Point Blanc

Ghorar Dim

2010-09-22T22:49:00.001-07:00

Dear Blog

I am writing this in Bengali because I want to. Sorry to people not understanding Bengali.

['Ghorar Dim' means 'Horses Eggs'.]

Accha bhaabte paaro? Ekta restaurant-e shudhu dim pawa jaaya... aar shetaai khub popular ekta restaurant? Maane India-te rastaar dhaare tumi nischoy oi stall gulo dekhecho je gulo-te omelette, egg-maggi ityaadi pawa jeto. Je rokom amra kharagpur-e Anil Da'r dokaan-e khetaam.

Kintu eikhaane, ei MAARKIN JUKTORASHTRE-y, shetaakei era 'Diner' bole chalaay. Aaj raatrei ami je bhojon kore elaam, ekta besh upmarket dim bhojon / bhokkhon-er dokaan-e khelam.

Ki khelam? Accha shono - ekta double dim-er poach - opor aar neech du dik-i bhaaja - so 'runny' eggs byapaar-taa nei. Ekhane etaake bole 'over-hard' Taa hole bujhtei paarcho 'over-soft', 'over-medium' jodi keu bole, taa hole ki bojhaabe. Amaar moto bhyabachaka hote hobe naa.

Accha dim-er sathe chilo aalu bhaaja. Paatla kore kaata aalu, halka kore bhaja. Etaa-ke ekhane bole 'hash brown'.

Aar chilo duto bacon-er strip. Naa hoy eta bongodesh-e tumi naa-o dekhe thaakte paaro.

Accha ei shob gulo'r pore aar ekta jinish chilo. Pancakes. Etaar-o kono exact bharotiyo juri neii.

Kintu jaai hok, pancakes to mishti jinish. Actual khabar taa ta hole ki daraalo? Dim aar alu bhaja. Eta khete tumi restaurant-e jaabe, kokhono bhabte paarcho? Maane kono chance aache? Nei, ami jaani. Kintu ei desh-taai e rokom. Alaada.

To ekhane surprised hoyo naa, jodi kauke shey restaurant-e ki khelo jigesh korle, shey bole: "dim-er poach aar aalu bhaja".

Jaai boli, puro byapaar-ta kintu bhalo kore serve korey. Aar pancakes gulo ghyama banaay maairi ekhaane. Sheta pore aar-o bistrito bornon kore likhbo aar ek din.

Cholo bhalo theko.

Kriti

What's up Blog!

2010-09-22T07:01:00.001-07:00

Hey Blog

How you doin'?

Well as you know I am now in SFO - spending a 3 month period of my life here. Well I did tell you a bit about all that in my last post to you, but this time - wanted to share some statistics with you.

The following one, I looked up on Sept. 11 this year.

About 3000 people died in the September 11 attacks on World Trade Center, New York ^
About 40,000 people live in Blacksburg, USA (that's where Virginia Tech is located) ^
About 230,000 people died in the Haiti earthquake, early 2010 ^

[Imagine 70 WTC towers collapsing simultaneously within 2 minutes. Or 6 towns like Blacksburg wiped out. That was the Haiti earthquake.]

OK, next one is not so grim. It is related to my love for Botanical Gardens. Loved it as a kid. Still love it. Found this one out after my visit to Golden Gate Park, SFO.

About 250 acres: Area of Botanical Gardens, Kolkata ^
About 1000 acres: Area of Golden Gate Park, San Francisco ^
About 5 million: Population of Kolkata ^
About 1 million: Population of San Francisco ^

[That means Kolkata has 5 times more people but it's biggest recreational area is 4 times smaller.]

Am curious to know if this post will reach you properly. Am sending it to you via email.

Take care.

Kriti

Chapter 2

2010-09-05T22:58:00.000-07:00

A lot of things going on recently. I traveled to Chicago to attend a truly international conference. Then came to California to do an internship. Experiencing new places, new people, new foods, new experiences. Office. Commute to office. California. Chicago. Long distance relationship. So many changes - so many things to write about. For a start, here some of my recent reflections/ observations/ experiences:

Walking at night on the roads of USA, you see many cars passing by but no people.
California food is good. Very good. Also Mexicans make curry very much like our mutton curry and rice pudding very much like our payesh.
Some people (read 'I') unwind by talking/being with their loved ones. Not having them nearby can be tough. Different time zones can make this even more difficult.
Writing comes naturally in these times.
In the real world (as compared to grad school), money is a big motivator. Commute-time to work is equally important.
The engine of a BMW is very powerful.
Driving a stick-shift is slightly more work but more fun.
Some people do not like being given directions by the GPS.
In Chicago, I had to search for places where I liked the food. In California, I have not yet found a place where I did not like the food.
A Mexican burrito can be very different from the one we eat at Moe's.
You might meet most of the first authors on the Reference list of your publication by going to an international conference.
Blue Moon beer tastes good.
It is great fun to sing along with someone playing the guitar to 'Hotel California' - even if you are reading the lyrics off the internet.
If you get lost in USA but have a laptop, check available Wireless connections. You might get an unsecured Wireless connection.
One night, in Chicago - I took a ferry ride on Lake Michigan to get a good view of the city lights. After a while, I realized that I was more attracted by a view directly opposite the city lights - the sight of the lake at night, and the dark wavy waters spreading out into a dark horizon.
You got to stay at the beach if you want to enjoy the ocean. A few hours just does not cut.
It is difficult to take good photographs on a rocking boat at night.
Chicago (and lot of central USA) is flat. Really flat.
Some people are not scared of looking down from the 110th floor of a building.
Yesterday, I walked for 45 minutes along busy roads but did not get within 20ft of another individual (except for those who were in cars whizzing by).
[Point made earlier but felt like noting it again.]
The Macbook has a clamshell mode. Fortunately.
TV has its attractions - after watching something on a large TV screen, difficult to go back to a small laptop screen.
Some good TV shows I found - Bourdain, Man vs. Food.

More later.

Oye! Get in line.

2010-06-13T10:55:00.000-07:00

The time is 1:50pm. 10 more minutes till school is out. As a school prefect, I have to excuse myself from class for dispersal duty.

Let me explain what dispersal duty is. When the school bell rings at 2, everyone is bound to make a mad rush to exit the school premises. This can be dangerous - so the dispersal must be done in an orderly fashion. Junior classes 6 and 7 leave first, then class 8 and so on. Dispersal duty prefects man important locations along the dispersal path - from corridors to stairways to exit door - and make sure the dispersal is carried out on in a disciplined fashion.

At almost all points, two lines come down the stairs, one from the left wing and one from the right. The prefects are usually at the middle of the two lines. To make sure that the lines remain separate and that there is not a mad scramble down the staircase - is the primary challenges.

I am in Class 8. I invariably am posted at one of the important locations. First the rush of Classes 6 and 7 come in. They come like a wave of foamy bubbles. With my height, I tower over most of them - and I easily pack these kids into proper lines. They try to escape but it is easy to push then back - seniority helps.

Then come my batchmates. They know me and even if I want to act tough - they will not let me. Some of them are pure villain - they want to piss me off intentionally. Some hoist the sentimentality flag - "Kriti, let me go yaar. You know how important it is that I get the first seat in the schoolbus". Some do not care whichever way - 5 minutes here and there do not matter.

By this time, the human wave is swelling. The height and average weight of the 'dispersees' has increased. I am pushed around. But I come back to my position and keep pushing people back into their lines. On my watch, not many people can break rules - it is an unpopular job but someone has got to do it.

And then come the seniors - classes 9 and 10. Some understand the need for maintaining lines (kudos to these compassionate souls). But for most, it is ridiculous that they have to obey orders from a Junior. They wear full trousers and Class 8 students have to wear shorts. The distinction is too much. The human wave knows no barrier now - the prefect is tossed and turned around. Seniors usually warn of extreme retaliation later on if we do not give in to them now. Some of the Class 8 prefects give in and just let the stampede pass. But many like me are stubborn. We resurface to face the challenge. It is a lost cause but nevertheless we do not give up.

After a few minutes of this frenzy, the wave subsides. What remains is just a trickle of lingerers - those who do not care when they get out of school. Then there are some who do not care whether they get out of school at all. We force these people out, and make sure the classrooms are empty.

The whole exercise works up quite an appetite. I wish my fellow prefects goodbye, and head back home for lunch.

----- o -------

A few days back, I suddenly happened to remember this. If I painted the picture right, you will realize that this daily routine was quite an ordeal. But 15 years later, it is now just another wonderful memory from my school-days.

A Hill Station called Blacksburg

2010-06-05T07:02:00.000-07:00

I never thought I would fall in love with the mountains.

When I was a kid, my family would make a trip about once a year. The first such trip was to Digha - a sea-beach. The trip was short - 2 days - but I was enraptured by the sea. There was something about the sea that immediately got me hooked. Moreover I was the only kid in the group - and I could get away from the elders and feel free when I was in the sea.

But we used to go to hills very often. I did not enjoy going to hills. Oh yes - it was beautiful and all that. But we would end up sitting in the car all day traveling - stay at a place with a beautiful view for a night - and then travel again next day to another beautiful sight. There were brief occasions when I could actually wander around in the mountains - never too far from the watchful eyes of accompanying parent or relative - but still I enjoyed those brief moments. The accompanying elder would take the well trodded trail while I would head into little more adventurous terrain. Alas! These moments were too short and far apart - and all in all, I did not enjoy the mountains as much as I enjoyed the sea.

And then three years ago, I came to Virginia. More precisely - Blacksburg, Virginia. Bang in the middle of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Mountains everywhere. East - West - North - South - mountains on all sides. But for most of my first one and a half years here, these mountains remained out of reach - my travels were limited to the campus, grocery store etc. Trips out of Blacksburg were mostly taken by Interstate 81. And when on these Interstates, I never got the true feel of the mountains. These roads do not wind around mountains like true mountain roads do - they just bulldoze through them.

But these mountains kept calling out to me. I remember that while taking breaks from work, I used to enjoy a particularly good view of the mountains from one end of my office building in Torgersen Hall. Over the year, I saw the hills changing color - the Greens of Summer and Spring, to the Reds and Oranges of Autumns, to the Greys of Winter - I kept on staring at the wonderful mountains. Alas - from afar!

And then things started changing. I bought a bike. Started going out into the countryside. I started exploring trails. Soon after, I got a car. Now the world opened up rapidly. Random drives led me to the most wonderful of places. One particularly memorable day was when I spotted a trailhead while driving - and ended up exploring that trail by foot for around two hours.

I realized I was hooked. I now had full access to the mountains. What I had experienced as a child was not the proper way to enjoy the beauty of the mountains. To enjoy mountains one does not (I believe) need to go to a famous point and see a beautiful sight. Rather one should get lost in the vast expanses of the mountains - and then he will begin to truly feel their true beauty.

True Love

2009-10-30T19:52:00.000-07:00

The pic below was drawn by a cousin sister of mine when she was in her 3rd grade. What really amazed me was the sensitive quote which was scribbled on it.

