Friday, December 17, 2010

Desh ki dharkan...Dhak Dhak 'GONE'...

India is certainly developing and who better than the corporate bigwigs to assimilate this fact. A GDP rise and rising FII is all the common mass reads in the newspaper, some get elated at the fact and some others prod on in insignificance, because for the common man its just undecipherable figures and statistics.

However, the Indian two-wheeler automobile industry has certainly measured the legitimacy of this claim and boosted its confidence. Three major two-wheeler companies have moved out of the joint-ventures (JV’s) with the Japanese majors. Escorts-Yamaha, TVS-Suzuki and Hero-Honda. While escorts-Yamaha does not create flutters, TVS –Suzuki causes a brow-rise, but Hero-Honda certainly pulls my attention out of the newspaper to the bright golden old days.

My maternal uncle had a Hero-Honda CD-100, one of the oldest and best products of this joint group. I was a tot when my uncle had given me a ride on that bike (oops I mean Motorcycle, with a accent on o) and I had fallen in love with it. When parked at the verandah, I would climb on the seat, and play with the (locked) handle, producing the engine sound with my vocal-chords and sometimes the horn-beep as well. My uncle was very passionate about his motorcycle, as it was the latest and best model of that time. His neighbors’ possessed Yezdi or Rajdoot or some scooter, but all eyed his coveted Hero-Honda motorcycle while he dusted it off. The blue color of the petrol tank stood it apart from the usual black body models. The sound of the engine revving was also soother and different from the others.

The other summer I went to my native place in Bengal, where vehicles were a sign of prosperity and authority. The village was underdeveloped and the people there were least bothered to develop it.  There was this Kotu-kaku there who had recently got married to a wealthy girl from the nearby village. When I saw the ugly (not so good looking in mother’s words) uneducated, uncouth bride, I thought he must have done this at the gun-point, but  his father was screaming out of pleasure , that the in-laws had blessed them (note the blessed part) with a double bed made from teak wood, an aluminum  almirah,a score of other household furnishings and then with a pause and chest-inflated, head-raised and double-pitched voice he said ‘A HERO_HONDA’. Well, that seemed to justify the marriage and everyone present was congratulating the grooms’ father for finding such a match.  However, later I discovered that the motorbike was not even a hero-honda, it was a different variant from a different company, but hey, as i told you before, Hero-honda had become the synonym for Bikes.

I had grown a little older than my age, or so I guessed, because I could not bring myself on the streets to play the Hero-Honda game with the neighbors’. Well, basically it was a very stupid game, but childhood is time to do stupid things. Alas, this is something I realize now. The Hero-Honda game was actually a peevish stupid race where you were supposed to pose as if humped on to a bike and hold an imaginary handle, and on the count of 3 you were supposed to splint but in this awkward posture and a vrooming sound. Later, my best-friend somu told me that the neghbouring government school had also incorporated this game in their annual-sports and I wondered whether it will make to Olympics someday. Such, was the craze of Hero-Honda.

As I grew up, eventually the Hero-Honda bike models saw an immense improvement and soon the youth became bike frenzy, thanks to the bollywood and local filmdom, who stepped out of their image of  cycle-paddling, hard-working plebeians and/or conglomerates driving long international cars to young college students romancing with their muse in their motorbikes. The hero-honda saw a massive change in its sales and marketing. Ad jingles like ‘Desh ki dharkan’ and ‘Dhak  Dhak go’ went a long way to build the brand. Eventually, it faced stiff competitions from home as well as off-shore companies, but it was the leader nonetheless.

And till about my 10th standard, I did not know that Hero-Honda is a joint venture between the Hero group and Japanese major, Honda. I thought Hero-Honda is a standalone Indian company, and that’s why it has been received better than the Suzuki or the Yamahas. It seems, I was not the lone person to hope so. The Munjals have decided to buy the 26% stake of the Hondas in Hero-Honda, and hence the 26-year old venture will be annulled . Hence, the brand name ‘Hero-Honda’ will become just’ Hero’, like the cycles. Well, this news is surprising but somewhere deep down melancholic as well. Just imagine the ‘Hero-Honda CBZ or Splendor’ renamed as ‘HERO CBZ or splendor’. Will it have the same zing? What will happen to the ‘Hero-Honda’  game? And I wonder if another ‘Kotu-Kaku’ in some other part of the country would settle for something less than a ‘Hero-Honda’?

