Kolkata

Its been raining in Kolkata for the past week. And I have conveniently lost my umbrella. I miss my blue umbrella.
I love it when it pours down after nightfall....there are so few people on the otherwise bustling roads; you actually get a feel of the city. I am glad Kolkata still isn't the posh metropolis that Delhi is trying to become. I hope it never does. It ensures that you can walk with your friend for five hours on the rain soaked streets under an overcast sky after a taxing day at college. It lets you walk down Park Street at 9 in the evening in a slight drizzle and not care about it being unsafe. Where you could walk for hours and get lost and not care.
It allows you to talk to people without worrying that someone is stalking you. I have grown up in a small town where cows lined the avenues in neat rows and fields flanked the paved roadways. Where you could walk for hours and hours and not get tired. Where a cycle would be quite enough for transporting you if only your ego would allow it.
Kolkata still retains some vestiges of being a city of real people. It isn't the City Of Joy. It is, for many, the City Of Eternal Sorrow. In a way I am glad Kolkata hasn't become Delhi.

Or I was. Kolkata isn't such a nice place anymore. Not since the blasts in Delhi. People exchanging glances of disgust at the government and roadside "Adda"s have transformed into people walking at night knowing full well that this Puja might well be the last Puja for them.
There is a rumour going around that Kolkata will be the next target. And it will be the Pujas.
I don't feel safe any m0re. Nobody does. Not the mother in Delhi who lost her son only because he had tried to warn the terrorists that they had left their bag behind. Neither the mother here who isn't sure if her headstrong son will come back at the end of the day.
We can no longer trust. Nor can we hope. A friend of mine said yesterday that she was afraid to go shopping because she was afraid she would die.
I am much too little to blame anybody. So its pointless talking about Shivraj Patil or the Police. The only thing I noticed was that as I reached home last night, I couldn't find a single channel which giving uninterrupted coverage about the blast; I saw cricketers instead. ...It seemed we had already moved on.

Its one in the morning. And I am researching stuff for a conference later in the day. The world,as I look out of my window, is dark and quiet, just the way I like it. Of late, blogging has become too much of an imposition and less of a pleasure. Hence I have putting it off.

I have been busy. And strangely,busy with things I like doing. None of them have a direct bearing with my college course but I like doing them anyway. I meet new people, do new things. I hardly find time to go through my favourite blogs nowadays, much less update mine. A year ago, I had nothing else to do. I just read and blogged and listened to music.
I have been reflecting on my past year for the past two whirlwind weeks. I was incredibly thankful for having too many engagements to be solitary.
I just read my favourite blogs for the first time in 7 months. And I loved it. I had lost the connection somewhere. I searched for it. Old friends from unfamiliar blogs who had moved on with their lives, people whom I knew only from what they wrote; I met all of them tonight. They seemed alien. And I type this out, I am slowly becoming aware of the fact that I am listening to "1973" after almost a year. It feels nice.
I have too much to do almost everyday now. But perhaps I let life pass me by. I liked the moment tonight to pick up the pieces and reminiscence. I sure had met new people. But I had forgotten the old ones.In my haste to be in the thick of things, perhaps I didn't realize how good I had it back then. A year ago.

Sarah's Night

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Strike out

There was a Bharat bandh today. A nationwide strike.

On the way back from the local mall yesterday, I decided to take a rickshaw. I was laden with bags and packets stuffed with supplies for the next day when the city of joy would come to a standstill. The mighty metropolis would be forced to kneel down for 24 hours in protest of a couple of policies nobody knew of. The important thing was the protest.

As I seated myself on the rickshaw, I felt a little queasy. The rickshaw wallah seemed a little mad. Cuckoo would be the word. As he pedalled tiringly through the narrow alleys, he scarcely seemed to hear me as I shouted my destination into his ear. He kept muttering to himself. I could only catch snatches of his muffled monologue. He seemed to be repeating the two words, "Ten rupees!"

I was instantly on my guard. The stipulated cost of the commute as fixed by their union was six rupees. He wasn't about to cheat me off the extra four rupees. I clutched with determination onto my two hundred rupees worth french fries and chips.