The transcription of the quote is below the pic.

~~~~~~~~~

A girl once asked a boy,
"Do you think I'm pretty?"
"No" replied the boy.
"Don't you want me?"
"No"
"Do you like me?"
"No.

I don't think you're pretty,

I think you're beautiful.

I don't want you,

I need you.

I don't like you,

I love you."

~true love~

A Sardar, A 'Yogi' and some Witty Comments

2009-10-11T18:35:00.000-07:00

The English weather might have been mild. But the emotions running amok in the mind of one particular member of the Indian cricketing team were far from that.

That person was unhappy over a tiff with the Captain of the team. Being the senior most member of the team, he felt he should have been treated better. In retaliation, he decided to take an extreme stand. He deserted his team and took the first flight back to India [Link]. A shameful exit from international cricket, most people thought. But luckily, the man got another chance to play for his country. And though his last stint consisted of a few good innings, when he finally retired 3 years later, it was not as if the cricketing community was in tears over his exit. A promising career had come to a damp end.

But the man had more to say. Literally, a lot more to say.

After retiring from active cricket, this man became a commentator for international cricket. There he created a niche of his own - with humorous and witty comments blended with knowledgable inputs about the game. While cricketing pundits were aplenty, these comments were unusual in the cricketing world. And soon this commentators quips became famous in India and the world.

The shamed cricketer's footwork was impeccable this time and no one was going to dislodge his wicket for a while.

The man - none other than Navjot Singh Sidhu. His comments - now collectively known as Sidhuisms. Some examples below [from this link]:

Statistics are like bikinis… what they reveal is suggestive, what they hide is essential!
In the orchard of opportunity, you cant wait for the fruit to drop.
Good intentions die unless utilized.

Personally, I find Sidhu's comeback story quite fabulous and inspiring. However, recently I read about a certain Yogi Berra, a famous baseball player and manager, and found out about his penchant for witty comments [Link]. His quotes are famous as Yogi-isms. I wondered whether this was a coincidence. Or was Sidhu just copying from Yogi's quotes. This suspicion jaded my respect for Sidhu a bit. But reflecting on the matter a few days later, and by actually comparing quotes of these two witty people, I now think that Sidhu is not plagiarizing. His ingenuity must be applauded.

To round up the article, here are some of Yogi Berra's famous quotes which are certainly worth sharing [Source: Wikiquotes].

It ain't over till it's over.
When you come to a fork in the road, take it.
Always go to other people's funerals, otherwise they won't go to yours.
Nobody goes there anymore. It's too crowded.

Image credits:

MANPREET ROMANA/AFP/Getty Images [Link]

Something, Anything.

2009-08-16T19:25:00.000-07:00

And in the Mumbai blasts,
Did any of your kin die?
Or any for whom you would shed a tear?
Would you have to skip a meal?
Or suffer damage to property?
Or have effect on monthly wages?

Then why do you say
You are affected?

You feel angry?
Sad?
Anxious?
Threatened?
You could have been there, right?
So something must be done, you say.

You are right,
Something must be done -
But what?

You say - something. Anything.
Quick action.
Strong steps.
Ban the ***,
Hang the ***,
Raid the ***,
Kill the ***.

But then.
Hundreds die
Of floods
In Bihar every year
Or in Orissa of heat
Or in Delhi of cold
And on the day of such news
You calmly sip your morning-tea
And fold the paper
And call up your son.

What then?
Isn't it ironic
That when those people
Feel threatened
And insecure;
And some rebel outfit
Or insurgent group
Promises them security,
And they follow blindly,
You call them poor illiterates.

Come to think of it,
They too are just doing something.
Something, anything.

- Kriti Sen Sharma
Image credits: http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2008/11/mumbai_under_attack.html
----------------------------------------------------
(Poem 1 of 2 written as a reaction to Mumbai terrror attack, November 2008. Read other poem here.)

Was asked by friend, Deepu George, to write in my reactions to the terror attack. He planned to read out such inputs on his radio show (aired on WUVT). These two poems were written as a result of Deepu's request. However, after writing the poems I felt that many people might take offense at my emotions about the attacks. Eight months later, I feel these poems can now be released.

Firstly, Switch off the TV

2009-08-16T19:15:00.000-07:00

Those who have lost someone of their kin, or someone close to heart, or those who have suffered loss of property in the recent tragedy in Mumbai, might find the following piece offensive. The millions of other people are requested to read on.
***

First of all,
Switch off the TV.
Don't look at the papers.

Instead
Go watch a movie
Gossip about stingy relatives
Gorge on glorious food
Or shop till you drop.

Then you will realize
You have not been affected.

And then
Before you go to sleep
Think -
Can you do something
To prevent another Mumbai
And if the answer is yes,
Get up and start working on it.

Otherwise go to sleep
And remember -
Every scared and threatened mind
Is another victory in the terrorist's tally.

- Kriti Sen Sharma
(Unaffected.
But till when?)
----------------------------------------------------
Image credits: http://www.flickr.com/photos/soumik/3062552427/

(Poem 2 of 2 written as a reaction to Mumbai terrror attack, November 2008. Read other poem here.)

Was asked by friend, Deepu George, to write in my reactions to the terror attack. He planned to read out such inputs on his radio show (aired on WUVT). These two poems were written as a result of Deepu's request. However, after writing the poems I felt that many people might take offense at my emotions about the attacks. Eight months later, I feel these poems can now be released.

Getting Things Off My Chest

2009-08-13T17:37:00.002-07:00

Someone once noted that there is a clearly proven statistical risk in driving a car. It seems car accidents have killed more people in history than did all the killing World War II. Despite that, driving remains a pleasurable activity. On certain days I cannot but agree more and more with this. When the wind brushes through your hair, and you whiz past houses, people, trees, forests, lakes and hills, it truly is an out of the world feeling. And on top of this, if the radio churns out a song which is just right for the moment, well that really makes your day.

And that was the exact feeling I had the other day. Which brings me to the main reason for this blog post. I just have to recommend this song to everyone. Hopefully not too many have heard before and would enjoy it. (Caveat: A bit guy-friendly perhaps.)

Here's the song: "Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy" by 'Big and Rich'

***

And while I am on the topic of recommendations, there are a few other recommendations I would like to get off my chest.

'Spreading the light', 'My good deed for the day'... call it what you want, good things should be shared with everyone. So here goes my list (of recommendations):

The Movie: "I Want Candy"
(Rated R for sexual content and language. British comedy.)

The Other Movie: "Remember the Titans"
(Awesome Awesome Awesome movie. For the whole family. I do not know why no one had told me about this earlier. This movie is just too good.)

The Cartoon: Series on "Economic Meltdown" by David Horsey
http://www.seattlepi.com/horsey/popupV2.asp?subID=4287&page=11&gtitle=Economic+Meltdown&pubdate=

The Powerpoint Presentation: "Impact of Social Media in Our Lives"
(Amazing presentation! Huge number of slides. But believe me... It flies away in a jiffy. Also you get to know many interesting facts about Facebook)

What the F**K is Social Media: One Year Later

View more documents from Marta Kagan.

A Field Switch

2009-07-02T15:26:00.000-07:00

So in the field of my research, I begin work on a new field.

I stay within the broad realm of 'Biomedical Imaging and Image Processing' but my topic of research shifts from the field of 'Imaging for Virology' to 'Computed Tomography (CT)'. As I begin on this path, a vast plethora of information comes up. There is information of various types - historical, business-related and technical. Historical information includes: when the CT was invented (1937), when major advances were made (1960-s by Hounsfield in EMI labs, the same company which owned the Beatles label!), and so on. Business-related info deals with leading CT scanner manufacturers (Toshiba, Marconi...), costs of various technologies etc. The technical angle translates into the literature survey, or papers I would have to read (YES.. it's pretending-to-read-the-paper-but-actually-sleeping time).

And while treading my first few steps on this path (the de facto first step was reading the Wikipedia entry), I came across a nice video (embedded below) about a group of researchers giving ideas for improving CT technology. I loved the presentation style. So I watched other videos by this group (on different techonologies) - I especially liked these two: On controlling a helicopter by neural control, On inexpensive Virtual Reality.

PS: One query for the writing gurus out there.... Is the usage of de facto in my post correct? Or would you suggest something different?

Is This India's SSN?

2009-06-25T19:36:00.001-07:00

SSN is all sacrosanct in USA. Now, India is setting up an agency to provide Unique ID (UID) numbers to all citizens.

Now considering that one of the aims of this is to provide citizens access to services like Rural Employment Guarantee Scheme (for people below poverty line), I wonder whether this is a move towards the social security structure of USA. My understanding of social security in US, and I might be technically wrong, is that the government promises to give employment, medical care, housing to all its citizens; and in this way, UID sounds similar.

One good thing about the implementations in India: Infosys co-founder Nandan Nilekani has been made head of the agency for implementing UID.

PS: Junta in US, did you know that SSN is not mandatory. People can opt out if they want to. Read more about this at the Wikipedia entry on SSN.

Why is Safari Sticking to (new) Windows?

2009-06-10T17:36:00.000-07:00

So what with the release of Safari 4, I decided to finally shift from Firefox to Safari on my Mac. On my PC, I use Google Chrome. And I dare say that Safari does not come close to Chrome in terms of the beauty of the user interface. But Chrome has not yet launched for Mac, so Safari it is for now.

Since yesterday, I was annoyed to see that in Safari, links opened up in new windows instead of new tabs. According to me this is pure sacrilege. So I Googled "safari open link in new tab" and got the solution at the bottom of a forum thread. Here it is for easier reference

1. Open terminal. Cut paste the following line:
defaults write com.apple.Safari TargetedClicksCreateTabs -bool true

2. Restart Safari. And voila. You are done.

E=mc... WHAT!!!

2009-06-10T13:09:00.000-07:00

This reporter at ITN news has found a way to travel at the speed of light. According to him, flight speed sensors in the doomed Air-France flight became defective and this might have caused two things - ONE, the plane stalled and went straight down, or TWO, the plane approached the speed of light and the plane disintegrated at that high speed.

Did he say speed of light? I think I can hear Einstein turning in his grave.

Watch this video from around the 1:10 mark.

Well, that's what you call a silly mistake. That reporter must be getting a good leg-pulling from his friends today.

Finally my sympathy lies with the victims. And what a shame for technology that days have gone by and all bodies or the filght's black box have not yet been found.

Ai Chin Can Tok

2009-06-06T08:02:00.000-07:00

Recently, I thought I should start to learn the Chinese language.

And so I Googled the keywords - "learn Chinese". Google suggested "learn Chinese in 5 minutes" and I found out the language is not so difficult after all. I am pasting the tutorial below. All you need is to speak out the tutorial loud.

Image credits: http://www.funnyjunk.com/funny_pictures/3865/Learn+Chinese+in+5+Minutes/

...which led me to this awesome awesome website which collects all these funny images. Which led me to spend zillions of mouse clicks browsing one image after another. Bad Bad PC.

Grooveshark

2009-06-02T12:10:00.001-07:00

Since Seeqpod seems to be down, I tried out Grooveshark. This is the link.

And here's a sample playlist of Yanni created on Grooveshark.

A Classic F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Scene

2009-06-02T05:22:00.000-07:00

Ross and Rachel have had their first kiss. Rachel relates the story of their kiss to her lady-friends the next day. Ross does the same, only this time, he is talking with his guy-friends. The contrast in perspectives is hillarious.

See the first few minutes of this video - and enjoy!!!
(PS: Unfortunately embedding of this video was not allowed)

Drifting

2009-06-02T05:17:00.000-07:00

Car enthusiasts would love this...

"Drifting" - this is a particular style of driving in which the driver purposefully makes the car skid while making a turn. The trick is to maintain control over the car even while doing the skid/drift.

YouTube has been promoting this over the last few days. See the following video to see how drifting is done in the nation where drifting was born - Japan (skip the first 1 minute 30 seconds, and be ready for a visual treat thereafter).

Or this explanatory pic (click to expand). Image credits: http://minizcanada.com/tech/driving.php

Baa Baa Black Ship

2009-02-20T19:52:00.000-08:00

The 2nd episode in my 3 part series on faux-pas in conversation.
(Episode 1)

At age 14 or 15

One of my first "hanging around" groups comprised a set of people much elder to me - 2 aunts, 1 uncle, 1 sister, 1 brother-in-law, my mom and my dad. Now had there been another kid of my age, I would probably have played carrom with that kid in another room. But there wasn't and so I became a regular member of their "adda" or discussion. Many a times, I contributed to their conversation and got the happy feeling that I was as old and as mature as them ¹. And then, sometimes, there were times like this one which put me where I belonged i.e. in the correct age bracket.

I was sitting next to my Mesho (maternal uncle) that day. Now Mesho was a tall man who spoke less. But when he spoke, everyone listened. The expression used to regularly describe him, a typically Bengali expression, was "Onaar khoob personality aache." which I think translates into "He has a very intimidating personality". Now, if being like one of the elders was cool, being like Mesho denoted a Nordic level of coolness. Addressing a sentence to him usually required careful consideration and thought, but my Mom presented me with such an opportunity that day, that I pounced upon it with eager glee.

The topic of discussion had veered to the subject of ships, and my Mom committed the typically Bengali error of pronouncing 'ship' as 'sheep'. My first language English education was aroused; here was an opportunity to gain some brownie points in front of the insurmountable Mesho, a pucca pundit of the British language. He undoubtably would be glad to know that I took so much care of restraining the 'e'-s in 'ship', and so I said, "Dekho Mesho, Maa'r ki baaje pronouncitation. Ship ke sheep bolche! (Just look at my Mom's poor pronounciation. She's calling a 'ship' as 'sheep'.)"

I finished my sentence and was eagerly awaiting a pat on my back for my diligence, or a commiserating sentence about the sad state of English pronunciation in Bengal. But my Mesho's face remained expressionless. I became a bit anxious. Finally, he spoke, "Pronunciation-er banaan bolo to. (Spell pronunciation.)"

I gulped. Had I goofed up somewhere? But he was asking me a sitter... I was too good at spelling to make a mistake at this one, and so I said, "P-R-O-N-O-U-N-C-I-A-T-I-O-N."

"Confident?" he asked.

I thought to myself, that's how I pronounce it when I say it, and that's the easiest way to work out spellings, so I must be correct, "Haan. Confident. (Yes. Confident.)"

Mesho smiled now, a smile which I realized was not for the reason I was hoping for, and said, "Kaal English teacher ke jigesh kore niyo. Spelling taa bhool, uccharon-taao taai bhool... Ota 'pro-NOUN-ciation' noy... ota actually 'pro-NUN-ciation'. Nijer Maa'r uccharon theek koraar aage nijer taa theek koro. (Ask your English teacher tomorrow. You spelt it incorrectly and hence your pronunciation is also incorrect. It's 'pro-NUN-ciation', not 'pro-NOUN-ciation. Son, before you correct your Mom's pronounciation, correct your own first.)"

I could find myself wanting to melt away as he spoke, but an embarrassed exit is all I managed that day.
----
¹ At age 14, kids long to grow older and be free from the shackles and rules enforced by their parents. By age 26, they learn better.

... 3rd episode coming up.
----
PS: I had been itching to put up this PJ that I came up with the other day. I would have included it here anyway. But now that I used the word 'intimidating', I get legal privilege to put up its' 'dictionary' meaning here (For those uninitiated to PJ-dom, this is no way connected with actual meaning intended in above piece.):

Intimidating:
Pronounciation: intimi-dating

The process of asking a girl out for dinner and threatening her with dire consequences if she refuses.

I saw them together

2009-02-17T11:51:00.000-08:00

I saw them together:

1.
The bushy tail
of a running squirrel
going swish and swash.

And a jogging girl's
Pony tail
Bobbing up and down.

2.
Two planes.

One big one small.

One fast one SLOW.

Flying ^{.....high....} flying _....low....

A white trail behind one,
A constant "whirring" sound from the other.

3.
A bevy of leaves -

Young yellow
and Fresh green

On a single tree.

4.
Bright red berries,
on a tree.
Lush green grass,
below.
And to fill the empty spaces,
pure blue sky beyond.

---

It's Only Words

2009-01-30T15:14:00.000-08:00

I have to admit (with a tinge of regret) that I have had my fair share of faux-pas in conversation. In serial fashion, here is a list of 3 forgettable incidents.

1
(At age: 13 or 14)

My Dad and I were sitting side by side facing the TV - Dad reading the newspaper, I with a book in my hand. My mind was elsewhere - things at school had been a bit rough that day, thanks to the actions of one particular classmate. To lighten my load, I struck up conversation with Dad, "Baba, Rajat ke mone aache?" (Dad, do you remember Rajat?)

Dad replied, "Haan mone aache. Keno ki hoyeche or?" (Yes, what about him?)

I continue, "Kichu hobe keno? Just bolchi - o ekta real bugger. Shobai okey hate kore. Aajke jaano ki koreche - teacher homework joma newar kotha bhule gechilo. Aar amra-o decide korechilam je kicchu bolbo naa. O Beta hothat uthe bole ki naa, 'Mees, aajke homework joma neben naa?' Beta bohut jalaaton kore."
(What about him? Well only that he is a real bugger. And that's why everyone hates him. Know what he did today? Miss had very conveniently forgotten to ask for the homework, and we had got it all figured out - no one would utter a word about it. And then there was Mr Rajat, standing up to point out to his dear Miss, 'Meees. Won't you take the homework today?' Man, does he think he is Jesus Christ.")

Having thus vented my frustration on the despicable Rajat, I was feeling a little elated. However, my elation was to be short-lived. Dad, who had been patiently listening all the while, said, "Son, you're growing up. As you grow older, you will take up jobs of responsibility and meet up with people for important work."

I was getting confused. I wanted him to join me in the denunciation of Rajat Mehta, and he was talking about my future! Dad continued, "In those times, you need to remember to choose your words correctly."

Come now Dad, can't we have the vocab class later? I realized not, when Dad concluded thus, "Otherwise people might misinterpret you in a terrible fashion. I agree that the word 'bugger' seems to mean a person who disturbs you. But I promise you that if you will go and have a look at the dictionary, you will receive quite a shock."

Perplexed, I left the room. There I was thinking of ways to teach Rajat Mehta a lesson next day, and now here I was forced to go and consult the dictionary. However, after seeing the meaning, I could not enter the room again for quite some time afterwards. Rajat bashing would have to be taken up some other convenient time.

The meaning listed in the Cambridge dictionary was this:

- One who engages in sodomy, especially with animals.

... to be continued
[Image Credits: http://illustrationinfo.com/?p=77]

The Case of the Reckless Bus Driver

2008-12-06T11:15:00.000-08:00

And so D*, you really thought I was unaffected by the terrorist attacks in Mumbai? No Sir... I WAS affected.

However I found that my thoughts were not aligned with the popular sentiments going around then, just in the aftermath of the attacks. The common emotions that I saw in people were fear, anxiety, rage, and an overwhelming feeling that "something must be done". My reactions were not on the same lines and probably that is why you thought that I was 'unaffected'. I was, so to say, differently affected.

One thing I did feel strongly was this: after the initial hullabaloo, we would ultimately forget. I found similar sentiments echoed elsewhere (I am quoting from Moushumi Palit's piece "Enough is Enough"):

All we care about is how does this impact me? So we continue to make tut-tuting noises about the spirit of Mumbai, nod our heads diligently to the “enough is enough” phrase that pops up each time, and just move on unconcerned, uncaring; each time, sinking back into the sea of apathy within hours of the tragedy, just glad it’s not us or our family members or friends…

..., I wonder why issues that really affect our life, our families, our safety like floods each year or recurring bomb blasts and the incompetence of the govt in dealing with these don’t make us angry. Why do we adjust to these? And worse, how long will we continue to do so?

Yes there are so many issues to which we turn a blind eye. Let us take up for example, the issue of rash bus driving in Kolkata. It would be an understatement to say that buses speed on the roads. In fact, buses actually race on the roads of Kolkata.

Say, we have a bus on route 221 which starts off from its' depot in Golpark at 2:10pm. For the first 15-20 minutes, the driver drives very very slowly. The drivers take all the time in the world to pick up people - regardless of whether they are standing at the bus stop or not. Someone from amongst the passengers regularly raises a voice - "Dada driver ki ghumiye porlo naaki? (Hey, is the driver asleep or what?)" To this, the bus conductors turn a deaf ear, an art that they have honed to perfection. This goes on for a while until the conductor gives the driver the signal they have been waiting for - the bus which left the depot 10 minutes after them has been spotted some distance behind them. And with this signal, the race begins.

The driver suddenly begins to drive like someone possessed. Overtaking from left and right, all horns blaring, the bus muscles its' way through traffic. During this race, the earlier concern shown for passengers boarding the bus (and now, also those alighting) is forgotten, putting those people in grave risk. Sometimes, the two buses catch up and go neck to neck for some time. In that moment, the drivers and the conductors curse at each other. And then one of the buses takes the lead and the race goes on.

It is during these mad races that many accidents have occurred - fatal in most cases. The news of the boy studying in Class 7, or the office-goer being mowed down by a bus while trying to cross the road, has become a regular feature of newspapers. No Mumbai type media coverage here. No being hooked to the TV for 2 days straight. These acts of violence happen in small dosages - the way to deal with these snippets of bad news is simple: first, feel sorry for the poor victims, next curse the authorities and finally, turn to the sports or comic page.

I wonder - why is it that a bus full of passengers are unable to control the behaviour of 1 reckless driver and his 1 or 2 equally irresponsible compatriots. Usually one of the passengers takes the initiative but he/she is never backed up by the others. The conductors usually silence the lone protester by use of arrogant and rough language and a great deal of confident arrogance. They seem to believe that what they are doing is right, and not having to face much retaliation, carry on doing so.

Why do not the authorities bring these people to book? One particular theory is that the bus drivers' union is allied with certain political parties, and this 'connection' renders them to be above the law.

Finally, for all those people who regularly say that "something needs to be done" - here is one issue which has remained unsolved for some time now. High time we get a solution, eh?

Image Credits: Maran http://umaipadam.blogspot.com

PS: While searching for the above image, I came across some interesting articles on the topic.
1. An incident where the public actually took some action
2. Fines proposed, but may not be effective

Going Hungry at the Tailgate

2008-11-26T16:01:00.001-08:00

My appetite for attending an American football game had been sated after watching a couple of games at Virginia Tech's Lane Stadium. But there was something else linked with American football, that I wanted to experience and which one literally had to have an appetite for. I am talking about the Tailgate party. A tailgate is a cook-out, family get-together, friend's re-union, cocktail party rolled into one. And I got a chance to experience it very recently.

I knew that people arranged barbecues and brought food to Tailgates. I also imagined that if I were to roam around aimlessly at the Tailgate arena with an amiable expression on my face, I would surely be invited by some Tailgaters to sample their fare. It was with this hope, an empty stomach and the Grad student's well-known affinity to free food that I decided to venture into this great American mela.

And believe me, there was good food. And there were great smells. And God was witness to the extremely amiable expression on the face of a certain aimless wanderer. However that wanderer was to find out, much to his disappointment, that the American people intended to carry on chomping their food and guzzling their beer without any help from outsiders. In all decency I tried my best not to curse the chompers and the guzzlers, but if some people in that lot suffered from indigestion on the following day, then I would not blame myself too much.

Reflecting on that day's incident with a saner mind and a relatively less-empty stomach, the American people's behavior may be easily explained. Imagine Indian people out on a picnic at Botanical Gardens, Kolkata. Every group usually arranges for their own food. Considering that on one such picnic, I was busy tucking into some Tandoori chicken and Egg-Fried Rice from my lunch box, and I saw a well-dressed Chinese person roaming around clicking pictures, I would not think of offering that person my food. Instead I would be more intent on checking which of my cousins was not eating the Pantua so that I could stake first claim on it.