I am not a market analyst or speculator, but one thing is certain. People like me,( and i am sure there are a lot of them)who have been so closely related with the brand Hero-Honda will take a long time to accept this change. But,  the saying goes ‘The face of advertisement and the brains of marketing can sell any product’. So let the Indian, two-wheeler revolution begin.


Monday, November 15, 2010

Bring on the tempest !!

Droplets of water collimates
when dew-drops fall on leaves,
& embroided '6-yards' are displayed 
when threads are sewn and weaved,
  The twinkling stars,would lose its sheen
  if the winds are not troubled,
  &poker tables would lose their means
  if stakes are not doubled,
So,bring on the dunes O' Master in heaven
& turn it to worse and hotter,
i will never stop, nor wail, nor wince
but survive on a mirage of water,
  Not all trees are born evergreen
  & i can bear dry leaves falling,
  & i can bear the xerotes, the storm
  & nearby sprouts still up and sprawling,
For i know a day will come,
& come soon!!!
For my stakes are high, though chances dry,
The wind will move and my stars will shine
Dunes will shift and heat sublime,


& i will keep intact my roots,
till the spell will pass and replenish the shoot !!



EXPLANATION
-----------------------
Like drops of water, my plights are heaving upon me and they have all paralled, I know i am worth a lot (6-yard saree) but i will attract appraisals only when i am well established and succesful(sewn and weaved). Physics tells us that troubled winds are reason behind the twinkling of stars, so when people can see through my troubles they can feel my twinkle, & i would like to add to my pains if only its doubling my worth(means).
So, O Lord, i benignly request you to throw all hurdles,if u are testing me, coz i will not fail you. 
Not all people get success so early, some have to bear failures(dry leaves). I can live through the unfruitful days(dry spell) even though people around me are rising(nearby sprouts)
For, i know that one day,not very far, the trust and faith i have on my abilities(stakes high)will prove its mettle and  people will see my sacrifices and troubles when i am successful and till then all i need to do is to keep my faith firm and undeterred so that even god is forced to kill my hardships and replenish me with bounty.

Friday, November 5, 2010

Figments of fantasy : The red-benarasi saree!!

" Here didimoni, this saree will look exquisite on you" the bespectacled salesman said with a wide smile.



Rinku was vaguely interested in the last 2-dozens sarees the salesman had showed her.Her mother-in-law, whom she called 'Boroma', was sitting beside her trying to feel the material of the sarees. Boroma, was extermely fond of her 'notun-bou', but given to her scrutinizing habits she could not help, sneaking at the price tags.


Rinku was exasperated. After seeing 3 saree stores in Shyambazaar and now the largest selling store in 'College-street' she had still not found the 'Red Benarasi' saree she was looking for.


"No, No.. this is not the one"she said with marked irritation" it has to be a lighter shade and no polka dots please".


The salesman surprisingly retained his smile and apologetically removed the saree from the display.


Rinku was considering walking away from this shop as well. She did not want to compromise with her first 'Benarasi saree' after marriage, which apart from her childhood desire, was also considered as a 'shagun' to the new bride in her husband's family.


Just then the salesman, propped up his face from beneath the desk , with a wide and self satisfied grin. He had a packet in his hand and from his looks Rinku could tell this was the one.


The saree was extraordinarily beautiful. There were golden small paisley leaves drawn on blood red benarasi silk, and tha pallu was artistically designed. The twinkle in Rinku's eyes told the salesman his job was done. It took Rinku, a minute to respond, giving Bororma a chance to negotiate over the price, which was tagged as Rs.4675/- .the salesman was exalting the piece, trying to justify the price, but boroma was persistent. And just when the salesman was about to yield..


'yes, yes.. i will take this'she screamed drawing the attention of all the other customers on this floor of the crammed shop. Even boroma, flashed a stare but Rinku was oblivious.






Her smile only broadened, when they moved out of the store. She hugged boroma a couple of times, to which boroma did not react, but deep inside she was happy for her. rinku was just the kind of bride she had wanted for her son. She was educated, 'Uccho madhyamik'pass(higher secondary), fair complexioned with black dense hair that touched her waist. She was an expert cook, a dextrous embroider and a classical trained singer, but her best part was the childish innocence she had. Only,3 months into the family, she had become the apple-of-the-eye of all and sundry in the family.