I tried to take my mind off the muttering menace and tried focusing instead on my itinerary the next day. The trade unions that had called the strike were left affiliated with strong ties with the incumbent government. They controlled most of the city unions, notable amongst them, the rickshaw wallah union. In fact the strike was partly for the benefit of the rickshaw wallahs, claimed the union. To resist the imperialist forces was in the best interest of the impoverished.

The approaching silhouette of my apartment on the horizon shook me out of my reverie. The rickshaw wallah suddenly turned towards me and muttered in his rustic Bengali,"dada,kalke ki shob kichui bondho?"..." Dada,will everything be closed tomorrow?" I replied in the affirmative,a bit surprised. Weren't these the people who actually backed the bandh?

He pedalled on for a few seconds. Then he turned back again." Dada, will schools be closed tomorrow?" There was a sense of desperation palpable in his voice.. I stammered out a "yes", all the while puzzled inside at his quaint questions.

We reached my destination. As I stepped down from the rickshaw, he looked at me and said meekly," Dada, kindly give me ten rupees. I have a girl studying at the local school; she is in class 5 and has just passed her exams. But the school says unless I pay the fees overdue,they're going to rusticate her. I have to arrange for three thousand rupees within the next week. Having asked everybody I knew for a loan, I now have resigned to asking customers I know well for small sums of money. You see, sir, I have been pedalling for the last thirteen years. But I don't know what will happen next. One whole day gone dada. Tomorrow I won't be able to pedal; no income dada, no food, no future. Wanted to meet a few people tomorrow for my girl. Now sir...."

Tears glistened on his sunken cheeks. I clutched at the tattered ten rupee note in my hand, the bag of fries on my other hand. I slowly reached out into my wallet and pulled out a hundred rupee note. The shrivelled face filled with surprise and disbelief. It slowly changed into ecstasy and hope.

I watched him pedal his way out of my neighbourhood. "Maybe dada, I will be able to educate my girl after all. God bless you..."

There was a Bharat bandh today.

The 7th of August

Its the 7Th of August. As I returned from College and switched the T.V. on, I was informed by the frantic looking news anchor, who blared in almost incomprehensible hindi, that tomorrow, the 8Th of August would be doomsday for the world. The unholy combination of the three 8's,the anchor expounded, was potent enough for a catastrophe.
I switched the channel. This time I landed on an English breed. True to its language, the hype here was international. The Beijing Olympic games 2008. Commencing from tomorrow is the greatest show on earth; the Chinese having been a model of fastidious,meticulous,albeit slightly robotic precision. The channel having sent a correspondent all the way to China, seemed to want its investment back fast. The correspondent was foaming at the mouth as he spoke about how the Olympic committee might be goaded into including cricket in 2012.

Fervently praying that they didn't,I surfed all the channels...everyone seemed to be focussing on the impending...all of those enlightened people seemed much too busy in the prospects of the future than the significance of the present. None were interested in today.
The day had been an unusual one. The college seemed to be teeming with young enlightened souls brimming with novel ideas about the commemoration of the day and posters were abound about the gala cultural recital that afternoon as a token of fond and cherished remembrance of the heritage of one of Indian literature's greatest exponents. I was disappointed. Not only was the program under-rehearsed and hopelessly amateur, there seemed to be a genuine lack of spontaneous outpouring of creative energy. The apathy was palpable. The dancers danced cuz they had been directed to; the singers sang the song in a particular drab fashion, never bothering to infuse the song with a breath of life. The dramas enacted were more about showing off personal skills than commemorating the life of a great master. Indeed, the loudest cheers received were for the street goon. And this was supposed to be a cultural event.
Every year, Calcuttans and Bengalis around the globe gather round a certain photograph on this day and apparently pay homage. The streets bustle with people talking of literature and every institution worth its name hosts a multitude of events to celebrate the day.The rest of the world thinks bengalis are fussing. That they have a perennial identity crisis and hence tend to cling to the last vestiges of glory. Indeed, I have seen many a wry smile smack on the faces of some of my most intelligent friends.Maybe all don't. But some sure do!
Perhaps part of it is fuss. Maybe it is ridiculous for the rest of the nation to see people going berserk over something that is not remotely related to cricket. But you know what? I like it. I like it when people remember their heroes, their poets, the people who helped the nation move onward. Even if blended with pompous self importance,even a modicum of hypocrisy,I like that people at least remember his name today, even if for a minute.
Naysayers will say he remains alive only on paper,not in our hearts. But that is better than dying and getting buried anonymous,isn't it?
Calcutta remembers. For the rest,today is the 7th of August. Rabindranath Thakur died today.