**

I realize that the Tailgate is quite an American festival. It is one of the traditions that are quite endearing and I did know of before I came here. Being curious, I read up about Tailgates and found the following interesting trivia from here:

The first Tailgate occurred when people came to watch the Battle of Bull Run. Yes, a real war (Not particularly endearing, this particular trivia).
30% of Tailgaters never attend the football game (I would do that).

**

A must see: this slide-show on Tailgates put up by Time magazine.

Sun-Catchers

2008-11-26T16:01:00.000-08:00

Cycle wheels are usually equipped with small pieces of translucent plastic which act as reflectors. At night, when car headlights fall on these, they reflect the light and thus drivers become aware of cyclists on the road. In the daytime, if the sun's rays fall at the correct angle on these, they look like bright pieces of stained glass. I named them as sun-catchers for the context of this piece.

I noticed the beauty of sun-catchers one Saturday afternoon. I was returning home after a hearty lunch. There was not much work to be done that weekend so I had all the time in my hands. I had just missed the bus and the next bus was due in half an hour. To while away the time, I leaned on something and started admiring the beauty of nature. The weather was that of a perfectly lazy summer afternoon. I could have stayed there forever.

It was then that I saw someone riding a bike and it was on that bike that I noticed the sun-catchers.

The sun's rays happened to be at the most appropriate angle. And as the wheels of the cycle turned, the two sun-catchers captured my attention. My gaze was drawn to them and other visible features in my field of view (the rims and spokes of the wheels, the cyclist, the background) faded away. And the bright pieces of plastic seemed to be moving like Siamese twins - conjoined by some invisible force. They rolled along ever so slowly - it was as if they too felt the lull of the lazy summer afternoon.

I felt elated to observe this harmonious motion. Unfortunately such elation is not found everyday - probably the conditions for being able to find beauty in the simplest of things are very stringent.

Image Credits: anataman

Turn Turn Turn

2008-11-15T16:03:00.000-08:00

It was raining leaves today.

The wind picked up leaves
From the bough of almost naked trees
And strew these leaves around
According to its' many whims.

I was in the car
And the wind never touched me.
What struck me instead
Was the sight of a faraway tree
And the leaves floating towards me.

As if the magic spell of a lovely fairy
Was casting its' spell on me.

**

Later in the day
I was outside
Dipping my feet in rivers running below.

The wind was still up
And by this time
Most of the leaves were down below.

The wind was in no mood
To let the leaves rest.
A relentless architect - the wind.

And the leaves
Performed cartwheels
Appearing like gears turning round and round -
Naughty frolicsome energized.

In their combined entirety,
They formed gushing streams, torrents
Gullies, rivers
And flowed down alleys
And roads and walkways
Under the feet of men
And into the hearts of those who noticed.

**

PS:
The title was inspired by the following song (definitely recommended):

Youtube search link.

**

If you liked this, you will like:
And The Leaves That are Green
The Butterflies

There was something in that moment...

2008-10-07T19:48:00.000-07:00

That day, I saw two spectacular sights. Sometime before, I had recounted the first one. Now let me tell you about the second sight I saw that day.

I saw a girl looking out of the window and talking on the phone.

Yes let me repeat - I saw a girl talking on the phone while looking out of the window. And that's what I saw. That's exactly what I saw.

Now what the hell is earth-shattering time-halting spectacular about that, you might ask.

So to defend my statement, let me tell you what I really saw.

They say a painting tells a hundred stories. In a window in the building opposite my house, it was a painting that was formed that day. Who was the artist that day? God? Life? Whoever the painter was, the painting was really good.

Firstly, for benefit of painting the picture in the reader's mind, the physical setting of this scene must be well described. This window in the building opposite my house is rectangular and fairly large. A field whose length is neither too less nor too large separates these two buildings. Thus the sight that I saw was not too distant from me, and yet I remained an unobtrusive spectator.

The time of the day was important - the sun was setting and the bright yet soft light of approaching dusk bathed the window from the west. The blinds were drawn up almost completely at this window, and their contribution to the painting were a few white lines across the top. The visible back of a book-case filled up the right corner of the painting. And the back of a book-case, however nice the collection of books arranged in the front may be, is just plain wood or card-board.

These were the prosaic parts of the painting. And then in the left side of the frame, there was the girl . The girl was pretty - which was a fortunate thing. And yet, it was not the main thing. The important part was the story that her eyes told. (And this is like saying that a movie was great and that the heroine was very beautiful. The two things are independent, and if they co-exist together, that's just a great thing.)

Of course, I could not see her eyes up close. Yet, there was something in the way in which she stared out into the horizon, that said a lot. The girl was talking to someone on the phone - and at that instant, she was probably listening. Her look was one of absolute peace and calmness. Maybe I imagined things but I was sure she was talking to her beloved. There was love in that stare; the eyes, as they gazed out through the window, were hopeful of a bright and happy future. And in that moment, the sun's glorious presence seemed to be a fitting tribute to the moment. Possibly the sun's rays carried a message from her lover.

I saw the painting for a fleeting instant. Yet it got etched into my memory. I remember it with the fondness with which I remember seeing other spectacles of nature, other creations of God. Why? Because what I witnessed that day was nothing else but Man's greatest creation, a creation more primal and important than window-blinds or book-cases or cell-phones, - Love.

Creating Notes with Silence

2008-09-21T23:00:00.000-07:00

I was sitting in the balcony with the laptop on my lap,
thoughts in my mind forming words on the screen.
The time was evening,
and while us "unnatural" beings
turned on lights and tubes,
the rest of the natural order was ending the day.

This town of mine, this town where I live,
is kind.
People live here, but the sounds of nature can still be heard.
And silence, when presented, is not disturbed.

That day, it was the silence that screamed out to me.
A faint hum, though -
that of birds chirping,
emanated from far corners,
and merged with the silence.

Suddenly ,

the canvas of the sky
was painted with the passage of a flock of birds.
I saw them -
every soldier steady and firm,
every motion synchronized,
every path identical.

As they weaved their magical path,
astounding onlookers but attracting none -
not a single sound escaped their regiment.
And the tranquility of the moment was not broken.

Truly,
the greatest silent orchestra was performed that day.

PS: This poem describes one of the two sights that I saw that day.

Tagged

2008-09-16T18:53:00.000-07:00

Here's my addition to this list of those moments of life that make life what it is... Beautiful.

i.
Sitting on the grass - Dejected
Then spotting a squirrel playing nearby.

ii.
Waking up to a beautiful dream.

iii.
Beautiful weather - a splendid day
A spring in your step
And for some reason
Yet incoherent in your mind,
You are on top of the world
And suddenly
The song on the shuffle
Mirrors your exact sentiments.

iv.
Chance meeting with girl
Whose thoughts makes your heart skip a beat.

v.
And she smiles at you.

vi.
Cycling downhill
Down down down...
Wind places people time
Rush past.
And you are unstoppable -
You are born free.

Blowing in the Wind

2008-09-04T18:06:00.001-07:00

The fatigue seeps in
As the journey goes on
And the cool breeze of a rainy day
Sweeps in through the window
To ruffle my hair.

I despair -
I came home to sleep
In my mother's lap
And let her weave dreams
While caressing my hair.

And yet I find myself
Beckoned to actions
Of no visible joy.

And then,
To derive solace
I adopt the following belief -
Those are Mom's blessings
Which are blowing in the wind.

[Written while traveling. During my Kolkata trip, June 2008]

The Correct Mood for Writing

2008-09-03T15:38:00.000-07:00

According to Old Chinese proverb, there is a correct mood for the art of writing. “Now then”…According to other Old Chinese proverbs, there are in fact correct moods for every pleasurable activity possible to man. For drinking tea. For listening to music. For conversation among friends. And so on.

But we are here to talk about the art of writing. And let us not digress from that.

If we were to dissect the procedure of writing a piece into its’ various constituent parts, we would end up with some of the following –
Event 1: Idea ‘creeps into/overwhelms faculties of’ the writer’s mind.
Event 2: The idea crawls out of mental confines into tangible reality of words.
Event 3: Slash-slash, Cut-cut, Swish and swoosh… Editing.
Event 4: Writer makes someone read it.

Now the question is: Which one of these parts is the most important part of the writing procedure?

Of course, I have absolutely no answer to that question. So why the long premise, one might ask. Well, recently, I experienced a good-writing-mood day. And to best explain the dynamics of this writer’s mind at that time, a sequential dissection of the writing procedure was essential.

On that opportune day, I was in the middle of enacting ‘Act 2’ (or lamely, ‘Event 2’) of the writing procedure. What was the mood in which I was doing that?
(1.) Tired… Extremely so.
(2.) Lonely… Having rejected an offer of going out with some friends.
(3.) Looking for something worthwhile to do.

As it turns out, it wasn’t a good mood that I was in. Yet turned out to be a wise choice to keep writing at that time.

And what was the location of the enactment? Balcony facing South. Sitting on Plastic chair. Looking up to wide expanse of sky to East and West (i.e. when not writing).

Hence the writing continued. Words were being strung together to exhibit an idea whose advent in my mind had occurred previously. Words having the power of uplifting one’s spirit – I felt the meter of my soul rising Up… Up…Up.

And that was the moment when ideas kept coming to my mind. Subjects for future writing, usually so elusive to find, kept presenting themselves. I looked up once and was presented with a sight of immense beauty. A mental note followed – “Must write about this.” Then, a few moments later… another sight. Would I, on another day, and in another mood, have given thought to it? No. But that day I did.

I realized that this was the mood for creation – for the first Act of the great theater of writing. When one’s mood is uplifted, only then, one can appreciate the true beauty of life – of the life that is presented to us on a platter – every day, and at every moment. One but has to know how to spot it.

And what were the two sights, you might ask? Dear friend, let that be reserved for another occasion.

[Image Credits].

PS: [9/22/08] Have managed to pen down one of them. Here.
[10/11/08] The second one is penned down here

And The Leaves That are Green...

2008-08-25T17:09:00.000-07:00

Different things strike different people differently. An obvious statement, eh? Yet the tidings of an idle Saturday afternoon compel me to spend my energies in the current relevance of this trite and commonplace remark.

The event was a single occurrence – the completion of one year at Blacksburg. One year of Ph.D… Ah! How much we harp about our own affairs. As if a Ph.D. is the greatest thing on earth.

But I am deviating from the topic. Let me return. One year got over. And there were many things that reminded me of this.

Firstly, the date. 4th August 2008. Exactly one year ago, A and I had landed at Blacksburg. Exactly one year ago, I had lost sleep fearing the loss of my passport. Exactly one year ago, I had made a phone-call back home from a roadside payphone. One year henceforth, memories kept peeping in. Yet life went on as usual on this year's date. The day’s events had their toll and memories remained more-or-less dormant.

Another day... The trickle of new students. Soon turning into high tide. Maps in hand. Keen faces. Joie-de-vivre. Greetings at bus stops. Making plans to play. Invitations for dinner. Meeting seniors. But the seniors have gone through it all. They smile knowingly… “Been there done that”. Life goes on… some people are always starting afresh at a given point of time. At the same time, others think they are stuck in a rut.

Then another day… Registering for classes for the new semester. Going through old notes. Old mails. Old books. Old plans. Newcomers searching for room 2040. Those who searched classrooms once observe patiently, to help if asked. It’s time for them to make new plans.

But all the above occurrences faintly whispered into my mind. Speaking the same thing – “Year ended. Year begins.” At best, some of these were at the decibel level of polite conversations i.e. they were not loud; they were civil, beginning and ending with the permission of both parties involved – the occurrences and my mind in this case. And then one day, the loud blaring announcement ensued. So sudden that I was caught unawares – left speechless for a moment.

I was on the phone talking with my parents. I had stepped out of the building and was sitting on a ledge. Though I was talking with my parents, I confessed to them that my mind was elsewhere. There were so many people outside and I kept watching them. This was so unlike the summer days when one felt like being the solitary researcher on campus. It was a big change and my eyes were taking time getting used to this. But it was an expected change.

And then it happened… While my eyes wandered here and there, they hit upon a sight so totally unexpected that all my senses stopped there for a moment. One single tree amongst the hundreds of trees in my field of view had changed colors. Completely. And almost overnight. I had not noticed it previously. I was forced to nod my head in disbelief – “Yes. The year was actually over.” I had to tell my friends about this – I was sure they would not believe me. I felt like being the first person to notice this phenomenal transformation. Other occurrences could be brushed aside but this was staring you in the face – one could not ignore it.

Later while writing this piece, I am reminded of the Simon and Garfunkel song, “Time hurries on… And the leaves that are green turn to brown.”

Youtube search for the same song.

PS: Here are some interesting pics for Autumn: 1, 2 and the following is a pic of roughly the same area which I saw that day. This pic was taken by my room-mate A. More of his pictures are at
http://www.flickr.com/photos/arnab-ocean/.

Bon Appetit

2008-08-10T08:28:00.000-07:00

When you take in your daily spoonful
Of milk, cereal, care and worry
Do you remember the people
Who do not worry while eating -
They worry about it.

When having dinner
With egos, quarrels and tiffs
Sitting around you
Do you remember the people
Locked in prison cells
For someone's fault or theirs.
They too have dinner
But with walls for company.

While music to the ears
Pleases some people no more,
Artillery and gunshots
Abuse and injustice
Wails and stifled cries
Are all that some others get.

----

This image is very relevant to the poem. Please do visit.

Meanwhile, I am waiting for permission from the artist to add his/her image on my blog.

Separated... United

2008-08-05T13:16:00.001-07:00

The following came up in two totally different moods. Yet I am publishing them together.

-------

How good it feels
To hold you tight
And fall asleep.

=====

Everything that can go wrong
Is going wrong.
Aah! Murphy's Law.
That means there is hope.

=====

PS: While thinking about a title for this post, I remembered the phrase "Two of a Kind". It turned out that my understanding was incorrect.

The definition is:
Very similar individuals or things, as in Patrice and John are two of a kind--they're true hiking enthusiasts.
[Reference]

How To Read a Book in Ten Days

2008-08-03T13:38:00.000-07:00

No... this post is not about speed-reading. It just talks about the different speeds at which different people read books.

Many of my friends often tell me that when they pick up a book, they cannot put it down before completing it. I however am not able to do that. Because of that, I finish much fewer books. And sometimes, that makes me feel at a disadvantage to these "pick-up-and-finish-it-off " kind of readers.

Recently, I completed reading "Atlas Shrugged" by Ayn Rand. I read that book over about 3 months - during which time I completed another book, gave my end-semester exams, traveled to Washington DC, traveled to India... To cut the list short, it would suffice to say that I put the book down many a times. In fact, there definitely were times when I did not feel like picking the book again.

So that was my style of reading the book. However I fail to see any other suitable way of reading it.

During all the time when I was not literally "reading" the book, but was still reading the book (as in when answering the question, "What book are you reading these days?"), I used to live with the characters of the book. Unlike many bestsellers, this book did not have a racy plot to keep one hooked as to what the next event would be. But the characters were strong - so strong that I could feel their presence in my daily life. Many a times, I wondered how Hank Rearden would have reacted to the situations I faced. Or another time, was I being like Jim Taggart when I did something despicable. There were moments when I would feel down and then half an hour of reading the book would turn my emotional "wheel of fortune" by 180 degrees. The same happened in the other direction too.

In sumary, I cannot think of a way by which I could have felt these feelings if I had read this book in one go.

Presently I am reading "Midnight's Children" by Salman Rushdie. Saleem Sinai - another beautifully sketched character. And the many others who happen to be in his life. None of them are spectacular people - each of them are riddled by great defects of character or spirit. But that makes them lifelike. These days, I return to Saleem's world when I am alone. Every time, I spend very little time with them. Yet it feels like time well spent.

One of my friends gets surprised that I have still not finished the book. But I think that finishing the book would mean bidding farewell to these people. And probably that's why I do not hurry the affair.

PS:

1. While writing the post, two books came to my mind which were the complete antitheses of my above stated idea. One which I actually finished in 2 days. But I do not find the Hero of the book, whatwashisname, returning to my life at any time. The book - Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code.

Another book, an autobiography(?), after going through the first few pages of which, I wondered how the person writing it was only having righteous thoughts in his mind from the day he was born. Or was he downright lying by not stating everything on his mind. An injustice for an autobiography I thought and hence I did not finish the book. The book - A P J Abdul Kalam's "Wings of Fire"

2. In the interim period (i.e between the initiation of this post and its' final publication), I chanced upon a post by a fellow blogger. I cannot tell you how happy I felt to find my sentiments mirrored by another.

Caption: "Immersed"

Inspirations

2008-07-23T14:39:00.001-07:00

Recently, two dialogues from two different movies struck me as inspiring. Quoting them here.

1>> The last line in the trailer of "Flash of Genius" goes as follows

"Makes you wonder what makes a man succesful?

Brains? Talent?

Maybe it's some other thing."

The trailer:

Flash of Genius

2>> From the movie "Kung Fu Panda":

"Yesterday is history
Tomorrow is a mystery
But today is a gift
That is why it is called present."

Who says you can't talk sense and be funny at the same time?

The British are the way they are...

2008-07-23T12:31:00.000-07:00

Here's a hilariously written article that I chanced upon recently. It's about how Londoners welcome the summer after a cold spell of winter. And how they get crazy if the summer gets too oppressive (which is something we Indians are regularly used to.)

I'll quote the lines which were highlighted in the original article - they'll give you an idea about the article. A good two lines surely - at least they made me read the article.

"The British are the way they are because our climate is damp, dour and undemonstrative"

"If we consistently had summers like they have in Rio, we wouldn't just grow bananas, we'd go bananas"

On the Look Out

2008-07-22T13:02:00.000-07:00

I always maintained that watching English movie trailers is a fantastic way to pass your time. Regardless of whether the movie is good or not, trailers are always 100% entertainment. The Apple Trailers website is a cool place to get to see a lot of trailers. Posted on my entertainment blog are a few which caught my eye when I visited the site for the first time yesterday.

Kid

2008-07-13T13:34:00.001-07:00

Kid 
Smiles back at me 
Aloo chaat in hand 
Watching cars pass by.

Inhaling fumes all day
 As he dishes out his fare 
To hungry wayfarers.

His smile is real 
But his life is not.

(written during my Kolkata trip in June 2008)

The Need To Live

2008-07-13T12:53:00.000-07:00

Dementia. 
Cancer.
 Angioplasty. 
Paralysis. 
Stroke.
‘She is bedridden for a year.’ 
‘But it is good that he did not suffer too much.’ 
‘Which hospital?’ 
‘Visiting hours?’
 ‘Her eyes were completely blank. 
She didn’t even notice that we were there.’
In a city of ten million people, 
Death is a daily occurrence. 
But every so often, 
A child is born. 
And all one needs
 To restore the will to live 
Is to stare with wonder 
At the smile of a child.

(written 24th June 2008, during my Kolkata trip)

Haiku

2008-07-10T22:35:00.000-07:00

Here are two samples of Haiku that I came up with - the first one is inspired by a prayer book that I read.

**

Bring me to that moment
where I am at peace.
And let me remain there.
**

I found the secret of living -
In one go,
let it all go.
**

Toothpaste

2008-07-10T20:09:00.000-07:00

The sight of the twisted toothpaste at my friend’s place reminded me of my mom. By habit, I always follow instructions while squeezing paste out of a tube – "squeeze from bottom upwards". This results in the tube always having a uniform shape. However, back when I was in school and had just started having my own room and toilet, there were days when my mom would use my tube of paste. And on those days, the effect on the toothpaste tube would be devastatingly different. It would look stricken by some disease, with many contortions here and there. In one day, my mom would distort all my efforts at uniformity.

I tried to bear with my mom’s habit at first. But later, I took a strict stand – if she was to use my paste, she would have to use it my way. After repeated reminders, my mom finally learned to use toothpaste in my fashion.

That was years ago. I now wonder how my mom would have felt when her little child, who she had taught to walk, eat, talk, even brush, started scolding her about the proper usage of a toothpaste.

PS: This pic came up in Google Images when I searched for "toothpaste". I just had to post it. I thought that the following caption would create a nice connection with the above post:
"With its' twists and turns, life goes on..."

Memories Pops Out of Nowhere

2008-07-09T18:17:00.000-07:00

On my visit to Kolkata,

Memories pop out of nowhere.

One day,

Car stuck at random intersection.

Tap at car window -

Hawker selling fare,

Sweet fruit called 'Aash Phol'.

As kids, we would spend afternoons

Devising ingeneous strategies

To bring these fruits

Down to earth.

'Fruits' of our labour,

Eh?

Of another summer holiday

Long gone past.

Another day,

An expert driver

Takes us through

The winding roads

Of a short-cut.

I read the signs

And I notice

The name of the road -

Gorfa.

A friend lived there,

A friend with similar tastes

In music and life.

He would always invite me home

But I never went

Giving one excuse or the other.

That day

I crossed his street

For the first time.

But our paths do not cross anymore

And probably never will -

But who knows?

Stumbling upon some Haiku

2008-06-04T12:24:00.000-07:00

A book put up on the exhibit section at our library caught my attention. So I picked it up and read the blurb at the back. It was as follows:

Natsume Soseki’s Kusamakura follows its nameless young artist-narrator on a meandering walking tour of the mountains. At the inn at a hot spring resort, he has a series of mysterious encounters with Nami, the lovely young daughter of the establishment. Nami, or “beauty,” is the center of this elegant novel, the still point around which the artist moves and the enigmatic subject of Soseki’s word painting. In the author’s words, Kusamakura is “a haiku-style novel, that lives through beauty.” Written at a time when Japan was opening its doors to the rest of the world, Kusamakura turns inward, to the pristine mountain idyll and the taciturn lyricism of its courtship scenes, enshrining the essence of old Japan in a work of enchanting literary nostalgia.

It seemed interesting, so I flipped through to see if I could find some interesting Haiku.

I found the following:

Shaking down the stars
out of the spring night, she wears
them bright in her hair.

New-washed hair, perhaps
dampened by moisture from the clouds
of this night of spring.

Poem upon poem
wandering here and there
in the spring moonlight.

Now at last the spring
draws swiftly to its finish.
How alone I am.

.. and this poem, which struck a different note.

As the autumn's dew
that lies a moment on the tips
of the seeding grass,
so do I know that I too must
fade and be gone from this brief world.
( - attributed to poet other than author of the book)

I found the poems appealing and decided to share them. Then I looked at the book-cover and felt that it did justice to the book - poetry is but natural when one sees beauty.

PS: If anyone is interested, here's a book review.

Mathematical Biologist

2008-06-03T19:50:00.000-07:00

While going through a book for my research, I found the following worth sharing. (From the section on Mathematical Biology, from "Virus Dynamics" - Nowak and May, Oxford University Press)

There is a shepherd and a flock of sheep. A man comes by and asks, 'If I guess the correct number of sheep in your flock can I have one?' The shephard says, 'Please try.' The man says '83.' The shepherd is amazed; it is the correct number. The man picks up a sheep and walks away. The shepherd shouts, 'Hang on. If I guess your profession, can I have my sheep back?' The man says, 'Please try.' The shepherd says, 'Mathematical biologist.' The man is amazed, 'How did you know?' 'Because you picked up my dog.'

The Joys of Living Alone

2008-05-28T17:27:00.001-07:00

So this is what it feels like -

Finally, I am alone at home.
And yes,
I was looking forward to it.

They say,
Change is good,
And that's what I want out of this,
- this solitary, home-alone phase of mine.

