Statutory Warning : Smoking weed is injurious to health(or is it??)
This post is written with inspirations from the reggae legend 'Bob Marley' songs.
NO WEED INVOLVED.
Tonight if you allow me fair amigos
I will tell you what my life is
Its empty bottles by the pier
and cigarette stubs by the sea
Its the blackest coffee you can have
and a life increasingly sedentary
Random thoughts in a diary
is this paragraph thats meant to be
eventful listing of a blacking out mind
anything but not poetry
Do i write just to ease some pain?
a troubled past?or is my heart slain??
No its not a girl,nor attention greed
Just the effects of filtered weed
Its guilt that gets a man killed
post intoxication,like thinking in Warfield
Later again I'll talk to you all
about the kisses and hard-knocks of life
as of now let me lay down and roll
some tracks on black death metals toll
Yes thats what i want,but thats not my need
I just wanna leave for paradise,on weed.
If thoughts had words i would be loquacious. small things generate great wonders some times, and a thoughtful mind can percieve it, but only few can fit it in words. This is my attempt to do so. A few thoughts that cross my mind & surely would tickle yours.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Redemption & back on Republic Day
1> some pandemonium woke me up early in the morning. I was about to plunge inside my thick blanket when a chorus started singing 'Jana Gana Mana'-our National anthem Now, I had 2 choices 1. to ignore it, after all nobody was observing and 2. Stand upright rapt attention in my sparse clothing exposed to the cold air, which ultimately i did.
It reminded me of the good old days, when republic day meant march-past and mass-drills and flag hoisting and sweet distribution, and when 'Republic Day' was not just another holiday.
2> I went through the newspaper, read the innumerous 'Happy Republic Day' advertisements with the company logos bigger than the national flag. Sheer marketing.
Before folding it up, I went through the movies section.”OK….Alice in wonderland @2100hrs, Trishul @2000 hrs and ..And O MG repeat of Bourne Identity @10.30 hrs, that is just half an hours later. I rushed to do my groceries and return back before the movie starts. After all it's from my favorite trilogy. I managed all well within time and just when I was returning, I heard our security guard tuning his radio to All India Radio, which was airing the republic day parade, Live.
I ambled, reminiscing the day’s when my family and I used to see the ‘Republic day celebrations’ on DD national, fixated to the minutest exhibition.
And now Bourne Identity has taken priority.Huh!!
3> No I did not, or rather could not watch the movie. Later in the afternoon, I logged into my networking profile. There were scores of ‘Happy Republic day’ embedded on the common wall, and I could not help but wonder, how many of them actually meant it and how many of them experienced the patriotic melancholy like myself. Some I personally knew could not distinguish the difference between the national anthem and the national song.
4> I was on my way to the bus-stand. It was almost evening. I passed by the auto-rickshaw stoppage and was approaching the cycle-rickshaw stand when I noticed something strange. Almost all these vehicles, the LPG guzzling and the manual both, had a small flag hoisted upon its rear view mirror. To my eyes the vehicles seemed to be squeaky clean, maybe for today’s special celebration.
I have noticed this since childhood, the poor working class of India celebrate the national days more zestfully than their blessed country mates, whom the republic nation gives more reasons to do so.
5> At night my sister surprised me with a phonecall.I told her about my patriotic reawakening, to which she congratulated me, disinterestedly. I asked “so how was your day?” With a sigh of relief she replied “By your newly acquired definition of patriotism, I was a jerk. I was so glad that this time republic day did not clash with a weekend holiday. I needed a break”.
This brought me to another realization, a more pragmatic and rational one. We don’t need a day to show our patriotism. We don't need to watch the celebrations or hoist a flag or sing the anthem on this day. Patriotism can be as small and silly as joining Indian anti-hatred forums on social networking site. When we pray for our country during the short commercial breaks between the overs in a match of cricket featuring India, we exude patriotism. When we take pride in the fact that TATA acquired Corus, we were all proud Indians and we are typically proud Indians when we celebrate the success of a foreign film based on India, the slumdog millionaire.
I thought I needed a patriotic redemption, but now I think I don't. Patriotism need not be marred with hypocrisy. I think our ministers are doing it with unfailingly for us, and we have enough of them to worry about.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Like.....until forever..
Like a war with Achilles
i am going to fight,but i know i am lost.
Speaking my mind,glory is no matter
My Fairest lady,thou love is!
Like petals in honeydew and milk
though small ripples disturb your image
Don't pull me back,please don't
Not now,not ever,not until......forever!
Softly i'll bid goodbye,deftly i'll leave
Not that it would matter to you
but to me it would mean
something i so strongly desired
to be waited for and to be missed
with silent,anxious eyes eager to wait,
until.....forever
and quivering,half-parched,unspoken lips to wait,
until...forever!
i am going to fight,but i know i am lost.
Speaking my mind,glory is no matter
My Fairest lady,thou love is!
Like petals in honeydew and milk
though small ripples disturb your image
Don't pull me back,please don't
Not now,not ever,not until......forever!
Softly i'll bid goodbye,deftly i'll leave
Not that it would matter to you
but to me it would mean
something i so strongly desired
to be waited for and to be missed
with silent,anxious eyes eager to wait,
until.....forever
and quivering,half-parched,unspoken lips to wait,
until...forever!
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Why is (THE)Barney Stinson....."Awesome" ??
{Freaking Fiction:This post is for the fan-base of 'How I met Your Mother' and especially "Uncle Barney" !!}
(Ted Mosby's Point of view)
I met Barney at a urinal( like man, like place :D)and sometimes i wish to go back in time and flush down our relationship,in the same loo. Yet,after years to come i would realize that ,my supposed wing-man is really a good friend.His inclusion added sparkles to my life and the episodes too.(Imagine a 'How I met Your Mother' without his stupid yet iconic legendary statements )
I wonder why does Barney get all the female atention and fan following, although he is a suit-clad, blonde,pallored,face-twitching snob. Is it due to his weird, whacky, co-context catchphrases or the smoothly moulded yet whipping comments.I guess both.
I think I have given him more reluctant, erratic high-fives than i have wiped my arse, and i have waited for his condescending,legendary, 'LEGEN.....*wait for it*.....DARY' more than i have waited for a piss on a winter morning.
Sometimes, i wonder to get into his shoes and get all the overvalued attention, yet my dignity does not permit me,but the next moment my inner-mind jolts me to think "How many shoes has this guy worn?"..I mean ...FIGURATIVELY. He wins almost anything he wants to right from the scarcely rewarded challenges(Remember the cross-country race and Reality show)to the subdued desires in his sub-conscious mind (like ROBIN...EWW)
And no matter how many tonnes of bull-crap comes out of that blonde head,he covers it up in gaudy language sometimes enameled with assortment of French, Spanish and Chinese language. No wonder, he must be having innumerous blog followers.
I like wearing my informal muftis,but sometimes when i see him clad in those well-tailored Armani suits, toggling the touch phone and playing with his glass of scotch-whisky, even i wanna 'Suit-up'. And had it not been for Marshall's curt criticism("We don't need another Barney"), i would have morphed into another 'Stinson' by now.
So, how does it sound, I Ted Mosby..the cool-headed, star-wars loving,commitment seeking,fabulously statured 'ARCHITECT' wanna suit up to become what ?? ..."A Barney Stinson" ??
"THE Barney Stinson ...you wuss" says who?? who says??
Your sex-starved,diabolical,satanic,Laser-tag-loving,God-Knows-What-Job-He-Does,uncle Barney.
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.
Labels:
good old days,
hero,
hero honda,
honda,
JV,
motorcycle
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.
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. !!
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. !!
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