Thought

A friend informed me today it was popular belief that Rock music was somehow better and 'higher" than pop.He quoted Paris Hilton to substantiate his claim.

Vote and a little Ghosh

Exhilarating is the word.There is no other I can think of which can describe the events of the last few days.It has been a whirlwind last week and a half,both in my personal life and of course,in the national scene.There has been a little fun,lots of heated discussions,a little more fun at the expense of the nation's future and the discovery of Omar Abdullah.

It does seem eons ago that I walked into the cinema to watch Rituparno Ghosh's latest,"Khela".I was disappointed.There was the trademark Ghosh style,the much-better-than-usual Manisha Koirala and a story which seemed unpredictable for the most part.However,I had gone in with much higher expectations which were not gratified.The little boy was adorable,the quaint manner of narration was sweet,the North Bengal scenery breathtaking and there was a discernable sense of intimacy,closeness which the director managed to weave throughout the film.The subtle underlying pain was most elegantly shown.The ending was beautiful.In any other director's hands,this would be hailed as great cinema.however,Ghosh has dazzled me with his brilliance so many times earlier that the perfect little intimate tale was inadequate.It lacked the genius,the "Oh my god!" moment,the one magic moment of divine brilliance.

Trouble is still brewing in college over my obstinate stand against ragging.I was accused of splintering the unity of the class.People are going mad,which must be a good sign for they don't tell you to shut up if your words aren't having an effect.I am on the verge of being accused of taking away a fundamental right...Things are hotting up.

The fun was of course provided by the sycophancy of the Left at the centre.Delhi seemed quite like a gladiatorial ring.I like it better than T-20.There are all the hourly updates and scores but the spice seems more here.Who wants Shoiab and Dhoni?Give me Mayavati and Sonia Gandhi any day!

And where was Omar Abdullah?Either he speaks very rarely or I have been completely stupid in missing his speeches.I had almost fallen asleep during the trust vote when Omar Abdullah's two-minute speech roused me.He not only spoke forcefully and made himself heard over the din but was coherent and witty.He is indeed a very good orator.He has got that one quality Rahul Gandhi lacks...intelligence.And he makes Somnath babu smile!


Another post about the trust vote in a couple of days....I am waiting for the second act."Picture abhi baaki hai mere dost!"

P.S-Awful quote,I know!Apologies.

Saturday...Today

I usually devote my Saturdays to the pursuit of trivial amusements.It was in accordance with the general scheme then,that last Saturday I let my friend persuade me to watch the new teen-flick in town that everyone is talking about..."Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na".Most people in my college had loved it beyond words and nothing but watching it twice could satiate their appetite.It was then,with a great deal of expectation and a modicum of apprehension that I queued in front of the Cinema.The line had snaked its way into the main avenue which brought a smirk onto the lips of my friend.So many people could hardly be wrong in their judgement.It was an eclectic mix.There were college crowds,obnoxious love birds,middle aged gentlemen,ageing ladies...

It was almost a miracle that tickets weren't as scarce as it seemed.We rushed inside,I didn't even look at the popcorn or the french fry stands!And then the film started.
As I walked out of the hall two and a half hours later,my mind was a jumble of thoughts.People around me gushed about the film;about how great it was,how adorable Imran Khan was,how hot Genelia looked,how sublime Rehman's creations were,how it was the best film they had seen in quite some time.i couldn't agree.Nor could I disagree.