Phone lines are open.
And for once,
so are chat lines.
But these are not habits of mine.
...
Time to form new habits, eh?

The pen beckons
and this is created...
but this,
- it lacks the joy,
the frustration,
the repetition,
the spontaneity,
the reality and
the all-sense-pervading feeling
of dealing with a person in real-life.

Is it just me
that I feel like this?

Or maybe I am just too impatient with the pen.

Tribute to a Fellow Blogger

2008-05-17T16:43:00.000-07:00

DD started blogging sometime after I started my blog. I have been following his blog ever since. Being a musician, he writes about music on several occasions. Frankly I do not enjoy those posts much.

But sometimes, DD writes candidly about his life, his feelings and his emotions. In many of those, I have found that he has voiced sentiments similar to mine. I however, have never gone on to voice my feelings so openly on my blog. Maybe that's why I identify so much with his writings.

Keep writing DD... Salutations to you.

Here are some excerpts from posts that really "struck a chord".

Words
... grad school matures oneself at least by a decade. May be a decade is an exaggeration, but it does transform you. With thoughts only concentrating on problems, especially algorithms and learning problems in our case, our minds are pure, getting purer.

February 2008
"My life has suddenly become empty for a few reasons. Since at times the void is getting unbearable, I am trying to spend most of my time at work, with friends or at least near people. I never estimated that living alone can get this painful"....
"Think much before you decide to do a PhD friends, it is a huge sacrifice to make for the prime years of your youth." ... "Not many can endure these long years of excruciating pain. You either do it for yourself, for someone else or pretend that you are doing it for someone else. For me, it has now become the first, and it is becoming harder every day."

But the best part is the discussion held through the comments. At the end of a dialogue between people who faced similar problems, some solutions come out.

Gloom
"I was up till morning struggling on my bed, turning from one side to another praying to the gods to bless me with some sleep. Because my prayers come in most selfish occasions, they don't pay me any heed...."

A Few Good Movies

2008-05-17T08:47:00.000-07:00

Over the past few months, I got the chance to watch a few good movies. In these movies, some particular scenes were particularly memorable. I'll relate a few of them here.

#1. Shall We Dance

The small monologue by Susan Sarandon (Mrs Clark) about "witness to our lives" towards the end of the following conversation appealed to me, as it did to others. For sake of putting context to the conversation, you may assume that this is a conversation between two friends - a man and a woman, where both of them are facing crises in their married/romantic lives, and where none have known each other for too long. Also, I shall have to concede that reading the script is nowhere near Sarandon speaking those lines in the movie.

I got the transcript of the conversation at this website, albeit after much Google searching.

Mrs Clark : are u a married man, Mr. Devine?

Mr. Devine : i was

Mrs Clark : oh what happened?

Mr. Devine : unfaithful

Mrs Clark : she hired a detective?

Mr. Devine : no no no ... when she found out. i was too far gone, so..

Mrs Clark : you are on a strange journey to redemption, Mr. Devine

Mr. Devine : and a very long one, Mrs Clark

Mrs Clark : all the promises that we make and we break
why is it, do you think, that people get married?

Mr. Devine : passion

Mrs Clark : no

Mr. Devine : that's interesting. because i would've taken you for a romantic...
why, then?

Mrs Clark : because we need a witness to our lives. there's a billion people on the
planet. i mean, what does any one life really mean? but in a marriage,
you are promising to care about everything. the good things, the bad
things the terrible things, the mundane things.. all of it, all the time,every day.

you're saying, "your life will not go unnoticed, because i will notice it."
"your life will not go unwitnessed, because i will be your witness."

you can quote me on that, if you like.

Mr. Devine : sure, i will.

#2. A Few Good Men

A military drill at the beginning of the movie was awesome. You can watch it below. Overall, the movie is great and served as a source of inspiration to me when I was badly needing it.

#3. Dead Man Walking

No particular scene from the movie. But I have to give it to them for handling such a depressing subject (portraying the feelings and fears of a man on death row), and still being able to show a ray of hope at the end.

Later, when I remembered another favourite movie of mine (Shawshank Redemption), I was forced to draw some parallels between the two movies.

Life is Unfair

2008-05-11T15:26:00.000-07:00

It's unfair how well i cook sometimes.

The other day, i was studying for my exams at home. I decided that I should cook something for lunch. Now I had recently improvised a very easy-to-cook recipe for rajma. So that's what I decided to prepare.

As it happened, when the time to eat it came, I was the only one hungry. So I decided to dig in alone. Initial tasting showed that the fare needed additional spicing. Sergeant pepper always comes in handy at these moments. And then I added something which proved to be the magic ingredient - Maggi Hot and Sweet Tomato Sauce.

After that... Well, I have no words to describe the moments that ensued.

***

On a previous occasion, while eating burgers, P had mentioned that eating is best enjoyed when the mouth is completely full. According to him, the feeling of having all of one's taste buds activated simultaneously leads to pure gastronomic bliss.

On the day of the world's best rajma, I too tried this method of ingestion. I have to concur that P was correct.

***

That day, at the end of the meal, I had a feeling that usually occurred on the rare occasions of having good food in the hostel mess. On those good-food days, I kept thinking how great it would be if I could eat like a camel. That way, I would be able to eat unlimited portions of food and stock up so as to avoid the "detestable" fare dished out on other days.

But alas! Life was unfair then.

And so it is till now.

Burp!

***

PS: The recipe for rajma is originally from here. However, there are few major modifications that I use:-

Instead of taking uncooked rajma, soaking it overnight and boiling it, I buy tinned "Kidney Beans" which are immmediately ready for use. Also since the rajma is almost pre-boiled, no need to use the pressure cooker.
Instead of taking the trouble of chopping onions, I add a whole packet of frozen "Onions and Peppers Mix". The peppers (of the green pepper kind) also add to the taste and crunch of the dish.
... continuing in the same tradition, tinned "Diced Tomatoes" instead of tomato puree.

A day of Song and Video

2008-05-06T14:04:00.000-07:00

My lab-mate A introduced me to the following song, which I promptly fell in love with. I have been listening to it for some time now.

So I searched it's video on YouTube to see whether the video was as good as the song. Which it was not. However YouTube threw up the following parody of the song, which I thought was absolutely fantastic. Enjoy:

Then again, while searching on YouTube, I found some videos which were as good as their songs. So enjoy them too.

Closer by Travis. (unfortunately this does not allow embedding of the video)
New Shoes by Paolo Nutini

Haiku

2008-04-29T18:45:00.000-07:00

There was a poetry submission contest for Virginia Tech's grad handbook. They specifically stated that "ideal poems would be haikus, 3 lines of 5, 7, and 5 syllables."

I found out a little about Haikus and read some at http://www.toyomasu.com/haiku/#akutagawa.

Then I went on to write my first three Haikus.

1.
Simple tea
with friend by side
smells better.

2.
Words clash.
Then eyes meet.
Smile wins.

3.
My new friends
meet old friend.
River and ocean.

Song Picks

2008-04-20T10:32:00.001-07:00

Here are two highly recommended Harry Belafonte songs -

"There's a Hole in My Bucket" is slow, sweet and really makes one laugh.
"Jamaica Farewell" is a classic. Added on Dad's request.

SeeqPod - Playable Search

PS: Those subscribed by RSS might not get to see the embedded Seeqpod player above. Visit the blog to access the media.

Demanded With Love

2008-04-20T08:33:00.000-07:00

I had the following conversation recently. In it, I received an unusual request. Actually it was more of a demand.

Initially, I was taken aback by the request. But I understood that only a person who really loved you could make such a request.

Read the conversation to find out.

NOTE: The conversation was in Bengali so I am firstly reproducing it verbatim in the mother-tongue. On request, my father translated it into English too. You will find the English version below.

***

THE CONVERSATION

me: recently shorir ta khub ekta bhalo thakche naa

didi: chi chi chi.. baaje desh. ekebaare baaje desh. sustho shobol chele-ke niye rugno kore dicche. ami bolchi kriti... tumi ekkhoni phire esho.

me: hee-hee-hee

d: naa shotyi kotha.... by the way, jaano ekhon ami 72.

me: (ami mone mone bhabi je 72-er ulto hocche amar boyesh... kintu naa, amar boyesh to 27-o naa)

didi: (continuing) oboshyo ami not the least bit sad about that. haan ei komor-e byatha, paaye byatha ei gulo beshi holey tokhon kharaap laage.

m: ki je bolo didi.. tumi 72 hotei paaro naa... onek onek kom... anyways amaar khobor shunecho ki? june-e india aschi... tokhon dekha korbo tomar sathe..

d: haan shei khobor taa peyechi tomaar maa'r kaache... maa khub excited hoben. ekmatro chele bole kotha... amader barite ele tomaake alu-bhaat-e khawaabo... jeta tumi eto gorbito hoye tomar okhaner shob bondhuder kaalkei khaiyeccho.. shotyi kriti, tumi odbhut chele botey.. lok dekey alu-bhaate khawaao...

me and d: ha ha ha

d: accha shono to kriti.. ami bhabchi tumi june maash-e koyek din-er jonno ashbe.. ek du baar amaader sathe dekhao korbe.. abaar jei ke shei... abar shei phone-er opekkha... aar dekha petey gele ek bochor wait kora...

naa... tumi ebaar eshe amar sathe dekha koro naa...

me: maane?

d: naa tumi amar sathe dekha koro naa. ei tumi chole jawaar pore amar prothom-e khub dukkho hoyechilo.. keno kriti chole gelo USA-te. o ekdom theek kore nii... tarpor ekhon aste aste obhyesh hoye geche..

aar abar tumi dekha kore USA pherot choley jaabe... abar shei shuru theke obhyesh korte hobe..

naa tumi amar sathe ebaar dekha korbe naa..

me: accha theek ache korbo naa

d: naa koro naa.. taai bhalo... accha kriti, tumi jodi phire porashona shesh kore India pherot asho jeta ami 100% sure je tumi phirbe naa, tumi aar koto bochor-e phirbe?

me: aar-o 4.5 theke 5 bochor...

d: paaaanch bochor? ho ho ho.. taa holey to totodin-e tomaar didi chobi hoye jaabe..

me: ha ha ha

d: naa eta ami sure. tomar dada oboshyo eeya boro ekta frame kore amar bhalo chobi lagaben... jokhon taar bou shundori chilo

me and d: ho ho ho ho

***

THE TRANSLATED VERSION

me: didi, I am not keeping all that well lately.

didi: Tsk...Tsk...Tsk...I am not at all surprised. Simply awful country you have decided to go and do your Ph.D. in, simply awful. Look they are making a healthy person sick. I am telling you again. Come back as soon as you can, when you still have a chance.

me: hee...hee...hee

didi: don't snigger like that; I have given you a very good piece of advice. By the way, you know I am running 72?

me: (I mentally calculate that if I interchange the digits of her age, I get my age... 27... Oops... I am not even 27.)

didi: (continuing) ...except when I get the occasional joint aches and pains, that’s when I do feel a bit down in the dumps.

me: Come on, didi, you cannot be 72. you are years younger. Anyway, I am coming to India, when we can meet, just like old times.

didi: I have got the good news from your mother, who is naturally very excited about it. I have decided that when you come, I shall treat you to parboiled rice and mashed potatoes, just like you seem to entertain your guests with in the USA. You really are the limit, Kriti, and the funny thing is that your friends seem to like the stuff, according to you. I really can’t understand it at all.

me and didi: ha ha ha

d: now, seriously, though, Kriti... I know that when you will come for your short trip in June you will probably visit us a few times, we will more than likely relive the old times, then you will have to go back to the states...back to square one ...the same old yahoo/Google talk routine...and then wait another 12 months or so before we meet again ...no, I am beginning to think that we better not meet when you come home...

me: what do you mean didi?

d: we will have grown accustomed to your presence during your stay in June/July... suddenly, you will have to pack up and leave...to go back to the USA...then we in Cal will have to again start living without you being in our midst...no. don’t meet me this time when you come home.

me: OK, if that’s the way feel, I shall make it a point not to meet you in June.

d: No, please don’t... that will be far better...but tell me Kriti ,if you do come back to India after completing your course – I am of course 100% sure that you won’t come back to settle in India -how many years will that be?

me: another 4.5 to 5 years

d: fiiiive more years... ho ho ho... By then your didi will be a photograph on the wall

me: ha ha ha...

d: No I am dead sure... Of course your dada will put up a photo from much younger days, when his wife was far better looking than now... You can’t blame him, poor thing...

d and me: ho ho ho ho

***

PS: If anyone wants some short pieces in Bengali/Hindi translated into English, contact me. I'll request my father to do the translation. And he usually enjoys it quite a lot.

Inspiration

2008-04-01T15:17:00.001-07:00

At this moment, I am hoping that this will inspire me...Hobbes: Do you have an idea for your story yet?
Calvin: No, I'm waiting for inspiration.
C: You can't just turn on creativity like a faucet. You have to be in the right mood.
H: What mood is that?
C: Last-minute panic.

(Bill Watterson: The Calvin and Hobbes Tenth Anniversary Book)

Seeq and Ye Shall Find (The Beatles)

2008-03-27T14:26:00.000-07:00

Listening to music on Seeqpod, a recent favourite pastime of mine.

"I'll listen to the Beatles today."
I search on Seeqpod, add to playlist, add, add, add...
Many songs heard before, many new... Good! Good!
I listen while working. Arranging papers etc. Standing up.

"Hey what's this song? Doesn't seem Beatles...
But it's peppy. I listen listen..."

Advisory: You listen with good headphone or stereo system.

Me tapping feet, jiving body. "Oye. Take care, this = workplace.
But what the heck...
Hey this is good.
Never heard it before."
I tap tap. Jive. Jive. (Decently)

"Hey lyrics meaningful too...
Search Search. Wiki. Wiki.
Oh! this (Within You Without You) is Beatles music."
I search more.

Lyrics meaningful too. You read. Read. While listening.

ARTIST: The Beatles
TITLE: Within You Without You

We were talking
About the space between us all
And the people
Who hide themselves behind a wall
Of illusion
Never glimpse the truth
Then it's far too late
When they pass away

We were talking
About the love we all could share
When we find it
To try our best to hold it there
With our love, with our love
We could save the world, if they only knew

Try to realize it's all within yourself
No one else can make you change
And to see you're really only very small
And life flows on within you and without you

We were talking
About the love that's gone so cold
And the people
Who gain the world and lose their soul
They don't know
They can't see
Are you one of them

When you've seen beyond yourself
Then you may find, peace of mind is waiting there
And the time will come when you see we're all one
And life flows on within you and without you

I read more.

"Mashup of the song created later by famous artist.
What's mashup - some sort of remix?"
I search search. Wiki. Wiki.

"Mashup = music of one song mixed with lyrics (a capella) of another...
But the version I am liking = by ATOM. Who's that?
Google search: Website containing more remixes by ATOM.
May be good listen for later and for dance nights."

Original song (very slow):

Video of Mashup (for Blog decoration):

PS: Wonder whether my Boss at previous workplace has listened to this. And what he has to say about the remix.

Growing Up Again

2008-03-05T19:57:00.000-08:00

“You think you got into the team because of your abilities? Think again. The list was made by us and sent to the Gymkhana.”

“I always told you that this guy (referring to me) was not up to it. We should never have put his name on the list.”

“You cannot leave the post just because you want to. The Hall gave you the post... and you better live up to the name of the Hall.”

“We don’t tolerate any attitude. If we say so, not a single person in the Hall will talk to you. How would you like that?”

“If you can’t do it, quit. People will curse you for a few days and then they will forget it.”

“Your first priority is academics, you say? Then why the hell did you take up the post? I had warned you earlier...”

“Kid, I believe in you. You can do it.”

---

The first year in the Senior Hostel was a confusing and trying one. My extra-curricular ambitions had overlapped with the political ambitions of the Hall. And both of these bulldozed any academics ambitions that I might have had.

I had to make some choices then – the one between academics and extra-curricular being of foremost importance.

Yet, I was not ready to make a choice. I was too afraid and tried to keep one foot in each boat.

My seniors, like all seniors, tried to help me. They counselled, they advised; when they saw it was no use being soft, they were tough and unforgiving.

Unfortunately, I did not know whose advice to listen to. I wanted to win everyone’s heart with my actions and behaviour. I was always reminded of my years at junior school, where all the teachers adored me. But however much I tried, I could not find that loving care and guidance in my seniors’ behaviour towards me.

---

It took me some time to realize that I would need to earn that love.

I learnt that I needed to prioritize – not just for my own good, but for others too. My choices would affect the ambitions the others; and for this alone, I needed to act responsibly.

I learnt a lot of life from my seniors. The learning was tough but it was a part of growing up that was necessary for me. That time, I was afraid to discuss such stuff with too many people. But now, a good many years have passed. On my side, a sense of love and respect lingers on for my seniors. They too will have overlooked (or will overlook, in the future) my many flaws.

So now is a good time to write about the problems I used to face then. But the main reason why I write about those times is that currently I am in another phase of learning – another necessary learning curve. As some of you might have guessed, right now is not the correct time to dwell on the details. And to those of you who know, and are helping me on the way, I just have one thing to say – thanks.

A Fellow Human-Being

2008-01-26T11:27:00.000-08:00

Due to my work in the field of Biomedical Engineering, I need to read up a lot of Biology from time to time. In the past two weeks, while reviewing 2 different topics - Plaque Assay and PCR (both extremely common and routine procedures followed in Biology labs worldwide), I was surprised to find that the inventors of both of these had won Nobel Prizes. I came to the conclusion that "Biology is full of Nobel Prizes" and that I should not be so surprised the next time I stumbled upon a Nobel Prize winning achievement.

I went on to find out a little more about the inventors and I was rewarded by a speech by the inventor of PCR - Kary B. Mullis. Such speeches by such "great" people are usually motivational; this one is too. But as I went through the speech, I realized that even such "greats-s" go through the same emotions and share the same insecurities as most ordinary people. Unlike some people whose autobiographies I started reading recently and had decided not to finish, here was a person who seemed to be just one of us. (In both A.P.J. Abdul Kalam's "Wings of Fire" and Paramhansa Yogananda's "Autobiography of a Yogi", I did not find anything which I could identify with from my own life. Of course, I read only the first 20 pages of the latter.)

The full speech is at http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/chemistry/laureates/1993/mullis-lecture.html. I highly recommend reading it. It might not be anything earth-shaking in that it just gives a glimpse into the mind of a fellow human-being - but is not that great enough!

(I have also extracted some of my favourite parts below.)

"The books of the great scientists," he said, "are gathering dust on the shelves of learned libraries. And rightly so. The scientist addresses an infinitesimal audience of fellow composers. His message is not devoid of universality but it's universality is disembodied and anonymous. While the artist's communication is linked forever with it's original form, that of the scientist is modified, amplified, fused with the ideas and results of others, and melts into the stream of knowledge and ideas which forms our culture. The scientist has in common with the artist only this: that he can find no better retreat from the world than his work and also no stronger link with his world than his work."

In one of our last experiments before we became so interested in the maturing young women around us that we would not think deeply about rocket fuels for another ten years, we blasted a frog a mile into the air and got him back alive.

The conundrum which lingered throughout the week-end and created an unprecedented desire in me to return to work early was compelling.

I wasn't sure about the law, but I was pretty happy working at Cetus and assumed innocently that if the reaction worked big time I would be amply rewarded by my employer.

Anyhow, my problems with Jennifer were not getting any better. That night was no exception to the trend. I drove home alone feeling sad and unsettled, not in the mood for leaving my job, or any big change in what was left of stability in my life. PCR seemed distantand very small compared to our very empty house.

For three months I did sporadic experiments while my life at home and in the lab with
Jennifer was crumbling. It was slow going.

The first successful experiment happened on December 16th. I remember the date. It was the birthday of Cynthia, my former wife from Kansas City, who had encouraged me to write fiction and bore us two fine sons. I had strayed from Cynthia eventually to spend two tumultuous years with Jennifer. When I was sad for any other reason, I would also grieve for Cynthia. There is a general place in your brain, I think, reserved for "melancholy of relationships past." It grows and prospers as life progresses, forcing you finally, against your grain, to listen to country music.

And now as December threatened Christmas, Jennifer, that crazy, wonderful woman chemist, had dramatically left our house, the lab, headed to New York and her mother, for reasons that seemed to have everything to do with me but which I couldn't fathom. I was beginning to learn tragedy. It differs a great deal from pathos, which you can learn from books. Tragedy is personal. It would add strength to my character and depth someday to my writing. Just right then, I would have preferred a warm friend to cook with. Hold the tragedy lessons. December is a rotten month to be studying your love life from a distance.

As he had learned all the biochemistry he knew directly from me he wasn't certain whether or not to believe me when I informed him that we had just changed the rules in molecular biology. "Okay, Doc, if you say so." He knew I was more concerned with my life than with those cute littlepurple-topped tubes.

In Berkeley it drizzles in the winter. Avocados ripen at odd times and the tree in Fred's front yard was wet and sagging from a load of fruit. I was sagging as I walked out to my little silver Honda Civic, which never failed to start. Neither Fred, empty Becks bottles, nor the sweet smell of the dawn of the age of PCR could replace Jenny. I was lonesome.

A Tale of New Potatoes

2007-10-14T04:21:00.000-07:00

During our first month at Blacksburg, Virginia, we had been regularly purchasing a certain type of potatoes. Suddenly one day, while shopping at the departmental store, my room-mate Arnab spotted a new type of potato and announced that we should instead purchase that. According to him, this one would resemble Indian potatoes more closely. I was initially reluctant to change but finally succumbed to his confidence.

However I was skeptical about the end-product when one day, I embarked to make aloo-bhaate (mashed potatoes, Bengali style). Except for the darned potatoes, all the other ingredients had my vote of confidence. A newly acquired bottle of sorsher tel i.e. mustard oil (the quintessential ingredient of aloo-bhaate) would purge the ill-effects of the new potato, I said to myself.

But when I popped in my first morsel of the aloo-bhaate, my worst fears were proved true - the aloo-bhaate was sweet! What torture was my room-mate forcing upon me! Was this some sort of a sweet potato?. I was ravenously hungry, so I added some more "salt" and proceeded to gulp down a few more morsels. The "salt" however failed to placate the evil potato of its' cloying sweetness.

Research has not yet proved that when a person is extremely hungry, his brain stops working. However that day, that was exactly what happened to me. Somewhere down the treacherous meal, when the hunger pangs had been satisfied a little, I started thinking rationally about the series of events that led to the devilish aloo-bhaate. Recounting the steps, I realised that all the time, I had been adding sugar instead of "salt". My only line of defense was that here in the USA, sugar and salt look the same when unpacked. Thus it was not the potatoes that were at fault. Instead it was my hunger-induced state of mind, which had made my brain unable to differentiate between the packaging of these two substances.

There are records of similar "salt-and-sugar" mishaps in the recent past. This is what Amitabh Bacchan had to say about such an incident in the movie Cheeni Kum. You shall find that in this case, the person's brain had stopped working due to other limiting factors.

Stories and Memories

2007-09-17T18:17:00.000-07:00

Thanks to the International Friendship Program at Virginia Tech, we (my room-mate Arnab, and I) got to meet an American family. Sarah, the lady of the house and the mother of three children, is adorable just by her beautiful nature and and her excellent culinary skills. But on our second visit to her house, we got to know that she is also a beautiful story-teller. Sarah has been working in the Blacksburg court for nearly three decades now. With that experience, it is not a surprise that she is a treasure-trove of all sorts of anecdotes from the court-house.

We got to hear her stories on the second day that we visited her house. I have re-narrated some of the anecdotes that she narrated to us. But before that, I would like to mention another thing that happened that day.

Sitting outside in the porch, I was learning about American football from Sarah's son-in-law Matt. Arnab was explaining "depth-of-field" (a concept in photography) to Sarah's younger daughter. Sarah herself was busy in the kitchen. The mouth-watering aromas of her cooking, just like her good nature, seemed to permeate the whole house.