On saturdays, the trams are not usually crowded, so both rinku and Boroma, manage to grab a horizontal seat by the window. rinku holds the packets close to her chest and drifts into her reveries. It was 13 years ago, when she was only a small child, that she had been dressed up in a saree for the mahashivratri.The saree had been a small gift from her 'mashi' residing in Dhaka. That was the first intimate feeling she had about being an indian woman. She took pride in being a part of the female clan. She took care to drape her pallu on her shoulder. she enjoyed every step she took with the fabric brushing her feet. That blistering moment she craved to get married and wear a benarasi someday.






Owing to her rustic lifestyle, Rinku was more interested in the household activities than in studies. After the age of 13 when her elder sister was married to a rich zamindaar of neighbouring village, Rinku started anticipating her wedding, and every time she thought of marriage, the 'red benarasi saree' came flashing infront of her eyes.


"red benarasi is the pride of a bengali bou"her mother would tell her.


"...and only the lucky ones get a chance to wear the benarasi." her sister would tease her,to which she would grimace in irritation.






It was 2 days after her 18th birthday, that she got to know that her marriage had been arranged with some Pranoy Bannerjee, son of Dulal bannerjee from Kolkata. She was apprehensive of getting married into such a rich family, in such a big city. How does he look like? How tall is he? How old is he?She did not know anything about him. All she knew was that he was a software engineer, and was presently working for an MNC in bangalore.






On the night of marriage, when she saw Pranoy for the first time she was glad. Unlike her 'jamaibabu' he was fair, tall and good-looking though with receeding hairline,which she thought she could ignore. Afterall, even Prosenjit,her favourite actor, has a receeding hairline.
After 15 days in Kolkata, every night of which had been exotic for Rinku, she had fallen in love with her husband. But, it was time for Pranoy to leave, as his job beckoned. He promised to apply for a transfer soon. He told her that he would come for the Durga-pujo, and told her to look her best when he returns.






The nudge on her shoulder, woke her up from her reveries.It was boroma, asking her to collect the packets as their destination had come.


Now, only 1 week was left. Only she knew how difficult it had been to sleep alone on that double bed, her father bought them for marriage, how painful it had been to listen to that sonorous voice over the phone but not see that face. This time when he gets home, she will not let him go back. And why does he need to work for someone else, when his father owns the largest 'sweet shop' of Kolkata?


The next 1 week seems to be a lifetime to rinku. She grows restless, cannot concentrate on her household errands, cuts her finger while chopping onions,scalds her elbow while putting off the kettle. She even forgets to wear her 'alta'. But, one thing she does not forget to do, is to adore the 'red benarasi saree'. Everynight she would drape the folded saree on her shoulder and admire herself in the tiny bathroom mirror. She is sure she would look her best in this saree and he would go gaga over her.






Finally, the day arrives. Pranoy's flight is scheduled at 11.00 am. But, the 'pushpanjali' starts at 11.20. Rinku, has to forgo her desire of receiving her husband at the airport. She decides to wear the coveted 'Red Benarasi saree' only when her husband, her love returns. She wants him to be the first person to compliment her beauty, accentuated by the 6-yards of pure indian feminine raiment.






It has been 6 hours since her father-in-law and 3 other men left for the airport in their black ambassador. it should not take so long.


"The flight must be late" exclaimed boroma"you take your lunch, it might get late"


But, rinku was so agitated that she could not nibble a morsel.


She locked herself in her room,ready to accept the small challenge 'Maa Durga' was forcing on her. She was counting every second now.






The sudden forceful bang on her door and the restless voice of boroma, woke Rinku up from her short siesta. She jumped open the door, anticipating her husband in boroma's tow.


She was surprised to find her boroma with a bunch of ladies in trail. She could not even take a wild guess. Boroma, raised her hands to hold her face and brought her face down to kiss her forehead to which she closed her eyes in respect. Did she hear a wail behind her.And before she could open her eyes to realize the situation, boroma's right hand reached her partition and wiped off the vermillion there.


Rinku, retracted from boroma in bewilderment. She could not have thought in her goriest dreams that this would be the end of her happy life, so early, so immature. Only yestarday, she was thinking of the jovial tomorrow she would have, in the arms of Pranoy, and today she is assured of the forever she will have to bear without him.






She did not need boroma to tell her that the flight IA710 met with a fatal accident just 30miles off the dumdum airport, that none of the 220 passengers are alive , or that even the torched bodies are not available for last rituals.






