pleased and we had a conversation. Yesterday, he had come over to my place. He remembered me, took the pain to find out my house and come and pay me a visit. He brought me a small gift too. That was really heart-warming and very sweet of him. Rarely do we meet nice people these days, who mean it when they say that they like you. I am glad that I have been lucky to come across this rare category of nice people in my life. People like my dad, my Sir and this gentleman. And to all those Women, who shout and say, "Men are pigs, lechers and rapists!", I would say, they attract such men towards them. I pity such women. They are deprived from this happiness of basking in the love and care of wonderful men. 

 I have lost track of the categories long back. I think, as you read about the people I have talked about, you can mentally categorise them anyway. It is fun doing that I assure you. Enjoy!

The Dog I Never Had

When I got a job, I was excited about a number of things. What topped my list was that I would get a dog. I have my own house now, so no one could stop me from getting a pet. With the salary of a journalist, I obviously could not buy a pet, so I decided to adopt one.

I was staying in Delhi then, and considering the number of animal rights NGOs around, it wasn't much difficult, finding an adoption centre. My first visit was quite depressing. A building full of abandoned dogs. Some suffering from serious physical ailments. Others very depressed and looking at you with longing eyes.

As the volunteer there was showing me around, I came across this huge Great Dane. Something in his eyes drew me towards him. As I patted him on the head, he put his head on my lap and licked my palm. He won’t let me get up. He had the advantage of the weight and the height and hugged me with all his strength. I had made my decision then. Bosco was coming home with me.

There were some complications regarding the adoption procedure, since I was staying alone, and the NGO was sceptical about Bosco staying all by himself for nearly 7-8 hours a day. But the dog’s instant liking towards me and his attachment with me, acted in our favour and they trusted me and let me have Bosco.

We were a happy couple. Bosco and I.  He was a funny dog. I had put a mattress for him, but he refused to sleep there. Every night, he would come over to my room, get on my mattress, push me out of it and sleep there. And if I tried to push him back, he would put a paw on me and sleep there as if cuddling me. He won’t eat unless he saw me eating. So we would have dinner together. He was highly protective of me, and won’t let even my friends come in to our apartment unless I told him that they are harmless people, and I loved them. I even had to hug my electrician to let him in.

I don’t know if Bosco picked it up from me, but he loved smoking. Surprised? Well, not really smoking, but he would eat up my cigarettes, if he found them. He would carefully eat the tobacco and throw the butt away. It was funny, but then there were chances of him spoiling his liver, so I couldn’t let him smoke. To save a pet, I lost a smoking partner.

He would chat with my friends too. If I would leave the chat window open, Bosco would slyly come up to my laptop and randomly press buttons with his paw. My friends knew it was bosco sending his greetings across.

 One major problem was leaving Bosco alone all day. He was an understanding dog, and would happily bid me goodbye when I left for office, but my neighbours told me, he would stand in the balcony all day, looking expectantly. Waiting for me to come back. He was lonely. And for those of you who know how dogs are, they feel lonelier than we humans do. Depression attacks them, sooner than it attacks humans. 

They are deeper than we human beings are and they feel much more strongly than we do. In six months’ time, I saw Bosco becoming quieter. He was not the same cheerful dog any more. He would sit in one corner of the house, with his head between his paws. He refused to go for his walks and then slowly stopped eating.

He started losing hair, and soon he was reduced to a thin mass. He refused to welcome my friends home. No one could come near him. He would snap and often bite. I was scared for him, and realised my mistake. I had wronged the innocent creature. I had brought him alive to deal with my loneliness and now, I had reduced him to a lonely being.

One day, as I was sitting across him, and looking at him, I could hear him talk. “Why did you bring me alive, when you had to leave me all alone?” I looked at him with tears in my eyes. His accusing eyes bore into me. “You are not lonely. You have friends. What about me? I was happy inside your head. I was happy being a figment of your imagination. Why did you have to talk about me to your friends? Why did you tell them stories about me? Now I feel real. Alive. But I have nothing to hold on to. Don’t do this, forget me. Wrap me up in your memories, like you used to do earlier. Don’t call me back.”

 I was left wondering. Is it true that he is just a figment of my imagination? But I can see him. How can it be possible? “You can see me, feel me talk to me only when you are alone. When you have nothing to do. When loneliness eats you up. Haven’t you figured that out yet?” came the reply. Yes he was right. I knew he was there, only when loneliness engulfed my heart.

I lifted my eyes to look at him, and he was gone. I ran to the kitchen to check for his bowl, even that was missing. His mattress was gone. I cried out his name. Desperately trying to convince myself that he was real. Bosco did answer to my call, but from inside my head: “you won’t find me in the house. I am there with you always, in your head. This is the only place where I can be alive. Where I am real. The sooner you accept that, the better for both of us. I am the dog you never had.”

Music... Or the Absence of It!

I happened to come across this song today. I was convinced that it is beautiful, when I thought that there is more to it.  It is peaceful.  This has happened to me before, and now that I think, it has most of the time been either  Robi Thakur or a Baul song, or the Bhajans of Lord krishna.

This song talks about Shyam too. The singer, Parvathy Baul, sings about, how it would be wise to keep the love we have for Shyam, in our heart. Locked and hidden. She represents the love for him in various forms and shows us that it is not always necessary to tell the world that you love someone as great as Krishna. Few people can understand the greatness of love after all. So it is not really worth it.

It is rare that I come across good music today. They don’t make it any more, I guess.  I remember, my brother and I grew up listening Abba and Harry Belafonte and Robi Thakur.  Our teenage years went by listening to Jim reeves, Pete Seeger, Beatles, Bob Dylan and Robi Thakur.  Now we listen to Cohen, Nina Simon, lots of Baul and Robi Thakur. Yes, that wise old man was with us through out. You just can’t do without him. He has written for every mood. He helps you get through tough times. He helps you be happier in your happy days and most importantly, he makes you think.

Kids today grow up listening to terribly disturbing songs like lungi dance and Balam pichkari and Fevicol and Sheila ki Jawani and Munni. They are made to believe that music is all about showing flat (or not so flat stomachs)and hip shaking dances. It is all about sexual innuendoes and all about ear splitting noise. I wonder, if their parents’ ever listened to any good music when they grew up, or did they decide to forget everything and call this cacophony music. I wonder.  The absence of good music makes me sad, but I guess it takes a little effort to find out such hidden gems as Parvathy Baul and Anushesh Adil and the likes. And I must say, listening to them is worth the effort.