During this massive gossip and adda session, I got a moment to myself when I went to the restroom. I do not know about others but many of my deeper thoughts have come to me within the privacy of the restroom. Reflecting on the truly enjoyable time that I was having today, I was reminded of the times at my Dada-Didi's place. (Dada-Didi are a couple in their seventies, who I got to meet around two years back. Visits to their home were an infallible source of unadulterated enjoyment.) I felt that it was mighty unfair that due to my pursuing studies in the US of A, such good folks as my Dada-Didi would not be able to share similar moments of happiness with me for an indefinitely long period of time.

It was true homesickness that I felt at that time. Notably, this was another "Happy-Sad feeling" which had been evoked in me by my coming to USA.

Coming back to Sarah's stories, I have re-narrated some of the anecdotes that she narrated to us. Hope you enjoy them.

Story 1 A certain person in the county of Montgomery, Virginia was involved in the illegal activity of growing and selling marijuana. His house was full of potted plants of this "forbidden fruit".

The business was good - no one was suspicious of his activities and had things gone the way they were going, he would have lived happily ever after. However as we all know, man's mind is never at rest. This very trait of human nature made our marijuana-grower lose sleep over how to better protect his treasures. Thus he installed a state-of-the-art burglar alarm system in his house.

And true enough, one day, a burglary was attempted. As expected, an alarm was raised by the newly installed system. The sirens and lights made sure that the whole neighbourhood and the police department rushed to the site of the attempted burglary. The police were faced with a peculiar problem - they were having to arrest both the burglar, and the owner of the house which was being burgled. It was then that the marijuana-grower realised that when one is on the other side of the law, one should not be too choosy about the company he keeps.

Story 2 Then there was the other marijuana-grower who was going on vacation. He decided to keep his pot-plants in the car so that they would get ample light to live and grow. He returned to find that the plants were alive and fresh. However there was also an arrest warrant in his name.

Story 3 Then there was the time when Sarah was checking in people when they came for their drug-screening test. One day, a certain young girl was late for her test. Sarah was especially irritated by late-comers and she grimly told the girl, "I am sorry. You are late and I cannot let you take the test." The girl started pleading, in an earnest tone, "But I was late because I had cut my ear." This news surprised Sarah and she enquired as to how such a drastic event had transpired. Sarah was in for a bigger surprise when the girl replied, with a straight face, "I was running down the driveway with my chainsaw... And I tripped and fell over and cut my ear... Here have a look.", and the girl parted her side hair to show the stitches that had followed the unfortunate incident.

For a moment, Sarah was speechless. Given that the girl was in a state of mind where running with chainsaws was a normal thing, the drug test would surely come positive. Sarah was amused by the irony of the girl's earnest pleas to take the test on that day itself.

A "Bread and Toaster" Arrangement

2007-09-02T07:27:00.000-07:00

HR of my previous company must have made a very wise move by keeping provisions for preparing bread toast in their pantry. When I saw it for the first time on my first day at office, I was elated - I could make a snack any time I wanted. And bread toast is one snack that I really love. Strange as it may sound, my loyalty for the company was strengthened by the presence of bread, butter and a toaster in the pantry!

Let us for the sake of this blog, call such irrelevant perks provided by the employer as "Bread and Toaster" arrangements. I recently was provided with a similar arrangement at my new position as Graduate Research Assistant (GRA) at Virginia Tech (VT).

I had heard that the Newman Library at VT stocked quite a lot of fiction books. This was in stark contrast to the Central Library at IIT Kgp, which stood by its resolve of not letting any fiction books enter its premises. (Of course, some friends at Kgp had mentioned that they had found some classical Hindi literature there.)

So one day, I decided to set aside some time to explore the 3rd floor of Newman library. This was where the fiction section was located. I was in for a breath-taking experience.

I started by asking a librarian where exactly the fiction books were located. He told me that I would find "light" reading material (e.g. Stephen King) on a popular reading rack in the 1st floor. He said that the 3rd floor housed a lot of material including a lot of "heavy" literature. If I wanted to find some particular author then I should look up the web-based catalog. However if I just wanted to browse through books to get a feel of the collection, then I could scan the racks. And this is what I decided to do.

As I started my walk , I noticed a few known authors and many others that I had not heard of. Here and there, I would notice a book that I had thought about reading for a long time. But I refrained from picking such books from the shelf just now. The racks went on and my mental list of "Must Read", and "Can Read" books kept increasing.

In certain racks, I found a concentration of particular authors. For example, Dickens' whole collection was supplemented by an array of biographies and critiques. There were Indian authors too. One of RK Narayan's books brought back memories of the time when I had bought and read it. And this time I did not have to see the price at the back of the book.

Overall, I realised that I could spend a significant amount of my Ph.D. tenure with these books. VT had provided me an totally non-technological perk and I was really thankful of that.

A New Beginning

2007-08-15T14:53:00.000-07:00

Recently I wrote an email describing my present situation... It is extremely apt... Hence I am pasting it here...

For those who might not understand the reference, let me give a bit of a background... I have recently landed in USA to start my PhD. It is going to be a long innings here. Naturally parents and relatives in India are missing me already. This is what I wrote to my mashi (maternal aunt).

-----

"right now i am busy running around with orientation, getting furniture, getting groceries, catching the college bus etc... but it's fun right now... class or research work have not started yet... and meeting a lot of new people everyday.... so not feeling too homesick yet...

right now sharing a phone between 2 people, a laptop with a faulty keyboard (e and f do not work) between 3 people... so not getting ample infrastructure to contact everybody...

will mail in more detail later... when i have lesser time, a better keyboard, and am feeling more homesick..."

Happy Sad

2007-05-24T03:20:00.000-07:00

A funeral is a place where one has to feel sad. But this time, for some reason, I felt a sense of happiness. I shall explain why that happened.

My grandmother's elder sister (boromashidida) had been suffering acutely for the last few months. When we got the news of her demise, it did not come as a surprise to us.

My parents and I had gone to her house to pay our last homage. Most of the ladies were crying. Boromashidida's husband was sitting on a chair outside the room in which the body was kept. Usually cheerful, I found that he had been stricken by grief. I felt sad for him - such a long and beautiful innings of over seventy years had finally come to an end. I went over to console him and held his hand.

It was his reaction which really surprised me. On seeing me, his expression changed to one of joy. He asked me when I had come to Kolkata. I had met him recently but he must have forgotten. So I reminded him that I was now working here. This pleased him even more. I could not help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the simple task I had been executing for the past two years – that of staying and working in Kolkata. It is common norm these days that boys and girls move out of Kolkata for work or education. This leaves very few people of my generation staying back in Kolkata, and available to attend these occasions.

This feeling of satisfaction, you can even call it pride, remained with me as I helped in carrying the hearse. As I did so, I could feel people’s gazes falling on me. They were probably saying, “Look at him. Such a nice boy. He has come back to stay with his parents.” I met many people that day after a long time. Many of them actually expressed such sentiments directly to me.

It also felt funny because there was something that these people did not know. That this “nice boy” was trying to go abroad for higher studies. And this was something that would take him away from his parents and his hometown for at least four years. You could say that the “nice boy” did not feel very nice about this at that time.

Anyway, I felt like sharing that day's of satisfaction with others. I am sure that there are many people staying abroad, who in their heart of hearts, pine to return to India. However, career decisions delay their return indefinitely. It is the aim of this writing to provide them a reason for their return. As the MasterCard advert goes, “There are some things that money can't buy...”

===================================================

On a different note, here's another mention of a "Happy Sad" feeling:- (Click on the PLAY button to watch the scene.)

(Also, here are the dialogues of the scene. From the movie, Cheeni Kum)

Why are you sad-sad and not happy sad?
Why are we sad? Because our hearts are heavy-heavy!
When is heart heavy-heavy? When some one hurts our heart!
Who can hurt our hearts so much? The one who is very close to heart!
Who is very-very close to the heart? The one with whom the heart feels very-very happy!
You were very happy so you are sad aren’t you?
So every thing is Happy-sad not sad-sad!

Sights. Sounds. Thoughts. In Kolkata!

2007-05-19T07:10:00.001-07:00

One day my friend Amitangshu had come home. He is now working in Delhi in an NGO. He works on wetland conservation - a noble cause!!! His work takes him to many places. Sometimes he also goes trekking. He was showing me pics of the places he had visited, especially of his so-called 'favourite' trek. Personally speaking, my job takes me as far as the restroom from my cubicle and that's about it. And I have had some occasional walks through the hills during my trips to the hill-stations. But my experiences are nothing to compare to his exploits. So I jealously listened on.

Anyways while showing the snaps, he stopped on this truly out-of-this-world sunset pic. He said that this sight greeted him after a particularly treacherous trek. He went on to emphasise how one's life becomes complete after viewing such a sunset.

I agreed with him. But does that mean my life does not have those moments of jubilation and discovery? Well, I shall relate one incident through which I tried to create such a moment right in the middle of this choking and claustrophobic city.

It was a Sunday, the holiday of the week. But when you are a person who wants to spend 'quality' time with parents, is one who has quite a few professional goals in life, is the sort of chap who wants to keep good relations with relatives, and regular contacts with friends - then Sunday does not remain a holiday anymore. That Sunday my list of odd jobs had taken me through the better part of the day, and it was early evening then. While walking back home from a necessary but unenjoyable activity, I realised that the cacophony of the blaring horns reflected the state of my mind. I decided that I needed to spend some 'quality' time on my own. I needed a nice and quiet walk to clear out my mind. And for that, I needed a stretch of land without the horns, fumes, people etc etc etc.

But when you live in an area like Minto Park, such a stretch of land at 6 in the evening is hard to get. I realised that I would need to take a bus to reach such a place.

The Kolkata Maidan could have been one option. However my last experience of Maidan in the evening had made me realise that it had already become prey to crass commercialisation. Maidan in the evening is like a once-peaceful and idyllic hill station gone totally wrong. So I decided to travel in the opposite direction.

I took a bus and got off at Lansdowne Puddapukur, turned right into a lane, and started walking. Initially, the din of cars and people followed me into the lane. But as I kept walking, I found the crowds and sounds thinning. This was good. I passed beautiful bungalows. I noticed an old wrinkled woman sitting alone on a porch... an artistic sight. Some sleek cars passed by me - this area was obviously quite posh. As I walked on, the streetlights grew dimmer and I could start hearing my thoughts once again. This lane, Lovelock Lane, connected Lansdowne with Ballygunge Circular Road. I recognised that I had come here twice to drop off a very close friend. But then I had come by a different route.

I passed 'her' house and approached a fork in the road. One lane turned left. I shall talk about the other lane a little later. I took the left turn and it twisted a little more to end at an old house. It probably was of the pre-Independence era. It was different from the more modern and utilitarian Non-Bengali structures in that area. (Non-Bengali by dint of the Ganeshas greeting you from different vantage points). It even had a lawn. The lawn had probably just been sprinkled with water and it was exhaling the beautiful smell of first rain. I was admiring the relic of older times when a group of boys came out of the house. Their conversation contained usual boy's talk - girls, sports and leg pulling. They had possibly come here to make best use of the lawn - a rare thing in most houses nowadays. I became conscious that I must be looking stupid standing there and walked back quickly.

Coming back to the fork in the road, I now had the option of returning home or exploring the other lane. Now this lane was pitch dark. And it was just enough for two persons to walk side by side. I contemplated that it might be risky, not knowing where this 'blind' alley might lead ('blind' because I could not see anything once I was inside, and also it might actually have been a blind alley). Finally throwing caution to the wind, I walked in. I felt my heart skipping a few beats. And if someone had popped out from the sides then, I would have given the run of my life. Soon however I saw light at the end of this 'tunnel', and breathed a sigh of relief.

After that I decided that I had had enough exploration for the day and returned home. I felt satisfied that I had been able to simulate a sense of exploration and discovery from this incident of “alley-trekking”.

Some Self Promotion

2007-05-02T04:59:00.000-07:00

The product I am working on (LipTracker) is being developed for Pixel Instruments, Los Gatos. The product was displayed at NAB 2007, for which I travelled to US. It received the Broadcast Engineering NAB2007 Pick Hit award.

This was the third consecutive year that the product received an award. I have been with the product for the last two NAB-s.

Previous awards were
NAB 2006 - TV Technology STAR Award
NAB 2005 - Television Broadcast Top Innovation Awards

Here's a snapshot of the Pixel Instruments website (showing off the 3 awards together)

a must read in this valentine season... in English

2007-04-26T05:56:00.000-07:00

With reference to my earlier blog on an AnandaBazar Patrika article giving novel ways of proposing, some people had requested that I translate the anecdotes in English. Well I passed on the request to my father, and he very kindly translated a few of the anecdotes. Here they are:-

Anecdote 1

Negotiations for my marriage had been almost completed, but eventually aborted, owing to our reluctance to cough up the dowry being demanded. My elder brother had a friend, who had visited our home several times. Over the phone, he asked me one day," When are you changing your title?" Somewhat reluctantly, I blurted out the bitter truth. Some days later, he phoned up again; this time, he wanted to know whether I was looking
for a job, and also if I were going to appear for the SSC exams.

His enquiries had an air of sincerity, and I was drawn into talking to him, on all sorts of unrelated topics. It helped that he was a good listener as well. He was, however, not the type to fall in love at first sight, and I was also not that way inclined. But he phoned up again a few days later, this time wanting to know what I thought of him as a person. Quite naturally, I replied that I liked talking to him. Suddenly, quite out of the blue, he then popped the all-important question-"Will you marry me?" Without much thought, I replied in the negative. Unfazed and unrepentant, he grandly announced that then he had no option but to marry me himself. So many years have now passed, and I realize how lucky I was that he did not take my denial seriously.

- Sanchari Mukherjee @ Mumbai

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Anecdote 2

Exactly nine years ago, I was stationed in a small town in Orissa, on active duty. There was a tall, handsome and alert male colleague, who had been posted several days before me. We had struck up an easy paced relationship. He was with me on a bitterly cold January evening, when I accidentally managed to spill some hot water on my hand. Fortunately, no major damage was done. But imagine my surprise when my tall, good-looking friend chose this very moment to vanish, striding away very rapidly on his long and elegant legs. I was dumbstruck, and at a complete loss for words. Suddenly, the bell rang! The ghost who had walked out had made an embarrassed reappearance. Before I could put in a word sideways, he had held out a peace offering-a tube of Burnol, and was then unashamedly asking me for my hand in marriage. I had heard of red roses being used to speak of one's love, but Burnol? Was he intending to soothe all life's cuts and burns with a tube of Burnol? He indeed was.

- Shrabani @ Baleshwar

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Anecdote 3

We first met during law classes at Surendranath College. He was very much into literary activities, happily surrounded by an amazingly large number of female admirers, and I was one of them. His sister Tuku and I were inseparable, though, and we haunted the college snacks-bars .I would also regularly drop in at Tuku’s house, but he would invariably come in fairly late in the evening, dog-tired, and would almost instantly hit the hay, sawing timber without any care as to present company. At these moments, I would begin to wonder exactly whose friend I was, Tuku's or his. Incidentally, with the knowledge of two past affairs that I had had, he would maddeningly insist on being called No.3.And this in front of everyone else! You can easily guess me turning a beetroot red, much to the delight of all present. We had frequent and lively interactions at Mitali-Hatibagan and at Sweet Home opposite Calcutta High Court. But he never found it in him to say the sweet nothings that I yearned to hear.

Believe it or not, this charade was to carry on for a full 10 years or so, and I was more or less resigned to my spinsterhood, when suddenly Tuku's marriage talks were finalised with Sanjoy, and all members of their household became tied up with the preparations. Somehow in the midst of all this ongoing chaos, he managed to slip into our house early one morning. He had evidently been headed for the ration shop, since he was carrying 2 or 3 large jute bags under his arm. I was busy cooking for my married sisters who had come visiting with their children, and seeing him in the kitchen, you could hear a pin drop. He was unperturbed, and asked whether I could have a word with him in private, please? We were still not informal together after the 10 years or so together; but we went to our granny’s room, nevertheless. In a rush of words, he blurted out that there was a very large queue at the shop, and he had suddenly realized that he had to finalise something much more important, and he was willing to wait 6 months for my answer, but could I muster up enough courage to enter into a more lasting relationship? Dumbfounded at this sudden and very unexpected turn of events, I could only nod my head in mind-sapping relief, and thank Providence.

- Rekha Mitra @ HindMotor

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Anecdote 4

One day, taking me completely unawares, my office-colleague Kabita, asked me point-blank, "Are you presently into seeing girls for a future match for yourself?" When I wanted to know why she asked, she replied that an elderly man had been making detailed queries about me. Then, I had no option but to agree that the search was indeed on for a suitable bride for me. Kabita then informed me that she had a good looking friend working for the Government on a decent pay packet, blessed with a good even temperament, who could prove to be the ideal mate for me. I told her that I did not want a working bride, but instead a stay-at-home type, who would help my mother with the daily chores. Kabita smiled and pointedly remarked that before marriage all people had great expectations from their would-be spouses, but that these changed drastically, soon after the actual event. Working girl or not, Kabita opined that all brides of today wanted to set up small, independent, cosy family-nests, which ultimately required a great deal more money from the nuclear family. Naturally, it stood to reason therefore that working girls made for a better proposition, since they could steer the family ship more effectively. At this, I could not suppress my curiosity any longer, and asked Kabita whom she had in mind for me. Serenely, Kabita smiled, and stated that she had set her eyes on me for a long time now, and would brook no refusal. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, I could not make any sensible reply to her at that point of time, and such has been the story of my life with Kabita thereafter.

- Moloy Kumar Das Biswas @ Jamshedpur

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Movie Review : Before Sunset

2007-02-17T15:56:00.000-08:00

There are some movies which have received universal acceptance as being extremely touching or extremely moving. Then there are some movies which have not yet attained that cult status, and yet when you saw them, they left a deep impression on your mind. According to me, "Before Sunset" is just such a movie.

"Before Sunset" (BS2) is the sequel to "Before Sunrise". I had watched the first movie almost two years ago. "Before Sunrise" (BS1) had ended on a predominantly melancholy note, but it also left a hint of hope. Thus when I started watching BS2, I was eager and anxious to know the fate of its' protagonists.

SPOILER : Plot details follow. Please note that people have not seen this movie and enjoy romantic things should first see both the movies before reading on.

In BS1, two people meet up as complete strangers on a train, and decide to spend the few hours till the next train, together. From evening till dawn, they roam the beautiful streets of Vienna, talking about each other's lives. There are some intimate moments too. At daybreak, according to their previously agreed arrangement, they part. Hence the melancholy. They promise to meet up in Vienna exactly after one year. Hence the hope. However, they do not exchange any contact details, fearing that such formalities might ruin the romance that had built up in their brief encounter. Hence the sequel.

BS2 takes us through the day in the lives of this same couple when they meet up seven years after that first meet. (For some reason, the girl - Julie Delpy - had been unable to keep the promised appointment in Vienna, even though she desperately wanted to.) As the movie progresses, we get to know what all happended in these two peoples' lives in the last seven years. Ethan Hawke is married, but is totally incompatible with his wife. He spent four of the last seven years writing a book on that one night in Vienna. His book became popular, which prompted his trip to Paris. Julie Delpy has a boyfriend but there's something missing in the relationship. At one point in the movie, Julie breaks down at the fact that all the guys she once thought of marrying, now were returning to her after getting married themselves. Finally, they both agree that the one night they spent together was so romantic, so perfect - that none have been able to love anyone else so perfectly after that.

The movie is about two adults trying to cope up with the whims and fancies of life which brought them together yet kept them apart. The end of the movie, which I shall not divulge, was such that it left me confused and angry. Can grown-up mature people act like this? And if circumstances make people behave in such a manner, why should fate conspire to create such circumstances.

Love, I believe, should create beautiful things. However, I failed to catch any ray of hope at the end of the movie. Or was I too obtuse? I certainly hope so.

a must read in this valentine season...

2007-02-12T21:46:00.000-08:00

Hi

here's a writeup giving novel ways of proposing... a must read in this valentine season... (It is in Bengali)

those who can get hold of AnandaBazar Patrika Rabibashariya of 11th February 2007 can go read there.. otherwise you can download the PDF file of that page from here.

Update
Some people requested me that I translate the anecdotes in English. Well my father and I did just that. Here are some of the anecdotes in English.

Anecdote 1

- Sanchari Mukherjee @ Mumbai

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Anecdote 2

- Shrabani @ Baleshwar

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Anecdote 3

- Rekha Mitra @ HindMotor

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Anecdote 4

- Moloy Kumar Das Biswas @ Jamshedpur

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I am proud to present to you...

2007-02-03T21:55:00.000-08:00

Hi All

I am proud to present to you the writings of Srimati Mukherjee. You can read her writings at http://joc2.blogspot.com/ . Please note that the writings are in Bengali.

She is my friend Srikanta Mukherjee's mother. I found her writings to be of great quality and thought that such writing should reach a wider audience.

Blogging is a great medium through which a writer can find many readers. However like many people of my parent's generation, Srimati Kakima is not very conversant with Computers. Hence I helped her create this blog.

In the end, I will be glad if a lot of people read her blog and send her their comments at her email id, which is <srimati.mukherjee@gmail.com >. I would request you to forward this email to as many people as you can.

Regards
Kriti

PS : Thanks to my mother for doing the typing. And kudos to me for patiently answering her doubts again and again and again..... :)

What a Movie !!

2006-10-28T22:57:00.000-07:00

I have been down with viral fever since Tuesday. Today's the 6th day and I hope to join office from tomorrow. But in these days, I watched a lot of movies on TV - "The Mummy Returns", "Zinda", "Bride and Prejudice", "Gladiator", "Airplanes II : The Sequel" etc. I watched most of these movies for the first time, since I have been quite irregular at catching up with movies for the last two years.