Rinku, traced her steps back into her room and flopped on the couch. Her emotions could not gush out in tears, and that made her lose her senses. Just, a year back ,on the day of mahashtami she had desired a happy married life next year, she had desired to come in pair to take the blessings of her parents on 'Bijoya-dashami' and 13 years ago, on a fateful day,she had desired of wearing a 'red benarasi' someday!! All her desires sublimed in a matter of minutes.






A thousand words were pouring into her mind, words from the past , all jumbled up. Thoughts from the core of her memories,she had long forgotten,forcing her to lament. The soothing heavy voice of Pranoy,taking the marriage vows, the soft,sweet voice of boroma blessing her, a pinch there,a pull here, all her friends busy taunting her,on the first night. No even this,could not break her into sobs.


But there was a voice somewhere that was drawing her attention. Some very familiar voice, though with childlike intonation. something the voice was saying ,seemed to bother her, irritate her. ...and suddenly like a bolt from the blue it came to her. it was her sister's voice, deep down into childhood. It took her a while to decipher the words, and when she did,she could not control any longer.


"..and only the lucky ones get a chance to wear a benarasi"


She saw the red benarasi saree that was resting regally on the top of her teakwood 'Alna' and at that moment, just that flick of moment, her world came crashing down and so did her tears. !!

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Rajni & Sci-fi make a lethal weapon!!

This was my first attempt to watch a 'Rajnikant movie' in a multiplex and that too on a vital sunday. Not that i expected a well-scripted story or awe-inspiring acting , but i certainly wanted to laugh my lungs out on the 'Rajni-isms' that are so ubiquitous in all his movies. But unfortunately, this movie lacked the 'rajni-isms' too apart from the other bare essentials !:(



The movie starts with a horrible looking(apt to his profession) scientist who only gets uglier with time, trying to give the final touches to his robot, which he has been working on for the last 10 years. A minute later you getto see a sylph who is crazy about this 'Fugly nerd'. Aishwarya's looks only act as an eye-soother. Her acting, nonetheless make her equally resentful. You getto know that he has not met her in God- knows-how -many-days, but still this angel is crazy about him(Maybe that's y this fugly was named-VASHIKARAN). Once the robot is fully-operational the problem gets worse. No, not for the scientist ,but for us, the audience. Why? Coz, he is a lookalike of the wrinkle-faced Mr.Fugly-scientist.:P {Ek rajni bardasht nai hota- ab do-do jhelo}.


The robot is christened 'Chitti'and the next half an hour is the only watchable part coz its humourous.


The real problem arises with the peck-on-the-cheek.






2 bits of kiss and a 160crore disaster...thats ROBOT for you.!


Rajni-anna has redefined ground-zero of the celluloid world.






The next 2 hours were pathetically unbearable. The machine-human love story,the mosquito mode,dengue Lakshmi, the innovative concept of Robo-sapiens,the rajni-echelon blah blah, fuss fuss, *snore snore* *nudge* , "......Kilimanjaro,...mohenjodaro..." oh sorry i drifted into slumber but the obnoxious soundtrack woke me up. Did i read A.R.Rehman somewhere,I cannot believe it.!:O


So, why did'nt i leave the hall and go rajni-bashing?? Well, my friends 2 reasons: 1st - I liked the special effects, and 2ndly, oye ,i had paid Rs.180 ya', vasool to karna hi tha.


The only notable features of the movie were the special effects, which were hollywood style and very dexterously filmed. Of all the subjects that the robot had studied, geometry was his strongest.


Its been 4hours since i watched the movie and i have still not been able to overcome the 'Rajni-Hangover'.


But, 1 thing that crossed my mind several times was that 'why would somebody usher in Rs.160 crores for such a movie? Why would a producer invest the colossal amount in a project which lacks the 'Khans or Kapoors'?? Moreover, the movie saw moderate publicity.Perhaps, not even 1% of the finance was pushed into publicity.


"What Khan, khanna & kapoor ya' " blurted my Tamil friend, "the movie stars 'The God' (aka Rajnikant in some parts of India:P), who else do you think, financers can take such a huge risk on? He has done it before with 'Shivaji-The Boss' where the budget was Rs.100cr, and i am sure he'll do it again. Imagine,Rs.160cr banked on Rajni-anna..."


"..and the lady bacchan.."i interrupted him. He flashed me a scornful look and i zipped my lips.