Of all these movies, I enjoyed Zinda the most. Though the dark and gruesome story might not appeal to everyone, I recommend it for its gripping storyline and realistic picturisation. Zinda stands apart when compared with other Bollywood fare.

PS : The songs of Zinda are haunting... Anyone would enjoy them... especially the songs Yeh Hai Meri Kahani (Strings) and Zinda Hoon Main (by Shibani Kashyap)http://www.raaga.com/channels/hindi/movie/H001015.html

I did it... I did it... I did it...

2006-10-28T22:48:00.000-07:00

Those are lines from "My Fair Lady", a movie that I recently watched and loved.

The reason why I am uttering the same lines, is that I finished clearing the backlog at Orkut. Ever since my birthday went by, there were umpteen number of scraps to which I had not replied. Finally, with great grit, resolve and physical resilience, yesterday, I managed to reply to each of those scraps.. Phew!!!

Recipe : Pai’s Corn Toast

2006-09-03T07:08:00.000-07:00

6 pieces

Ingredients

2 tablespoon Butter
2 tablespoon Maida
1 glass Milk
Salt and Pepper - to taste
Sugar – 1 teaspoon
Capsicum diced into small bits - 1/3rd cup
Sweet Corn Kernels – 1 200gm can
Bread – 12 slices

[For the uninitiated, Sweet Corn Kernels are the type of corn, which have become the rage with cinemagoers at multiplexes across India. I used a 200g can of Green Giant Niblets, which you can get for Rs. 49/- but there are equally good cheaper packs available. ]

Procedure

Firstly put the Kernels (about 3/4ths of the can will do) in the pressure cooker and cook till two whistles. Basically you need to bring it just to a boil so that it still retains it crispiness. (Microwave directions are also provided on the wrapper.) Drain the water and place the corn aside.
Saute the capsicum in a little butter and place aside. It should also be crunchy.

For the White Sauce
Heat the butter in the kadhai and add the maida just when it starts to brown.
Mix the two well and heat till the maida is cooked.
Then add the milk. Add salt, pepper to taste and the sugar. Cook till it becomes a thick but flowing paste.
(This white sauce is a basic sauce in so many dishes that every self-respecting cook should have it in his/her repertoire. For our preparation, we should also add the capsicum along with the milk so that it also simultaneously gets cooked.)
When the white sauce is ready, add the corn. Stir for a minute and your spread is ready.

The final step
Toast 2 bread slices. Butter them. Apply the spread on the bread. Spread some cheese and pepper, cover with the other slice and serve. Yum!!!

PS : This sandwich is served in Coffee Pai, a coffee parlour near my house. My mom replicated it at home after having had it over there. Hence the name. Like before, the photo will come soon.

Recipe : D Chowmein

2006-08-20T09:17:00.000-07:00

Serves 4 people

Ingredients

Vermicelli (1 packet) - not the one which has long strands but the one which is broken into small bits
Onions
Vegetables : Tomato, Beans, Capsicum, Potato, Carrot - diced into cubes as for chowmein
Spices : Heeng (Asaphoetida), Ajwain, Haldi (Turmeric), Chilli Powder

Procedure

First heat some oil in a kadhai and fry the Vermicelli till golden brown
Separately boil some water. In the boiling water add the fried Vermicelli after it has cooled down a bit. Add salt to taste. (Measure of water is 1 cup of water per cup of vermicelli. This is important as this determines the texture of the Vermicelli. After soaking in the water, it should not become too soggy.)
Now fry the onions. Add the spices. After the onions have cooked a bit, add the diced vegetables. Fry till they are cooked, but only so much that they remain crunchy.
Finally add the Vermicelli and toss around a bit. D chowmein is ready to serve.

Final suggestions : You may serve with chaat masala sprinkled on top, or with tomato sauce. Whichever way, it tastes yummy!!!

Dream Theatre : 3D

2006-08-13T08:32:00.000-07:00

I am going to relate to you a dream that I recently had. At the end of the dream, I was put in a sticky situation. I will request my readers to suggest ways by which I might have got out of that situation.

At the end, I shall also relate the solution that I conceived in the somnolent state I was in when I woke up.

Scene 1
The dream starts an I find myself in a park with some small kids. All of us are playing with a Frisbee. Suddenly one of the kids throws the Frisbee wildly and it whizzes past all of our heads and lands in a drain.

I go over and look into the drain. To my surprise I find the Frisbee resembling an upturned dinner plate. Anyway, as the drain is full of muddy dirty water, I refrain from picking it up.

Scene 2
To my utter surprise, I find out that one of the kids playing with me in the park is actually my son. Presently I am in a room with him. I am getting ready for a party and he is jumping all over me. As I wear my tie, I promise him that I shall fight the goons to bring back his Frisbee. To add to the weight of the promise, I fire a few weighty punches in the air. My son is suitably impressed, and starts to envision me as his superhero. Leaving my son with his illusions (true or false) I leave for the party along with my wife.

Scene 3
Now I am at the party with my wife. She is presently in my arms and we are doing a slow ball-dance. I notice that she is tall, slim, dark and attractive. She is tipsy after a few drinks. However, I am totally in my senses. My mind is occupied by thoughts of the Herculean task before me.

Retrieving a Frisbee from a drain should not be a formidable task. However, the drain and its periphery have undergone a drastic transformation from one dream scene to another. I visualise the area while dancing, and I see visions of a dark and formidable street. On one side of it, there is the canal (the erstwhile drain) in which my son's Frisbee is lying. A series of workshops lie on the other side of the street and its' inhabitants look like goons coming straight out of prison. They wear dirty cargos and rag-like vests, and they seem to have muscles popping out from all over their body. In each of their faces, I see scars, pockmarks and the same lecherous and trouble-mongering expression.

If only our city had been better developed, I think to myself. Then this canal-side road would have become a beautiful promenade lined with elegant skyscrapers, much like the waterfronts of many US cities.

But for now, it is through this haven of ruffians that I have to venture to retrieve my son's Frisbee. And on top of that, I have to take my wife along with me.

Last Scene
Now I find myself driving my car at almost zero speed through that narrow lane. My wife is on the seat beside me and is sleeping as peacefully as a kitten. The car lights are on and the scumbags outside can see her. As my car inches along at snail's pace, a crowd of leering ruffians forms outside. Now I am almost at the end of the road. Soon I must stop my car. And to retrieve my son's Frisbee, I have to go some distance, leaving my sleeping wife in such contemptible and dangerous company.

There is no turning back. What do I do?

Please suggest some solutions…

The solution that I got in the semi-conscious state I found myself in, when I woke up from this bad dream......
As I near the end of the road, I spot a small door leading into a mosque. Having stayed beside a devout Muslim at hostel, I know that a prayer session must be concluding around this time. I stop the car, lock it from outside and rush inside the mosque. As soon as the prayers get over, I drag the Maulvi outside. On seeing him, the ruffians who have by now almost clambered on to my car, shy away like naughty boys caught red-handed. I request the Maulvi to guard my wife and dash off to retrieve the Frisbee. Soon I bring it back (by now, it is no more a Frisbee; it is a dinner plate) and find my wife sleeping in ignorant bliss.

Mission executed....

A Simple Experiment

2006-03-12T01:57:00.000-08:00

By means of this blog, I request you to participate in a simple experiment. I shall outline the procedure here.

First, I shall describe a few situations that I have encountered in my personal life. Then, I shall ask you a few questions regarding the described situations. Your role would be to honestly answer those questions.

Here and there, I might put forward some of my views regarding the described situations. I would request you to patiently hear me out. Pretty simple experiment, isn’t it? Then, let’s go ahead.

Situation 1: As I was waiting for the lift in my office building, I noticed a beautiful girl coming along. Being an early hour of the day, there was no one else nearby. As our eyes met, I noticed a hint of interest in her eyes. I was dying to start talking with the girl. I could feel the palpitations in my heart …

Question: I felt the urge to talk to this beautiful specimen from the opposite gender. Have you, in a similar situation in your life, felt a similar urge? Answer in Yes or No.

Situation 2: A (female) friend and I had visited a coffee shop recently. We struck up an interesting conversation. Flitting from one topic to another, the conversation landed on the topic of my friend’s boyfriend. She started by describing the time when they had started going around, and then talked about a bad patch in their relationship. Then, she went on to describe how they had made up. I could notice a glow of happiness in her face, as she talked about him. As I listened to her monologue, my feelings changed from one of pleasant curiousness to slight jealousy. How could these people be so happy? Must you have a love-partner to be in such a state of bliss?

Question: Have you been faced with a similar situation? Have you, at one point or another in your life, felt a similar need to have a partner? Answer in Yes or No.

My views : Now, here are my views on the situations described above. Some of you, having faced similar situations in the past, might have already found your life-partner. I believe that these ‘needs’ of mine will be fulfilled in the future. It may be in the form of marriage, or in the form of a girlfriend. My point is that there is no need for me to despair. A positive solution lies in the future.

Now, let me describe a few more situations.

Situation 3: While going for my morning walk, I pass this eating joint beside my house. If I pass it around 7 o’clock, I find boys, much younger than me, huddled together, peeling potatoes. Every day of the week, barring Sundays, they peel potatoes. During my walk, I think about my career, about the rising pollution in the city, and other such issues. I wonder what those kids think about.

Question: Have you seen small kids, slaving away at menial tasks, wasting the best years of their lives? Have you ever been worried for them? Answer in Yes or No.

Situation 4: One day, I was running a few chores during the daytime. As I was passing Minto Park, I noticed a small kid defecating behind a tree. It was a busy time of the day, and hundreds of cars were whizzing past that site. Quite a few pedestrians, like me, were also using that footpath. The kid was in full public view, but obviously he had more pressing things to attend to. Initially amazed by the sight, I noticed that this footpath had been used for similar purposes quite regularly. Unlike this child, the others had probably been careful to control their bowel movements to less busier hours of the day.

Question: Have you seen a similar pitiable sight? Have you felt injustice over the fact that some people do not get even their basic needs attended to? Answer in Yes or No.

My views : Well, I keep feeling sad when I come across these sights. I wonder why there is no natural social mechanism for alleviating these inequalities. A natural mechanism like the one that gets people married. Why isn’t there a natural movement towards addressing such social injustice?

Initially, when I set out to write this piece, I started on a pessimistic note. But since then, I think I have found a positive answer. Like my views expressed earlier, I think the solution for this injustice lies in the future.

After all, I cannot help each and every child in the streets. Much like the fact that I cannot marry each and every pretty girl that I come across in a lift. I hope I shall be able to help at least one needy child in my life. That, I think, will be similar to remaining happily married with the love of my life.

D Sandwich

2006-03-11T22:21:00.000-08:00

I'm learning a bit of cooking. I make the breakfast every Saturday. I recently learned to make this sandwich, and it tastes great. So I thought I'd share it here. Some friends in the US, who are having to cook on their own, can easily try it out.

Ingredients:

1. Bread – 2 slices
2. Butter
3. Oil
4. 1 Cucumber – sliced into round discs
5. 1 Tomato – sliced into round discs
6. Cheese

Procedure:
Butter 2 slices of bread. Heat a very little amount of oil in a non-stick fry pan. (You can also use some butter for this). Lightly fry the non-buttered side of one slice till it starts appearing brown. This forms the outer side of the sandwich.

Take the browned bread slice off the pan. Arrange the sliced cucumber and tomato on the buttered inner side. Then add a generous sprinkling of grated cheese. Cover this with the buttered side of the other bread slice.

The outer side of the top slice of bread has still not been fried. Now gently pick up the whole sandwich and place it top down on the frying pan. That means the yet-to-be browned side of bread now gets browned. This also results in the grated cheese melting a bit, giving the sandwich its characteristic taste.

After the bread has become adequately brown, gently pick up the whole sandwich from the frying pan. Halve the sandwich diagonally.Your sandwich is now ready.

NOTE : 1 cucumber, 1 tomato and 1 Amul cheese cube usually suffice for 6 slices of bread (i.e. 3 sandwiches)

~~[Unfortunately, I don't have a DigiCam. But the above photo from this wonderful site at least shows almost all the ingredients required. (Except the strawberries!!)]~~

[Edit 11/6/2006] : Now, I have a DigiCam. The above photo is of the actual D-Sandwich.

The Interim Period

2006-02-26T00:39:00.000-08:00

It has been quite some time since I posted something on my blog. Here are some things that I did during that time.

Created an e-tutorial about my final year B. Tech project. Had been thinking about making one for a long time. Finally, was able to implement it in the last month. (Thanks a lot to BSNL Broadband connection at home). You can check it out here. Even if TI DSP’s are not what you usually fascinate about, you will be able to appreciate the introduction written for me, by my friend Atul Narayan. I asked him to put all his marketing skills into the introduction.
Thought of a PJ. It goes like this:

One day, a convoy of black Hyundai Sonata-s was proceeding along a highway. Suddenly, the first Hyundai Sonata broke down. And as a result, the whole convoy had to stop till the problem was fixed.

Now, try to remember that old blind man from Sholay… At that time, he was on the way to his daily numaaz. As he was trying to cross the road, he was hindered by the serpentine queue of Sonata-s. My question is, what did the blind man from Sholay say at that time?

Read on

V

”Itna Sonata Kyon hai, Bhai !!!”

“Nirjon Saikat-e” Film Review

2006-01-07T01:21:00.000-08:00

The Sunday started by watching ‘Shaadi No. 1’ at Inox multiplex. As to how much I liked the movie, the lesser said – the better. Back home, I saw ‘Shrimaan Prithviraj’ on the computer. It’s an acknowledged Bengali classic and I saw it for the first time. Needless to say, it was highly entertaining.

After this, I found my parents watching another Bengali movie on the telly. The movie was called ‘Nirjon Saikat-e’ and my parents said that it was a famous oldie. Once I started watching it, I could not pull myself away. Since I liked it so much, I shall write about it here. Also, many people have not heard about it, and I would suggest them to definitely put this on top of their viewing list.

Cinema ta 30-40 bochor purono. Aar saikat ta holo Puri’r saikat. Tokhon kaar kale lokera Puri-turi gele mash-du ek katiyei ashto. Aaj kaal eto boro chuti bhaba-o jaay na. Jaai hok, shei Puri-te chuti kataate geche emon lokjoneder niyei cinema. Lokjoner moddhye ache ek-jot bidhoba buri. Shombhoboto tara ek-ee poribaar-er shodoshyo – ek sathe ghurte esechen. Taader moddhye du-jon buri non – ekjon hocche Ruma Guha Thakurta, olpo boyeshe bidhoba hoyechen. Aar ekjon hocche Sharmila Thakur, shey to bidhoba-i noy, pseudo bidhoba. Taar premik taake ekebaare biye-r mondop porjontyo giye ditch koreche – taai opomaan, betrayal-er jaala etc etc-te aajkaal shey bidhobar motoi thaake.

Aar aache Anil Chatterjee - film-er prodhaan nayok. Taar life ta ekebaare ‘mast’. Kormo khetrer dik theke shey artist ba author. Ekaai eseche Puri - shombhoboto inspiration-er jonne. Puri-te oi bidhoba buri-der sathe taar alaap hoy, taader sathe khub bondhutto hoy. Taara deke deke artist chokra-ke aador kore khawaay. Ruma ke Anil didi bole daake. Aar Sharmila to kaar-o sathe kothai bole na.

Jaai hok, ekdin enara shob shomudre chaan korte jaan. Sharmila’r to kichu tei spriha nei. Aar Anup o generally khub lazy – shey beach-ei boshe thakte chaay. Taader ke chere baaki-ra shomudre nemey pore. Tokhon Anup aar Sharmila kotha bolte arombho kore. Sharmila je khub depressed taa-i kothaay kothaay bojha jaay. Tokhon Anup suggest kore je shomudre chaan korle taar mon ta halka hoye jaabe. Sharmila gele shey-o jaabe. Sheshe anil-er onek onurodhe aar nuliya’r sahajye Sharmila jol-e naame. Kichu khon-er moddhei taar sundor mukhe ekta haashi phutey othe. Shob duhkho bisorjon diye shey ekebaare metey othey shomudre-r sathe.

Scene-ta dekhe amaar Puri’r jonne prochur mon kemon korchilo. Amaar mone aache je Puri-te giye amaar kono kaaron-e khub mon kharaap chilo. Aar shomudre chaan korte korte amaar mon-taao shob koshto bhuley gelo. 30-40 bochor aage-o loker taa hole emon-ee mone hoto. Raag hole joto chaao shomudre ke maaro; kanna pele joto chaao kaado – shomudro shob kichu-ke nijer moddhye grohon kore nebe. 30 bochor aageo je bhaabe nito, ekhono temon bhaabei nebe.

Accha ei holo shomudro-chaan er brittanto. Porey shei bidhoba-buri’r dol Konarak jaatra koren. Onek onurodh aar abdaar koraa-te bhoboghure Anil-o taader sathe jete badhyo hoy. Jaatra-ta abaar goru’r gaarite. Amra jokhon Puri theke Konarak gechilam, tokhon amader goru’r naam chilo Tata Sumo.

Konarak pouchey shekhaan-e aar ek mojaar kaando ghote. Konarak-er Sun Temple-er dewaal-e karukarjo dekhle ekta bishoye besh gyaan orjon kora jaay. Bishoy-ta holo Kamasutra. Emon kichu gyaan orjon kora-r por amaader bidhoba buri-ra Anil ke gaalagaal korte thaken. Bolen “Hotochaara! Kemon jaygay niye esechis. Sharmila jeno oi dikey ekebaare na jaay.”

Mojaar kotha ei je ami jokhon ma-baba-mashi-didi-jamaibabu-bhagne niye Konarak giyechilam amaar-o thik ek-ee experience hoyechilo. Mashi-ra ek ekta karukarjo dekhe amader bolchilo “Khobordaar oi dike takaabi na.” Ami to mukh tipey tipey heshe phelchilam. Aar amaar theke choto amaar bhagne-o chilo. Konarak jatraa-r por olpo boyoshe-ee shey onek gyaani hoye gechilo.

Finally, aar ekta scene-er kotha boli. Konarak-er surjo mondir dekhe buri-ra pherot gechen. Baaki ache shudhu Sharmila aar Anup – puro mondir-e ekaa tarai ache. Kichu ekta kothaay Sharmila khub depressed hoye jaay, bole “Beche theke ki laabh.”. Tokhon Anup taake bole, “Ki bolchen aapni? Beche to amader thaktei hobe. Ami nije onek kichui maani na, kintu ekta jinish shotyi - je ami atheist noi. Ami bhogobaan-e bishhash kori. Ami moni kori kothaao kono ekta force ache je protyek muhurte amaader jibon-ke gorche, bhangche, abaar gorche, abaar bhangche. Aar amader kaaj hocche - ei je jogot-e amader pathaano hoyeche, shekhane mon khule baacha.”

Kotha gulo amake prochur touch korlo. Ei byapaare amar feelings-tao kichuta similar.

Byaas, “Nirjon Saikat-e” niye eto-taai. Tapan Sinha’r direction-er movie. Na dekhe thakle dekhe phelun.

[Most of this blog is in Bengali. I started writing it in English, but found the feelings flowing better in Bengali. Inspired by http://jacchetai.blogspot.com/ .]

Scatter-brain

2005-12-27T01:28:00.000-08:00

I am going for tennis coaching nowadays. The other day, the coach was especially ruthless. He had made me run so much, that at the end of the session, I found myself looking to the skies for respite. And what did I see when I looked above. I saw two huge TV cable lines running along the breadth of the sky. The sky was a clear blue with many tufts of cloud scattered here and there. The cable lines gave an effect that the sky had been divided into regions by them. The sight reminded me of something, of which I can provide you a snapshot. Look below :-

Guess this is what happens when you work too much with excel plots and scatter diagrams.

Battle Ahoy!!

2005-11-20T18:26:00.000-08:00

Written 3 weeks ago, Posted today

Getting ready for and going to office is a daily ritual that many of us perform. I too go through this ritual every workday morning. After having a sufficiently nutritious breakfast prepared by my mother, I leave for office. I pack the water, ask the Gods for blessings, get blessed and wished good luck by my parents, and then set off. If my timing is correct, I get the office car. Otherwise, I go the full distance by 'shuttle-taxi' (or 'share-taxi', depending on what one calls it). This particular mode of transport is usually co-habited by others of my species. By this, I denote the young people working in software, hardware and other '-ware’ offices in Sector 5, Salt Lake of Kolkata. Most of us Sectorus Fivus people are doing similar jobs. Almost always, we are similarly dressed. It’s almost as if we belong to different regiments going to the same battle. But even in this uniform setting, which could have been a perfect stimulant for conversation, there is usually a pregnant silence in the car. If we find someone from our own office, we instantly start talking to fill this void.

Speaking of battle, the phrase "getting ready for battle" might seem a little bit out of place today. But a thousand years ago, what with all the wars that littered our history texts, it would have been a commonplace thing. I can imagine the soldier setting off for battle. He would have shined his armour, much as we shine our shoes today. Then after having his morning meal, he would have been wished goodbye by his mother or wife. Their main concern would be his safe return. If the country won, it was good. For that increased the chances of the soldier returning home.

The soldier then would have set off towards the battlefield. On some days, he would be fortunate to catch his battalion's procession. After that, it would be a fun walk or ride, bantering along with his friends. On other days, he would be forced to travel along with soldiers of other regiments. And for some strange reason, the mood would not be as jovial. The cavalry would not talk with the archers, and the archers would smirk at the pikemen. And the pikemen would crack ‘arrow-bearer’ jokes within themselves, highlighting the imagined oddities of the archers. In the end, no one would talk with each other.

Coming back to my case, recently Kolkata received a lot of rain. As usual, our area was completely waterlogged. This resulted in my going to office wearing bermudas and chappals. Of course, once I was in office, I changed into the official 'armour'. People living in areas, where the drainage system is not up to the 'standards' of our locality, could not boast of similar exploits. And my voyages on land and water became the talking point among colleagues and relatives.

On such days, comparing myself with a common soldier of yore would not be appropriate. On those days, I felt like Arjuna, the main hero of the battle. It was feeling very similar to being "on top of the world".

PS : Between the time I wrote this piece and posted it here (a good 3 weeks), I have had quite a few interesting conversations on board the shuttle. So I should not complain anymore. If only all things got solved so easily!!!

'Baa, Bahoo Aur Baby'

2005-11-08T21:11:00.000-08:00

A large number if Indians watch "Kaun Banega Crorepati" from 9 - 10 pm over the weekend on Star Plus. The slot just following KBC is thus an important slot for Star Plus as they would like to keep most of these KBC watchers hooked to their channel.

When KBC-1 was launched around 5 years back, "Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi" occupied the hallowed 10 o' clock slot. Those were my IIT preparation days, so I managed to see only bits and pieces of it. However, as my Mom followed the soap religiously, I was usually updated on the plot.

Initially, I found "Kyunki" quite likeable. Especially Tulsi Bhabhi , Baa and the starting song-and-video sequence. But ever since Mihir started dying pseudo-deaths and the jovial theme song turned into a lachrymose weepie, I started regarding it with severe contempt.

Recently, KBC-2 ('dwitiya') has started. This time, a serial of a completely different genre occupies the 10 pm slot. It's called "Baa, Bahoo Aur Baby". Hopefully, the 'Baa' is the only common link with its' predecessor.

The serial depicts the day-to-day issues of a Gujrati joint family. It is usually very hilarious. But it would be unfair to term it as a comedy as it also portrays the remaining gamut of emotions equally well. I'll relate two episodes of the serial here.

In one, a guy and his family had come to see Baby. Baby is a girl of marriageable age and arguably the main protagonist. Here I mean 'see' as in "ladki dekhne jaana". Now, according to me, and many Indians will agree with me, Baby is very sweet. We seem to like the "khaate peete ghar ki" type of girls and not the bulimic sort. Of course, Baby has a physical disability - she uses crutches.

The boy who had come to see Baby was more seriously disadvantaged - he stuttered. Finally, it was Baby who refused the guy. The striking part about the episode was the way the situation was treated. Unlike the usual Bollywood practise, the guy's stutter was not mocked at. I think he even deserves a prize for enacting the role so realistically.

Another episode recreated the settings of the Mumbai rains. A member of the family, Praveen, was feared to have died in the deluge. His wife, Praveena (usually great fun - watching 'Praveen and Praveena' together) was in tears, and was constantly being given support by the rest of the family. Nothing extraordinary about the plot; except the maturity with which all actors acted.

Overall, I think it is an absolutely wonderful serial. It is attractive mainly because it portrays Indian family values so well. Many serials become stale with time. Hope this one continues its' likeable streak for a long time.

Finally I think 'The Bold and The Beautiful' was good only for U.S. 'Baa, Bahoo Aur Baby' is good enough for us.

PS : Speaking of US and 'us' reminds me of something. In today's world, where many offices in India do the work of U.S. by outsourcing etc., the following motivational poster spotted at an office struck me as highly conspicuous -

"May this year be very prosperous

for US"

2005-11-07T02:41:00.000-08:00

In relation with my work, I have lately had to do a lot of 'cutting-shutting' on images of people's faces.

What I want to mention over here is with reference to the picture above. (Sorry that it is so small.) I got both these faces from one of the umpteen face databases that exist in the world. And thus I know little more about these people than the Godforsaken names of their pix (BioID001212.bmp).

Anyway, that is besides the point. The point I want to raise is this : If you had to see one of these faces a thousand times every day, which one would you choose?

My answer : Jai Eve!!!

2005-10-19T22:22:00.000-07:00