But, how true isn't it? While, the tabloids keep publishing rumours about the 'baadshah' and 'shehenshah',cat and dog fights, rajni certainly reigns as 'The God' and steals the show with his full-on,bullshit movie.


I cetainly would'nt be surprised if i witness the sequel to this movie, probably named 'Robosapiens' and with a Rs.300cr tag attached.










Tuesday, September 21, 2010

आहट सपनों की !!

सपनों की आहट अब भी गूंजती है कानों में ,
हर खनक दिल के हर कोने में,
एक पलभर का दस्तक दिया होता
अगर कमबख्त एक तिनके भर मौके ने,
तो सिमटी न होती ये ज़िन्दगी ,
इन माचिस की डिब्बियों के 6 * 6 केबिन में !!

हौसलों की तो बात नहीं है ,
जान शायद सपनों में ही कम रही होगी,
अल्फाज़ अगर  खो भी जाते कहीं , फिर भी
इस बेकरारी की ग़ज़ल पेश हो जाती,मगर
धुन शायद मेरी आवारगी की मंद रही होगी !!


झूलते शमियाने और टूटते  पैमाने ही रह गए हैं
जिसे देख लगे ये भी कभी आशियाना रहा होगा
पड़ी जो परत वक़्त की इस्पे,
लगता है ये शायर भी कभी परवाना रहा होगा !!


Monday, September 13, 2010

When sweat & Thoughts go hand in hand !!

The sun had almost settled. The sky was crimson red. Birds were flying back home(i guess). My watch read 17.45 as i entered the round,swivelling gate of Salt Lake stadium, my heaven for the last 4 years. Ever since i joined college and moved to Kolkata, this place has been my mecca. Here ,i cry, i laugh ,i jog , i walk & i talk to myself.


The stadium bristles with athletes throughout the day, but at this part of the evening when everyone returns back to the YMCA hostel after a day long of intense practice, there are only few who start theirs. I happen to be one of them and its out of choice not compulsion. The stadium is outstandingly picturesque at this hour of the day.

I did some pre-jogging exercises, punched my stopwatch and started my jog. Some of the passing athletes gave me a cold look, and it took me a while to realize that its not because of my weird hairdo or wacky beard but because i was jogging anti-clockwise. Well, this is a long established habit due to some innane psychological reason. Its only, after i see the ramshackled hotel 'the Stadel' that i realize i have come come half way through my 1st lap. the next half is naturally beautiful. But, here i felt my breaths becoming heavy. I realized that i have come to the first hurdle.

1> The first hurdle, is the first feeling of numbness and weriness when your body has utilized the avaiable oxygen and now requires you to breathe heavily to satiate the need,(nothing scientific, its my logic :O).The best way to cross this hurdle is to just neglect it. The body adjusts itself to this need and soon breathing heavy becomes the norm. Just before my completion of the 1st lap, i came across the picturesque hind side of the 'Hotel Hyatt'. The brightly lit edifice with the green untrimed grasses at the back seemed to be a palace hung from the (yet)blue sky.

After 1 and half laps the first trickle of sweat came rolling on my cheeks through my temple. This gave me a tingling sensation. I love to push it further only after i see the changes. And the beads of sweat on my forehead just give me the thumbs up to go. I come across many evening walkers and a few joggers too, and somedays if i am lucky, i have a few girls hitting the road and passing innocous whispers and giggles.

2> I was comprehending my speed and timing when i came across the figure that i so greatly admire. I don't know her name but i know the serial number of her wheel chair by-heart. After all i have been reading it from behind for the last 3months. She has the sweetest smile i have ever seen, she is a married lady of about 40 years of age. i don't know if she belongs to the stadium or is an outsider exercising her arms rotating her wheelchair. But, whatever, i love to wish her good-evening to which she gives me her priceless smile. It is when i see her pushing her wheel-chair and yet managing to smile an ear to ear that i consider myself to be immensely lucky and all my anguish vanishes. Life is beautiful as long as i can feel my lungs gasping for air while my limbs work their way.