This blog is dedicated to this pic (a popular wallpaper). And also to the new technique by which one can directly post pictures from one's computer to his/her blog using Picasa.

Also relevant is the fact that right now, Kolkata is totally washed out. Our area is totally waterlogged. For two consecutive days, I left for office wearing Bermudas and Hawaii Chappals so that I could wade through the waters. Of course I changed into trousers and shoes on reaching office.

Holding Hands (The Last Day in Kgp - Part 2)

2005-10-09T21:08:00.000-07:00

Read Part 1

That was to be my last day in Kgp. That was so because from the next day onwards, my beloved room would no longer be mine. It was to be handed over to the 'respectable' Warden of Patel Hall for use by future generations.

I had come to Kgp on a short trip of 2-3 days. There was still some work left regarding my research-paper writing! I had not expected much to come out of these 2-3 days in terms of positive results. At the end of the third day, when the results were what one would call 'mixed', I was not at all sad. In fact I was quite elated that I had tried till the last moment.

I had one more evening at Kgp. I had secured an invitation at a Professor's place that evening. Early next morning I would be leaving for Kolkata. Two days after that, I would be starting my job - a new chapter of my life. Today was the last day in the chapter of The Village (Kgp).

As I cycled towards my hall, I remembered that it was a long time since I had visited Jnan Ghosh Stadium for my jogging rounds. Usually, I would have gone to my hall to put on shorts and running shoes. But today, time was at a premium. I went into the stadium directly, in the same attire that I had since morning - shirt, jeans and floaters (typical Kgp ishtyle).

As I entered that green paradise, I wondered how much I'd miss it once I was in Kolkata. The stadium was quite empty today - quite natural since the holidays were going on in full swing. There was a small congregation of Mess Workers gathered on the steps. Their number and vocal presence grew considerably later on; but they were mostly busy with their own affairs. There was a young lad, wearing a vest and shorts, which revealed his good physique while he exercised. I took off my floaters and started walking on the tracks barefoot. Another old man came in for his evening walk.

As I said before, I was already in a very elated mood. Wonderful memories about the four years that had passed in Kgp came into my mind. Add to that, the sight of the lovely curtain of trees surrounding Jnan Ghosh. The wind blowing into you as you walked along - Oh! I was on a high. I felt like a bird. I took off my shirt and started jogging my last jog in this wonderful place.

I was about to complete my first round when the above-mentioned old man stopped me in my tracks. He asked me, "Young man, why are you running so much." I wanted to reply, "Because I want to stay fit. Because I want to have muscles like that other fellow. And anyway, who gave you the right to ask me such questions. Do I know you?" But as is usually the case, I meekly smiled and answered, "Emni"(Just like that).

The old man was not satisfied by bringing about a premature end to my last ever jog in Kgp. He had other questions he wanted to ask me. He got me to walk along with him. After a while, he put his arm around my shoulder. I was taken aback - was this old man a pervert! But I persisted with him, wanting to be sure before reaching such conclusions.

Now one side of Jnan Ghosh was so overgrown with grass that it was impossible to walk over there. Thus joggers and walkers and 'joggers-turned-walkers' (like me) had to forego the usual roundabout circuit and be content with walking the usable part of the tracks in a to-and-fro motion. Now this to-and-fro motion influenced my present situation considerably. Let me explain a bit here.

Every time my newly made 'old' acquaintance and I neared the end of the usable track, we had to turn around. As you will appreciate, it is quite difficult to do the same with one person's arm on the other's shoulder. So the old man would let go off my shoulder at the bend. But after walking for a while he would put his arm over my shoulder again. Quite peculiar - the habits of some people!

The funny part was that, as we walked along, I began to like the person. He asked me a lot of questions about myself. But he did them with such innocence that I could not but answer him. At one point, when he went to the point of discussing the size of my flat in Kolkata, the number of bathrooms it had, I decided that I had had enough. It was my turn now. I would do the questioning from now on.

He told me about his schooling and education, his career, how he had liked Kgp and settled down here for the rest of his life, his daily schedule that included a morning session of Yoga at Jnan Ghosh, his children and family. One reply still resounds in my ears till today. He was talking about his two sons. They were studying in colleges in Kharagpur. I remarked that this meant they would surely be moving out soon in search of greener pastures. At this, his reply was, "Ki jaani, ora ki korbe. Ora to khub bhalo chatro noy. (I wonder what they will do next. They are not very good students after all)" The words sound like those of a lamenting father, but his expression showed that he was totally at peace with himself. Probably he had a deep belief in the divine forces, which gave him such strength of mind.

Another thing occurred as we walked along. By now we were speaking like the best of friends. Only age separated us - I would be starting my career in two days time. And my new 'old' friend was at the fag end of his career, past 60, but still continuing by dint of a false date on his birth-certificate (giving a false date on the birth-certificate was like a norm in those days) and by "the grace of God". Anyway what happened was that as we walked along, he started holding my hand. Again I felt a bit awkward initially. As we turned around, he let go off my hand only to hold it back again. After a few more rounds of "let-go and hold-again" he held my hand for good. From now on, as we turned the corner, he would turn while holding my hand. And I would turn in a bigger circle so that I could get to the correct side of him.

It would seem quite awkward to be holding hands with a 60-year old man in a park. We usually do not even do such public displays of emotion with our fathers or grandfathers. Ours is such a preened-up world. But believe me do, I felt so good while holding hands and talking with the man. A connection was made that day which I will remember for long.

I promised him I would try to visit his house one day. Having left Kgp, I have not been able to fulfill that promise yet. But I would request one of you who is over there right now to go and visit this gem of a person. I'll give his name and address here...

Mr D. K. Das
(O) Materials Science Centre
Ph: 1650
(R) Prembazar, near CPM Party Office
(you can ask about his residence there)

2005-08-31T03:32:00.000-07:00

Last to last Sunday, I went to my Grandma's place. I had to drop a few medicines there and I had gone alone. The Metro being closed in the morning, I caught a bus. (It turned out that the bus went as fast as the Metro.) Anyway what happened was that, by mistake, I got down one stop before Gray Street, where I usually got off. Obviously I realized my mistake after the bus had sped off. I could sight the Gray Street crossing from this point. But it was quite far off. Not wanting to walk the distance, and also by dint of my navigation acumen, I made an interesting observation.

To go to my Grandma's place from Gray Street mor (crossing), I would have to go East and then South. My current position being quite South with respect to Gray Street mor, all I needed to do now would be to walk East, and probably a wee little to the North. Also considering my father's penchant for exploring places on foot; by discovering new shortcuts, I would only be following the family tradition. (See Map below)

Thinking thus,I entered a lane hitherto untraversed by me. Sometimes, when you enter a strange place, you feel a bit unsafe. You view the people on the streets with a bit of suspicion. Not so here - firstly it was broad daylight and I'm a guy. Plus these people are Calcuttans - the people of my city.

After a few paces, I turned a corner. There were some shops here and quite a few people too. What struck me immediately the difference with what one would see down in South Calcutta. The shops were plain and paati. People here did bother about how they looked - remember one middle aged yet changra bhadralok wearing lungi and an unbuttoned shirt, walking as if he owned the street. He would look quaintly out of place if placed in any of the fashionable
malls of South Calcutta.

Such differences within a few miles of the same city!!

As I worked my way through the labyrinth that is North Calcutta, I got lost once. But it was a treat walking through those shoru oli-goli's. Peeping into the houses, it felt as if I was looking back in time. These houses are completely unlike any upcoming building of today. Some showed the signs of age - appearing dark and damp. A tubewell standing sentry beside the gate - the flooring crumbling and covered with moss at many places.

Again some houses boasted majestic facades and were still maintained beautifully. There is a saying that establishments are built by one generation of a family, maintained by the next and ruined by the third. Probably this ineluctable process of decay had forgotten to visit these houses.

After a while, I found out the right path to my Grandma's. I wished then that I had a digital camera to share these images of a different world with others.

A sample of the elegance of North Calcutta houses that I found on the Net

PS : The sights and sounds reminded me of Rituparno Ghosh's "Raincoat"... kudos to him for creating such beautiful imagery.

Rustication

2005-08-15T07:16:00.000-07:00

vantage point on 2nd floor room - time : afternoon - raining outside - dark gray sky - most importantly a chilly piercing wind - of course i am in room - windows shuttered tight - and 'Through The Looking Glass', gazing out of my insulated world

so protected - so artificial - so far away from being the mati'r manush (true human, child of nature)

all this development - housings, glass windows, multistoried-s : all providing good views - claiming to be right in the lap of nature - but which of them provides the real thing - none of them!!

takes me back to a visit to a Mumbai high-rise - on Worli sea-face - 7th floor - Arabian Sea spread out below you - but you can't wet your feet - can't breathe in the fresh sea air - if you open the windows, everything in the flat will go topsy turvy - as is usual, at night, AC is turned on - me and Fonta, rustic people, decide otherwise - so switch off the AC and open up two windows at slight angles - thus, natural AC !! of course, fan also on; helps to sleep.

sometimes, pride myself for my rustic-ness - in fact, one day, Bipul and I go on a completely rustic trip - board a train - let it take us where it takes us - get down at a station Bipul has passed before and has liked the look of.

a walk through a plantation (here too... human hands, but still... trees after all) - early in the day -pleasant sunny weather - walk along, enjoying being 'actually' in the lap of nature - have some packed food with us, sit down under a tree and have it - so far... so good..mmmmm...

a nearby pukur (pond) - 2 chokra-s (young kid boys) dancing around in the water - splashing water on each other - another senior chokra goes up on tree to hang his jeans pant on a high branch for drying - that way, probably, the naughty younger chokras cannot reach it - hmmmm... they seem to be truly rustic...

another sight comes to mind - a lady wading in thick mud - picking up some things - probably some shaak (veggies) - hmmmm....truly rustic....

well, back to our snack, which is over by now - and those chokras who scamper off to a nearby village - so we rustic city youths decide to follow them - now, stomach quite full - and sun not so pleasant anymore - and village not exactly a window-shopper's paradise - after twenty minutes of walking in the sun, not feeling too rustic.... hmmmm...

to sum it up, 'Through The Looking Glass' is good enough for me... opening windows at slight angles (accompanied by fan) ... yes, that's something I can tolerate comfortably...

Jerome K. Jerome gives a hilarious description of an exactly similar state of mind - in the last chapter of his famous book, 'Three Men in a Boat' - and that too, hundred years ago, while describing a boat trip, to get away from dull-monotonous city life - so, even hundred years ago, someone felt the same thing...cool huh!

PS : i'll add here a link to that particular chapter of the book (the book is 100 years old and hence is now freely available on net). start from the line "The weather changed on the third day..." (5th paragraph) from this link. if you have a bit of time and want a good laugh, don't miss this.

'Park'-ed in Oblivion

2005-08-08T21:12:00.000-07:00

23 years in one city ... In one house... Given these conditions, I thought I knew my neighborhood inside out. But last week, I was proved wrong.

In the last two-three years, our area has undergone a metamorphosis due to the following reasons:

The AJC Bose Road- Park Circus flyover
Forum Shopping Mall, Crossword and many other shopping Malls

Thus I would not have been surprised if I had bumped into a super-specialty mall right in the middle of the road. However, I discovered something in a completely different genre - an unknown, unkempt park right behind my house.

This happened during one of my morning walks. There is a park behind my house, called Woodburn Park, which is maintained by the Lions group. I usually do not visit this park. But one day I decided to explore it.

While doing so, I noticed a gate that I did not remember seeing before. There was a path after that which seemed to lead to Ashok Hall school, a known place.

However to confirm my doubts, I followed it. I was amazed to see another park at the end of it. This one was not well maintained, but it showed the all signs of being a grand one at one point of time - jhula's, a slide, a tiny decorative pool replete with a bridge over it.

All this had fallen to decay now. The grass however was quite trim as the caretaker's house was just beside it. This park and Woodburn park are in complete view to South Club and Punjab Club's tennis players. I however, saw it for the first time that day, and was quite amazed at my discovery.

PS : It obviously gave me a sense of deja-vu (thanks to similar park explorations in Navi Mumbai - 1, 2). However such a chance discovery, and that too, right in my own backyard, was beyond my imagination.

But then, life's full of surprises....

LAST DAY IN KGP …

2005-07-02T18:00:00.000-07:00

Pranav mentioned ‘Total Recall’. In it, by some weird technique, one sees all the images of his life flying through his mind flying by like snow in a blizzard. However, I prefer them more in the form of a soothing breeze.

For the last ten days, I have been engrossed in a hi-fi flick. It’s titled, “Implementation of Biomedical Algorithms on DSP.” But right now, I feel the need to sit back and enjoy the breeze.

It’s early morning on Saturday. As usual, I am the only one awake within miles. Outside, the trees have just finished a nightly shower. They are still dripping wet. No use drying up, they’ll have to go in again soon enough.

Birds are up and about. Another creature who used to be up at this time (Abhinav) is right now doing a job in Gurgaon. Seeing me doing Yoga, he would comment, “It’s no use, Kriti.” The joke was that I was going through all these kriyas and postures just to become as smart and handsome as him. And no matter how hard I tried, it was all in vain – I would never attain his state of divine perfection. Playing along, I would say, “Kya karein, koshish to karna padega na.”

I knew another early riser in my first year - Godbole. He was studying hard at that time for a Department change. He had a peculiar trait, which was that he used to do recite his daily prayers while bathing. (He was a regular bather, which deserves a mention.) It felt funny hearing him during that time.

From second year onwards, he lived in a different hall. Gathering from the grapevine, I heard that the religious-studious boy had drastically changed. He was much more boisterous now and was getting involved in many hall affairs, some of them the subject of heated discussions. Among other things, he had started smoking.

Unfortunately, it took me a year and a half to make my first visit to his room in the new hall. It was spick and span as ever, with the gods and goddesses at their rightful places. At the time when I had gone, he was preparing for a seminar he was to give at an academic winter camp. I breathed a sigh of relief; some things, fortunately, do not change.

Anupam occasionally shared the morning with me by dint of his late sleeping hours. I had come to know Anupam at a time when my social circle was still in an embryonic stage. The thing about him which pleased me a lot was the way he talked. He talked with me in the same manner in which he conversed with others who were probably closer to him at that time. It was as if you had known him for quite long. And this not a small thing; I know people whose mannerisms leave you feeling quite cold afterwards. Later, Bipul and I have frequently come to the conclusion that Anupam is the epitome of a perfect gentleman.

In reading till here, if someone feels that it is mighty rude of me to pass judgments with such finality on others, he/she should remember that these are but passing comments by one traveler on another.

Wonder when this traveler will cross paths again with those mentioned above. Signing off for now.

Read Part 2 of 'The Last Day in Kgp'

Blank Page Syndrome

2005-06-19T14:37:00.000-07:00

Written 2nd May 2005

This is one thing writers are very used to. You sit down with the aim

of writing something with a blank piece of paper before you (or

nowadays, a blank Wordpad screen). And then, for hours on end, you

cannot decide what the starting line should be. You think up various

options in your mind. As they come to your mind, you reject some

immediately. And you like one or two options but cannot decide which

one is better. This tussle goes on for quite some time and hence the

name, "Blank Page Syndrome".

The stage of my life in which I presently am, presents to me a

strikingly similar situation. In a week or so, the coursework at IIT is

going to end. ----- then job after 2 months---- like blank page ----- last

few months, busy with project & studies ---- now that no more ---- so

many options in these 2 months ----- career building ------ holiday with friends & family

---- hang out with friends in cal ---- urge to do sth productive ------

going home early ------- phew! eager to choose & write the 1st line....

****

19th June 2005

The 2-month vacation mentioned in the above scribble is now going on.

Half of it is over. And phew! The first line has been written.

The vacation started with my project guide asking me to stay back and

write a paper. Paper! - such glory, such hoo-haa'ness. How could I say

no. Thus the first line of my two-month long blank-page was literally

'written'.

The paper-writing episode continued for a good two weeks with a home

trip sprinkled in between. The writing had to be temporarily suspended

as the home front was threatening me with dire consequences if I did

not return within the month of May. My parents were convinced that

their son, who was showing no inclination of coming home, was up to some

dushtumi. If only they knew what a good boy their son was being at that

time!!

Anyway, circumstances were such that I found myself in Kolkata during

the last week of May. I had officially left Kgp. At least my parents

thought so. But some work was left for the project and that was a

good-enough excuse to come back again. However I could not breathe a

bit of this to my parents, because, as you well might understand, one's

life is precious to oneself.

A trip to Bangalore to visit my school friends who were completing

college there, had been long due. Also due was a relaxing getaway with

my parents. Punching these two, we decided to go to Bangalore for a ten

day trip.

This was my fourth visit to Bangalore. People found two things about our

trip difficult to digest. One - that we were not going anywhere apart

from Bangalore. For most Bengalis going so far South and not doing the

typical Ooty-kodaikanal-Mysore-etc-etc '2 nights-3 days' package is

sacrilege. And two, Bangalore being the preferred city of

employment that it is, that I was going there for relaxation instead of looking for

better job prospects.

The weather of Bangalore was just too good for scorched Calcutta’s like

us. We did not go to too many places. Our hotel, Pai Vihar, where we

had stayed earlier too, was just too good. Nevertheless, thanks to

Nilay and Soumallya and also Bhomesh and Fonta, we got to see quite a

few places - IISc Bangalore, Soumallya's college, Forum Mall, Bhomesh's

office. Finally we topped this with a trip to Tirupati and returned home

refreshed and blessed to face the onslaught in Kolkata.

There's one more month to go before I join my job. A string of

nemontonno's (invitations) has come up. I am struggling with all

earnest, in the departments of travel and gastronomical affairs, to do

justice to these invitations. Being of the opinion that such social

do-s prevent more enjoyable ways of whiling away time, I compare them

with similar social do-s that popped up ever so often in Kgp.

2005-05-15T14:38:00.000-07:00

I started blogging a year ago when I was in Navi Mumbai for my training. That time, there were so many interesting things to write about – the various parks, the mushrooming population of saloons, combined with the feeling of being far away from home; everything seemed worth a blog. I was also writing after a long gap, and that excitement pushed me along to write more and more.

For the last four months, mainly two thoughts have been filling my mind. One is related to my project; but if I start writing about ‘variable time-frequency resolution’ and ‘digital signal processors’, not many will be appreciate it fully.

The second train of thought is about my career. And writing about it does not seem a pleasing proposition, at least to me. The thought that someone is going to read it and say, “What a load of crap!” bugs me quite a bit. (The last time I expressed similar sentiments, a senior responded with an “Oh… you’re so confused and I’m so ‘not’ confused” chat session.)

After reading the previous paragraph, it will surprise you to still find me writing about the second train of thought. Yet I feel it’s good to express emotions in public. Otherwise, the world is too competitive a place to be able to live peacefully and happily.

Over the last one year, I have met a lot of people with the specific aim of discussing my career. The list includes a management professor, two high-flying executives and a professor of engineering among others. For the time being, I shall talk about my discussion with the engineering professor.

During the discussion, the professor kept mentioning how their childhood was much more enjoyable than ours. He said that his generation, i.e. our parents, were to be blamed for this. He recounted the incident of a person coming to collect ‘chanda’ for a local sit and draw competition. The chanda, that person said, would be spent in buying the first prize.

“Competition even in the name of art! Parents rebuking their children for not coming 1st – how enthused that child would be to continue drawing!”

The professor tried to drive in these thoughts into the person’s mind. But seeing that his was a futile effort, the professor drove him away instead.

Movie Review : 'Before Sunrise'

2005-03-28T14:36:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, I have been moved after watching a movie. And then I have felt the urge of writing about it. After watching ‘Before Sunrise’, a similar thing happened. Thus the following piece is not a review in the strict sense of the word. It is more of a personal reaction after watching the movie.

One day, as a friend was watching 'Before Sunset', I joined him and watched a bit of the movie. I realised then that I liked the movie. Later, I heard from friends that ‘Before Sunrise’ had been released in the mid nineties. And at that time, it had been a big hit. Then after a gap of nine years, the sequel ‘Before Sunset’ was released. My friends were in high praise of the two movies, and more so of the latter.

A few days later, another friend was watching ‘Before Sunrise’. This time, I saw the last few scenes of the movie. In whatever little I saw, I loved the bit where the morning scenes of Vienna are shown. I felt that the director must have a keen sense of art to be able to portray a whole city so beautifully.

This was my prologue till I finally got down to watching the whole movie. Needless to say, I was already inclined to like the movie. However it was only when I watched it, that the liking turned into love.

The best justice I can do is to list some of the moments that moved me. For those who have watched this movie, they can compare their personal feelings with my checklist. And for those who have not yet watched it, my request is that they watch it as soon as possible.

So here goes my list of the ‘movie’s moving moments’ (Alliteration, eh!) : -

1. The scene where Jesse and Celine go to the cemetery – while watching the whole movie, I remembered that this cemetery featured among the morning scenes shown at the end. Earlier, I had admired the sheer beauty of the shots; now I realised their significance with respect to the movie. ( More about that later.)

2. The scene where Jesse and Celine sit on a roadside bench, and while talking about the existence of God, Celine says, “Y'know, I believe if there's any kind of God, it wouldn't be in any of us. Not you, or me... but just this little space in between.”

3. When Jesse and Celine are on the Ferris Wheel and they kiss for the first time. My other room neighbour (who had also watched the movie earlier) came in just when that scene was going on, and remarked, “Hmmm…. Romantic scenes dekha hocche!!” I was quite excited by the on-screen display of romance, and remarked, “Kya karein… humare life mein to kabhi aisa moment nahi aayega… ”

4. And then there is Julie Delpy as Celine who looks pristinely beautiful throughout the movie. For a while I contemplated to surf the net for some hot pics of her. But thinking that it might diminish her stature in my eyes, I restrained myself from doing so.

5. And finally, the morning scenes of Vienna once again – only this time, they carried much more significance.
a. The Ferrys Wheel at total standstill – the scene of such a romantic affair just last night.
b. The roadside café with umbrellas, overlooking a forlorn street – no lovers gracing it right now.
c. An old lady walking by the spot where Jesse and Celine made love last night – reminds me of the isolation of old age. A bit sad.

Well, that was my reaction to ‘Before Sunrise’. Planning to watch ‘Before Sunset’ soon.

The Butterflies

2005-02-19T14:34:00.000-08:00

From my vantage point
In my second floor room,
At a certain time of the year,
I get to see a fantastic sight.

The tree before my window
Is a very greedy tree –
Hundreds of thousands of butterflies
Are held captive by it.

But when autumn comes
And a strong wind rises,