3> I completed almost 3 laps and my stopwatch glowed 29.58 when i had to open my mouth to take a mouthful of oxygen. My landmark had come and i had completed my pre-destined 3 laps. But,here again my brain toggled between 'rest' and 'the best'. i wanted 'the best'of workout and so i continued. I was breathing through my mouth and increased my speed. The sweat beads had by now coagulated and were continously flowing down my spine. My t-shirt was soaked, my limbs were numb, my heart was beating very fast but i could'nt care less. I came across all the distractions i have mentioned before, but i did not even notice. It was only when i could not carry anymore that i stopped and after frantically panting for about a minute i realized that i was 5 steps ahead of the landmark. Yipee!!! 4 laps,well within 37minutes, was an all time best feat.

this last lap taught me 2 things: 1>Determination and2> aiming high( I believe your destiny flows in a projectile motion, so always aim high to claim a little lower).

Later in the night when i was writting this article i realized, how many lessons a simple jog can teach you. Its only up for the mass to grapple.

So,next time ,have a happy and educative workout !!:)

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Incredible NR(India)n !!

My train reached the station at 1030 hrs. as my newly acquired digital wristwatch read, a full 3 and half hours late. Some bengali 'kaku' and 'kakima's' were busy blaming 'mamata di',the Indian railway minister, who in turn might be busy blaming 'CPM' for the maoist infested areas and the blame game will encircle all the who's who of the country. But, pragmatically nothing would help except patience.
After alighting from the train we all started the rat-race to reach the 'Pre-paid' taxi booth. somehow my huge luggage did not allow me the speed and i reached to find a long queue. The taxi drivers came rushing asking for destinations and discussing schemes.
"kahan jaoge bolo, ekdum pre-paid ke daam lagega" was the most prospective one. After staying in Kolkata on my own for 3 years i have come to know the people who could be haggled with and won over. This was a sardarji and i knew i could trust him with my life, because he was so conspicous. How many sardarji's have you seen driving a taxi??
After 15 minutes of haggling, he settled for Rs.130 on share basis. Considering the long queue and the mismanaged 'Pre-paid'taxi system i agreed.
"ok ji aap wait karo, mai grahak dhoond ke aata hun" he muttered and vanished.
A gentleman standing next to me and eyeing me, now for a while, came up to me. His funny graffiti t-shirt had attracted my attention long before.He sported a french-cut beard and looked emaciated."Yes"i demanded.
"are you going to saltlake?"he asked in a heavily accented impressive voice. I nodded in response.
"actually, we have our reservations at 'Hotel,the sojourn' ,near salt lake stadium. The 'pre-paid 'taxi service is pathetic. The queue is not moving and i have a skin problem,i cannot stand in the sun." I was all sympathies. In the meantime the sardarji had spotted a half-firang talking to me. He came rushing, bumping into everyone on the way. I knew what was coming.
Before, the sardarji could blurt an exorbitant amount i budged in and started bargaining for him too. Why? i dunno. Perhaps, i did not want a foreigner to go back to his country and cull everything about India,as disgraceful, even the Indians. I knew that Rs.500 might not be a huge money for this old chap, but my conscience would not be satiated. Finally, after much haggling and a few scornful looks from the sardarji he settled for Rs. 220.
" i have another bag" the NRI said when we had trudged almost half the way.
So, when do you plan to bring it, in another life,dumbo."Why don't you bring it, i ll wait for you in the taxi." i replied and somehow managed a cool smile even in the hot &humid weather.
He handed me his bag and rushed back to get his remaining luggage. A smirk crossed my face, who leaves a bag in india with a complete stranger? and suddenly somehow i felt very proud of myself.
Sardarji was still furious over the alleged loss he had made on ferrying a half-firang, half way across the town for only Rs.220.
Mr.NRI returned with 2 heavy suitcases and a skinny woman dressed like she was planning on giving a presentation. But, she gave me a broad smile and her gratitudes for helping them and i immediately liked her. The engine coughed and we were on our way.
As soon as we left the station we were engulfed by the chaotic Kolkata traffic. My fellow travellers were awestruck. it took us almost 20 minutes to cross the Howrah bridge. Mrs. NRI was nagging all the time, sometimes to the extent that i was tempted to stuff my earphones and play some heavy metal, but hey, here i was the good Indian boy remember, so i stifled my emotions.
Once out of the town, she took me to be a travel guide and asked me about all the dilapidated buildings we came across. The sardarji could sense my irritation and gave me some wry glances. I ignored.
Later, she wanted to know everything about me. I restricted myself to the biographical details only, nothing personal. Then she stated telling me about herself and her family. Mr. NRI was very fond of India, he has a sister in Ranchi and hence they were coming in the same train as i was (for a second i was glad i never met them on train)as the flight they were scheduled for was cancelled.They have a daughter, studying in NUJS(law..aww) and immediately i was all ears:) they were going to stay in kolkata for a week then they would fly back (to where...i don't care). Then some more archaeological facts, some more nagging, some more queries until we reached their destination. I alighted from the taxi to see them off. The bell-boy came with a plastic smile and took the luggage inside. The lady thanked me earnestly,and for the second time in the day i liked her.
Mr.NRI handed me his visiting card which i slipped in my pajama-pocket, shook hands with him and bade him farewell. He handed the sardarji Rs.300 and said"keep the change" to which the sardarji drew a blank expression. It was only after i translated it that he beamed and gave me a triumphant look.
The sardarji dropped me home.
I reached my pocket for the keys when i felt the card.So,what could such a skinny,seemingly oafish but gentle man earn in a foreign land?After all if he could make it, it was cake for me.
I drew it out and glanced upon it. It read "Mr.(insignificant)" "DIRECTOR" :Orbit engineering consultancy""UAE".

The rail-girl !!

The train was surprisingly overcrowded today. The only problem with pasenger cars is that uncouth plebians flood it with the stink of their breath and jarring cacophony of native songs. Somehow, Abhi & i managed a seat beside a crumpled piece of bones. My face was twitched in a sneer and i looked misreable.Suddenly, my glance met a pair of beautiful brown eyes. It was a little girl of about 5years age. She was staring at me,perhaps because of my typical grump, and i got mortified. Her mother was lying prostrate beside her. From their clothes and appearance i could make out that they were from a very poor family,yet no grouch and such a peaceful snooze.
The train sped away from the station.One pecularity about Indian trains is the train of hawkers that come selling almost everything. A couple of them passed by us,one with 'jhal-muri' &another with ripe guavas. The lil gal looked expectantly both the times but dared not wake her mother. Later, i bought 'mungfali',marketed as 'time pass'. We started cracking the shell and munching the nuts, when i saw the gal giving it the same expectant look. I felt empathetic and offerd her some. To my surprise she denied it with a refined gesture, and turned her face away from us. How can a 4 year old kid, born into such a family be so cultured and stifle the pangs of hunger and desire with such mannerisms.
I wondered what her life would have been, had she been born into a rich family. She would be dressed in 'giny&Jony' sucking on a lollypop while patting her barbie. But, here she is dressed in soiled clothes, held together by safety pins. God knows if she'll ever see the face of a school. Heaven forbid any abuse to such a sweet little thing,given her circumstances.
The silence of this gal was very poignant. Her age was about 4 years old but her psyche was that of a 15 year old. My cousin is 12 years old and he still needs chocolates in tiffin and horlicks in milk, things perhaps this lil gal has not even heard of.
How often do we appreciate the child of a beggar or a wage-earner. Seldom, perhaps never. But, the same toddler if adorned by gaudy raiments and smelling of baby powder,seems so cute.Even professional photographers use a poor child's face only when they have to capture a catastrophe.
The train slowed down as it reached its final destination. The lil gal woke up her mother.The mother did'nt even bother to wash her face. They gathered their belongings which were 3 polythene bags full of muri(puffed rice).She gave me a sweet smile before leaving. I felt so desperate to help her somehow. I wondered, how much love i would have given her had she been my lil sister.But, even before i could wave her or smile back she was gone, lost in the multitude.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Yeah i am an engineer !

First step in the campus & a blow without fist
seniors staring &gnawing their teeth
to pounce on the guy dull & lame
& grab a chance to impress a new dame

yeah i am an engineer and this was my fate
now i realized it, i think i am late!!

Soon i met strangers with a hi
with passing days it was with a broad smile
soon gotta know their likes and dislikes
her mania for lipstick, his passion for bikes!
cellphone nos. were the next obvious things
for rare calls and frequent messaging!

Late night gossips over cups of tea
seldom books and mostly movies
dozing off early morning in the class
god only knows how we manage to pass

teachers gripe over attendance so slim
and to top it our grades are grim
flak follows by the masks of sneer
but alas it falls on deaf ears!

yeah, i am an engineer and this was my fate
now i realized it, Gosh I am LATE!!

[i got this published in our college magazine 'GRAFFITI' and it got selected for in-house circulation of british library, kolkata. I have posted it in my blog to honour this otherwise highly condemned grad course B.Tech]