The tree can hold them no more.
Then, these butterflies break free.

When the wind comes
And sets them free,
These butterflies
Do not fly away immediately.

For a while
They twirl and float around
Their place of captivity,
Before descending finally
To their flight of glory.

Come to think of it now,
In that short while,
These butterflies, most probably,
Stick their tongues out at the greedy tree
And proclaim,
“Weeee. I’m free. I’m free.”

And then, hundreds of butterflies
Fly around on the whims of the wind.
Some reach beyond the compound wall,
And some go out of sight.

Finally, all these butterflies
End their flight by falling to the ground.
And on landing,
They turn into dead leaves.

Of course, there are unlucky ones
Which die the moment they break free
And just like any other dead leaf,
Fall straight down.

A Campus Placement (Part II)

2005-02-16T14:35:00.000-08:00

Read Part I

"Final year mein aur kaam hi kya hai - career ke
baare mein discuss karne ke ilawa." ("What other work is there in the final
year except for sitting together and discussing our careers?") - a friend.

The final year, truly, has proceeded with a lot of
discussion about careers. And along with it, people have slogged to get the
career of their choice. Well, with so much heat about 'career'-s, it is natural
that one turns to nature, once in a while, to clear a jammed-up mind.

My habit of going for a jog in the evening gave me
ample opportunity of doing this. One day, as I was doing my rounds in the Jnan
Ghosh Stadium, I noticed a man a little far off. He was sitting down on his
haunches and was cutting the grass. Now two things about this struck me at that
time.

One - I have observed the grass cutting process which
takes place annually in our hall. Here, when the grass reaches alarming
proportions, a huge gang of grass-cutters descend on the field and clear it
within a day or two.

And, two - in the off-season, when no events are
scheduled, the grass in Jnan Ghosh Stadium is left to grow. I have observed,
while passing it, how particularly 'alarming' the proportions of grass become in
such times.

Thus, what struck me as odd was that a single person
was cutting the grass of the entire stadium. I do not know how many epochs that
person had been working for, before he got the stadium fit for joggers like me.
(Now it strikes me that probably, a gang had descended upon the stadium, not so
many epochs before, to get it into the shape it presently possessed. And that
this particular grass-cutter was just doing the finish-up job.)

Anyway, there is something about the act of
grass-cutting which deserves consideration. The act of grass-cutting involves
squatting on one's haunches or bending down, sometimes for hours, and shaving
the land of its extra growth by a scythe or something. The task, as I see it, is
repetitive and proceeds slowly. In simpler terms, it is boring. On the brighter
side, the grass-cutter has a very nice work environment; sitting as he is, right
in the lap of nature. (Our grass-cutter might not agree on this term, and cite
the harshness of the mid-day sun as a valid argument.)

A comparison with the work-environs that we, the
passing out batch, are going to join comes naturally. Most of us shall be
assigned a cubicle in a plush office, with a computer to work on. In the future,
for a few years at least, that cubicle will be our workplace. Just as the Jnan
Ghosh Stadium, lined by trees on all its sides and the blue sky above it, is
workplace to the grass-cutter. Somehow, by fate or otherwise, we and the
grass-cutter are doing entirely different things at entirely different places.
Ultimately however, both of us are doing the same thing i.e. working. Hopefully,
both of us will work to the best of our capabilities. Hopefully, both of us will
be happy doing what we do.

2005-01-12T14:33:00.000-08:00

I did something funny today... you can try doing it too.....

All you need for carrying out this prank is a junior who you are friendly with, but can boss over a little bit too.

I was hurrying for college when I noticed this junior (who fulfilled the above two criteria quite well) just ahead of me. As I liked his company, I thought I should talk to him. However, at that time I had not thought about the prank. The idea came spontaneously.

As I turned around to face him, I saw his cute and innocent face. This aroused the devil within me, and I asked him a question, "So how is your girlfriend?" A cute kid like him was inclined to have a girlfriend, but I had no previous idea whether he actually had one. Faced with such questions, people usually evade the topic or behave as if they have never thought about girls in their life. Likewise, my junior appeared surprised and his innocent face had "Me and girls? No way!” written all over it. It was possible that he was so straight that he had no girlfriends, but I still persisted, "I saw you the other day with a girl." Now, given that I was seeing him after a long time and that he and I resided in the same city, the probability of such an occurrence was not too low. So I poked him further about when and where I had seen him, with fictitious details; "It was in the middle of December.... In South Calcutta.... I don't remember clearly. Probably Rashbehari." I kept my details as general as possible.

Luckily, the "Rashbehari" arrow hit the target. By now, the junior's expression had changed from one of angelic innocence to that of slight unease. He said, "You might have seen me there as I use the Rashbehari Metro quite regularly." Grabbing the opportunity, I hurled a barrage of questions at him, "So what wa, the girl's name? Is she your girlfriend?" After all this, my junior assumed that he had actually been spotted by me while he was roaming with a girl. With a guilty face, he divulged everything, "She's just a friend. Her name is A***".

I left him and had a good laugh on the way to college. Maybe I can get some more details out of him next time. So don't tell him about all this just now ;-)

A ‘Bitter’ – Sweet Experience

2004-12-20T14:32:00.000-08:00

I come out of the main institute building. I see some friends near the Central Library gate and talk to them for a while. After taking my cycle, I see another group of friends sitting on the circle just outside the main building. Azem looks very sad. I go over and enquire. Rolly, who is sitting behind him, explains. Azem is leaving for US tomorrow and is thus sad to leave kgp. Rolly is also leaving soon but after Azem. To cheer Azem up, I kiss him on his cheek. He seems to get some heart from this gesture so I kiss him on the other cheek too. At this point, somebody from the crowd passes a comment. It probably is 'sure-aan'. He points to the lady in the white dress who is cycling by at that moment and asks me why she is being left out. I say that the lady deserves a kiss on the lips and not on the cheeks. Everyone laughs. While we enjoy the joke, I notice a boy peeping at me from amongst the crowd. Till now, the other boys sitting side by side had kept him hidden from my sight. As he smiles mischievously at me, I recognise him. It is the boy who had committed suicide a few months back. I am terribly scared. I know he is a good friend and means no harm. However I look away from him and try to escape. But something is pulling me back. I feel myself sweating.... my dream breaks.

A Spot of Green, A Dash of Blue

2004-11-07T14:32:00.000-08:00

My house overlooks a garden.
It is not a brilliant one, but
It is nice and green nevertheless.

There is an old man.
His house rises from where the street ends;
A thin wall tries in vain
To protect his privacy.

I and other passers-by
Add to the din and smoke
Which are his constant companions.

I wonder whether his window
Shows him anything green.

There is a child
Whose house is in a by-lane
Of a busy market area.
His house is small and damp,
With windows staring into blank walls.

When he has to stretch his limbs;
He comes out of his house
And through the alley,
Goes into the bustling market.
He sees the shopkeepers
And the customers
Cussing and bargaining over trifle things.

The boy looks up,
Away from the crowd
And through the banners and tarpaulins;
To catch a cloud floating away.

His daze is broken
By a honking car
Or the rickshaw-walla's curses.

His dreams are thus not very long.

Every one deserves his landscape;
A spot of green, a dash of blue.
Some people do not get it
And some who do,
Do not see it.

- Kriti Sen Sharma

RESERVOIR DOGS

2004-10-25T14:30:00.000-07:00

It was OP time. Among the many funda passed diligently from seniors to juniors was the one about Patel ka 'Lund'. It was a water tank named so because of its position between the two legs, the B & C blocks of Patel Hall. Reportedly, a Professor of the Civil Engineering Department of IIT Kharagpur had designed it. While designing it he had forgotten to take into consideration the weight of water in the calculations. Due to this significant 'silly mistake', the tank was nonoperational. Such reports made me think about the superficiality of the IIT Professors and the system in general. We even speculated that the guilty person was the Professor whom we popularly address as Ramu.

There was an irony in the name of the water tank that struck me as odd. Patel was supposed to be the hall that symbolised all things macho. Why then was it so proud to boast about an organ, which suffered from the worst case of 'impotency'?

As the year progressed we made quite a number of night-outs for hall activities. On any of those night-outs, the sight of the tank as seen from the catwalk was an eerie one. With the open sky behind it, the tank appeared monstrously large and strange. It stood there, completely still, taking up the good part of our view.

My third year room was allotted in the top floor of C-block just beside the water tank. For most part of the third year the sight of the tank did not arouse any emotions in me. It was during the campaign for President-ship of the hall that I discovered that the tank was actually a working one. It provided water to three halls including ours. After gaining this piece of knowledge I noticed that people came to operate it at the allotted times everyday. Somehow I had never noticed them before. This made me think about the shallowness on our parts, the students of IIT, accepting blindly cooked up half-truths which were dished out to us.

Now into my fourth and final year, I view the tank with a lot more reverence. It has become an important feature of the landscape that I can see from my balcony. I see workers taking shade under it for a quick nap or to have lunch. Sometimes I even notice some people using the vicinity of the tank (hopefully not very close) for the ultimate result of the eating.

A huge hostel is being constructed just behind Patel Hall. Throughout the day, female construction labourers come to relieve themselves in the field beside the water tank. It is quite an embarrassing sight. Initially I resolved to shout to them from above so that they went behind a wall to preserve the mutual decency. On my doing so once, they giggled among themselves before obeying my instructions. Later on I gave up as there were too many of them coming throughout the day.

Many of these labourers are quite young, probably very near the ages of my sisters. But what a difference lies between their lives and those of my sisters brought up in well-to-do families.

I am reminded of a morning in Navi Mumbai when I had gone jogging; I was going through a new area when I saw two kids, a girl and a boy, throwing stones at another young girl. All of them must have been below the age of ten. Between the two kids, who seemed to live in a building nearby, the girl seemed to be the more active participant in the stone throwing. The little girl who was the object of their anger was in a squatting position trying to complete her morning rituals. She must have been left there by her mother. Not suspecting anything, the mother must have gone into a nearby public toilet. The unfortunate girl was all alone and at the mercy of these spoilt kids. I rebuked the two 'well-off' kids for their behaviour, well knowing that they were too young to be blamed for their actions. Having driven them away I went near the young girl. She was crying. She showed the traits of a kid brought up in less fortunate environments. Her hair was rough and she obviously was not bathed regularly. Nevertheless she was very sweet. I told her to stop crying and then asked her her name. She said her name was Pooja. I have an elder sister who has the same name and who is now settled in Antwerp after marriage. How different their lives are!

Anyway I will get back to the main issue of the water tank. The water tank is also associated with a bad memory. At the end of the first year in college, students go through a process in which allotment of the Hall in which the student is to reside for the next 3 or 4 years is done by lottery. In my first year I had been stupid enough to try the backdoor route to go to one particular hall. For this we had to stay under cover for a few days in the hall that we were trying to get into. One night during our stay we were told that authorities might be making a raid anytime. So in that unearthly hour we left our secret hiding place in the senior hall and clandestinely made our ways back to our original hall of residence. To avoid being seen we went through roads which were seldom used. Within that journey we passed through the field beside the water tank. If I were in more casual a mood I would have enjoyed the midnight stroll and the non-conventional surroundings. However with the thought of seniors and authorities breathing down on our necks, it was a feeling that is best forgotten.

That memory however is a part of the past. Now the water tank is a constant companion. After studying for a while in my room, I come out to the balcony for quiet contemplation. As I lean on the balcony looking at the landscape surrounding me, I think very often about the so-called 'information environment' of IIT in which we are living. Usually I am alone in my thoughts except for times when a wing-mate spots me and cares to start a discussion session. The water tank however is always there. Recently due to the lights from the construction site, the tank has got its fair share of illumination. It reminds me of Tintin's rocket in "Destination Moon", looking as if it is going to take-off any moment.

There is another water tank of similar shape and size, which is inside the institute area. As I looked at it while walking underneath it, it seemed to be of more grand dimensions. However the water tank beside Patel Hall as seen from my vantage point on the third floor is definitely friendlier.

PS : Here are some pictures from Tintin's "Destination Moon" :-

Photo1

Photo2

What Will I Write Tommorow?

2004-10-15T14:29:00.000-07:00

It's been quite a while since I last posted something on the blog. I have been treating it like a step-child.

I have allotted Saturday mornings for writing. It happened for the last two Saturdays that I was writing a short story. I finished it last Saturday after much deliberations and effort. After which I mailed it to my parents and some close acquaintainces for reviewing. Got some praise, got some 'constructive' criticism.

That is exactly what I had asked for. But the fact was that it was quite difficult to digest the criticism even though I agreed with the 'critics'.

I am a person who is usually doing all things the 'right' way. Criticism is not something that normally comes my way. I am more used to praise. I succeed almost whenever i put in effort. The last two weeks passed with me getting a lot of 'stick' from my project guide. Made me feel bad sometimes but mostly I knew that it would at least keep me from diverting the focus from the job at hand. I realised that it would push me to finish what I had started.

So the criticism in the project thingie is good. But when it comes to writing, I do not like to listen to others. Sometime in the past, a teacher had said about a piece that I wrote that it started off brilliantly but faded away towards the end. The diagnosis was ditto as I had been hurrying to complete it.

This time however I am at a loss. I wrote this story keeping a simple plot in mind. It had come to my mind and I had developed the plot as it came to me. I wrote it over two Saturdays placed in Kolkata and Kharagpur. I took quite some effort firstly in Kolkata to find time to start writing. And then in kgp to complete it. After all that, all I expected was praise and more praise.....

Funny how we know what the ideal situation should be but fail to cope up with it when it comes along in real life.

----

PS: I was asking RA how Salman Rushdie's parents feel when they find their son writing intimately about sex. "They probably do not know how to read English", is what I said as an afterthought.

Anyway here goes :-

Q: What do you call a man who has a delayed orgasm?

A: A Late-'cum'mer

PJ

2004-10-09T14:28:00.000-07:00

Q: What did dohn denver say when he got lost and met Jhonty Rhodes?

A: "Jhonty 'Roads'...........
Take me home
To the place I belong........."

PS: Could not restrain myself from posting it.

Down Scholar's Avenue

2004-09-18T14:27:00.000-07:00

It had been a very hectic day. I had just returned from Kolkata. After that I had gone out to the 'placement' treat of two wing mates. The party ran in a high vein. I had a great heart-to-heart with PP.

Soon it was time to return. We decided to walk back to our hostel. It is a long distance and on other days, I would have enjoyed it quite a lot. It usually aided the digestion process. But today I was too tired. It added to my woes when we met up with some other hall-mates at the paan shop. RA decided that he too should have one. After some delay we moved on (without the paan).

I was not in the mood of much discussion. I was just listening to my wing-mates talking about this and that. I trudged along towing my cycle beside me. I was desperate to reach my room and crash into bed for a deep, peaceful and well-deserved sleep. We had covered almost half the distance when the hall-mates that we left behind at the paan-shop (Jha and Shukla) passed us on their bikes. They stopped a little ahead of us. They had brought paans for us. So everyone stopped to take their share. On any other day, I would be praising the virtues of friendship and camaraderie. But today I had had enough. I decided to walk ahead, leaving the others behind.

My friends also started walking after some time. But I was practically alone, distanced from them by a considerable amount. I was thinking a lot of things at that time, most of which were the usual stuff - CAT, career, friends. But some particular things flashed through my mind which left a lingering effect on me.

One was a memory of me as a kid, returning home with my parents. Many a times, we returned by bus or were dropped home by relatives with cars. We usually got down at the bus stop and walked the remaining distance. And more often than not, I trotted ahead of my parents. I knew that they were behind me, watching every step of mine. But I liked the sense of freedom, the sense of being alone.

Today's situation was different. Usually I walk along with my friends. Sometimes I even find myself following them, listening to them and not engaging in active conversation. Today as I walked ahead of them, I knew that they might not be watching my every step due to their pre-occupation with the discussion at hand. A pre-occupation with the present which is a characteristic of our age. However it surprised me how the present had brought out a memory of the past. A memory which was related yet distinct; distinct yet familiar.

(Twice my friends joined me in my solo walk. Thanks to them for noticing that I was alone.)

Another was a more recent memory. It was related to a feeling that I used to get when I had just started jogging. While running the 2.2 km circle within our campus, I used to feel anxious whether I would make it to the end. The sight of the 'frust corner' symbolising the end of 2.2 km came as an inspiration to complete the task I had set out to achieve. With time I managed to complete it more comfortably. Thus today when I saw that the end was near and relating it to my memory of jogging, I knew I would make it.

Today's happenings gave me a funny feeling of 'deja-vu'. It surprised me how we unconsciously relate memories to our present life.

PS: This happened two weeks ago. I decided then that I would write about it. It took me two weeks of time to manage to write it. Is my present stand of allotting times for specified tasks justified...? Or should I live more in the present... Writing when I feel like it, or speaking in a more general way, do whatever I like whenever I want to. With regards to blogging, I claim complete independence. I can do whatever I like. But in life, I cannot do the same. Even though that is what I may want to do... or think that I want to.

Anyway, this kind of wondering aloud is ideal blogging. Ramblings, as they call it in this direction of the intellectual spectrum. Not my kind of organised 'article' writing. But I like my organised style anyway. After all I think I fall into the 'image building' category of bloggers.

All for today... bye

A House for Mr. Bandyopadhyay

2004-09-08T14:26:00.000-07:00

I usually write out of a natural urge to do so. But it is also a sense of duty that is influencing me to write this piece.

This article is about the Bengali author, Bibhuti Bhushan Bandyopadhyay. He is famous for timeless classics such as 'Pather Panchali', 'Aparijata' among others. He is also remembered for a book called 'Aranyak', which I have just finished reading.

Before delving into the main topic of this article, I shall write a little about the book 'Aranyak'.

'Aranyak' is a description of the author's five to seven year long stint as the collector of a forest area in present day Jharkhand. Bibhuti Bhushan wrote this book after many years of having left the collector's job. An unmistakable sense of nostalgia is evident ever so often in the book. The author misses the different aspects of the place - the forests, the people, the lakes, the horse-back rides, the beautiful moonlit nights.

Above all he misses the people. Nowhere is it more evident than in the closing stanzas. There the author expresses guilt for not keeping any news of the people after having left the job.

Another characteristic of the book is the great amount of detail in the author's description of nature. Every leaf seems to spring alive from the author's words.

Bibhuti Bhushan repeatedly tells us about his helplessness in the face of human greed. He loves the forests and wants to preserve them for future generations. However, he has to obey his employer and auction these lands. Within years, beautiful forests are pulled down and dirty overpopulated shanties mushroom in their place. Bibhuti Bhushan foresees a desolate future for this place, a future with no hint of the glory it once held.

This was about the book. I had just finished reading it when I was entrusted with arranging a trip to Ghatsila with my friends and family. I had heard of Ghatsila only from relatives who had been there before. I was naturally surprised when the tourist brochure of Ghatsila mentioned Bibhuti Bhushan's house as one of the many sites to visit. This increased my enthusiasm to arrange a visit to the place.

In due time, the day of the trip arrived. Like any other group of tourists, we booked a car which would guide us through the important sites. We had visited some places, none of which had impressed us so far. The next stop would be Bibhuti Bhushan's house. We were busy chatting with each other when the car suddenly stopped. We looked out to see a simple house resembling a school more than anything else. It was then that our driver pointed out the actual house of Bibhuti Bhushan Bandyopadhyay. It was just opposite to the house we had been looking at. It was a sight to be seen.

The house was totally in ruins. There was nothing called a roof anymore. The whole house had been taken over creepers and vines. On closer inspection we found a worn out signboard. It said something about a Bibhuti Bhushan Memorial Committee. Obviously that had happened too long ago.

(Compare this with Rabindranath Tagore’s house in Mongpu near Darjeeling which has been converted into a museum.)

The house was a depressing sight. Before reaching it, I had planned to tell my 'Non-Bengali' friends about the writings of the great author whose house we were visiting. But after seeing the place, they were obviously in no mood to listen to any such stuff.

Initially I blamed the state of the house on its location. You could not expect the people of Jharkhand to uphold our (Bengali) culture and tradition, I told myself. However as the trip progressed I noticed that the majority of the population in that place comprised of Bengali-s. And it was obvious from the political graffiti on walls that the Bengali-s threw their weight around quite a bit.

Many questions remain unanswered in my mind. Who is to be blamed for this? What should be done? Nevertheless, the house deserves immediate repairs. The state of the house is a mark of disrespect to the author. As far as the greatness of the author is concerned, I think there is no question about that.

Written 11th July, 2004

2004-08-28T14:25:00.000-07:00

3:30 pm

Just returned after watching Harry Potter III. This time, had gone with family.

Tomorrow, have to return to Kharagpur. Returning early in order to do some project work. Final year to begin in one more week.

I had invitations from Professor's home (a friend) for lunch and also from Vatika for a meet-up. Turned both down so as to spend some time at home and avoid eating the lunch outside.

Seems it was a good decision. Did some packing, called up a few friends (including a nice chat with Pamela), had a nice lunch. And finally went for the movie. (Kakima, didi and Vatika – please do not get angry).

There was this scene in Harry Potter III where Harry rides a giant bird. He flies high into the skies and then swoops down. The effect on Harry, as is made obvious by his expressions, is one of total thrill. Somehow while watching this scene, I too could feel the thrill within me. It was a sense of freedom, of joy – like a surge of happiness rushing through your body.

I read this short story the other day (in a book called ‘Favourite Indian Short Stories’ compiled by Khushwant Singh and another famous Indian author). It was about a young mother. She was returning home by train along with her husband and three children. The story was about her life – how the responsibilities of early marriage and early motherhood had become a burden for her and how she longed for the love of her constantly rebuking husband.

It was about her desire to be more than just a machine fulfilling the needs and desires of her husband and children.

In the end she wanted to break free. Free from all the shackles that held her down and had led to a premature end of her childhood.

That scene from Harry Potter would have made her squeal with delight. There was an unmistakable sense of freedom associated with that scene. A taste that many of us have forgotten and many not acquainted with at all. I am lucky to have got that taste on numerous occasions.

(Today was one such day - a sunny Sunday spent with my loving parents.)

PS: Cinema has a mass appeal which books do not have. After all, two people can watch a movie together. But they can never read a book sitting side by side.

However you cannot choose one over the other. In the end, there are just too many good things in the world and too less time to experience them.