To be fair,"Jaane Tu..." isn't a bad film at all.Of course,a bad film isn't what is expected of the man who penned "Maqbool".The film is breezy,the characters aren't overtly melodramatic and the music is very very good.But somewhere there was a feeling of being let down.
Had the film been in the hands of a lesser director,there would have been no cause for complaint.Indeed,if it hadn't amassed such rave critical reviews,the follies would have been quite passable.But Abbas Tyrewala,the brilliant,imaginative scriptwriter,what sort of a story is this?
Sure,the handling of the sequences speaks volumes of the director's abilities but as the film rolled on,I couldn't help feeling a lot of that ability lay nascent.
The plot was a complete mess.College life and the depiction of a bonding which transgressed the realm of ordinary day to day "friendship"*(little more than a casual acquaintance,considering how often we abuse the term )were all fine but what happens when the film doesn't move forward?The depictions were all upper middle class,of people rolling in money,something which I am sure many aspire too,but how many identify?Comic relief is great again,but what happens when every other dialogue is a tongue-in-cheek attempt at inciting laughter?The whole story refused to move onward and instead there is a barrage of clever one liners from the end of the first half hour.
To be fair,the audience was in splits but does Tyrewala really need to resort to that?It was only Ratna Pathak Shah,the one and only,who could breeze through such a non-role and come off as charming and adorable and indeed she waltzed through her performance.Nasiruddin Shah's role,again was an out and out attempts at unconventional(in Bollywood)humour.In deference to Tyrewala,the comedy was intelligent,a welcome relief from the slapstick that Bollywood regularly dishes out and some of Pathak's lines were memorable,especially when her son's best friend asks her while sobbing,because college had ended,"Auntie,itne din kaha chale gaye?" and the smart Pathak retorts,"Phone pe,beta,phone pe"
Returning to the principal point of complaint,I couldn't help thinking the storyline perfectly absurd.The middle part of the film was absolutely indigestible;the hour spent in establishing Imran and Genelia's respective lovers;the lovers' only task to make the protagonists aware of their growing jealousy.The idea was fine,the flaw lay in the execution.The film became so intolerably boring once the "other partners" were introduced that I could scarcely keep my eyes open.It was all glossy clothes and smart talk and the film refused to move on....time seemed to stand still.The conclusion again,wasn't something I was prepared for.The three conditions to be ordained a rajput scion,the midnight horse chase through Bombay,the airport chase sequence...was it all from a weird fairy tale?I was particularly disappointed with the horse ride at one in the morning through the streets of Bombay...farce!The airport chase sequence was funny though...special mention for Paresh Rawal,good throughout in the role of a (you guessed it!)comic police officer.The ending again,was so tame.Tyrewala had taken an unusual concept,why not attempt an unconventional ending?Friends turned lovers who live happily ever after sounds so old,doesn't it?

This is what I felt on Saturday.Today,however,is another day and strangely the film grows on me.I had readily appreciated the four things that had enabled me to sit through the 3hours....Imran Khan,all vivacious charm,cute smiles,clever lines and intelligent looks,shined through the holes in the script and seemed well endowed in brains if only a little deficient in the brawn's department
(a relief!)Charming and endearing,he carried comedy with great ease and most importantly, was extremely believable.Believability was also the forte of Genelia,still nursing a small Hyderabadi accent in her hindi.Managing to hold her own against Imran and making a place for herself amongst the audience was no mean task.And I am also much pleased to say that she is much improved from her earlier performances in Telegu mainstream films.The chirpy college girl,the typical upper class spoilt brat and the endearingly faithful friend was what she accomplished with amazing grace.A mention also for Prateik Babbar,Smita Patil's son who turns in a jaw-dropping performance as Genelia's brother.His anguish and love and sorrow are all so meticulously and yet so humanely depicted that one cannot but applaud the debutante.
It would be extremely unfair here if I didn't add a whole standing ovation to Rehman's work; fresh and vivacious,the music managed to capture the young spirit perhaps more than the film.The songs were a heady mix of rhythm and melody and I simply,was enthralled.

But as I sit here,at two in the morning,thinking of all that I had seen,I finally realize that it wasn't what I had seen,it was what i felt which mattered more.Sure the film had its share of flaws but what it managed to do was to leave an impression.The first twenty minutes,the best part of the film where Imran and Genelia's beautiful bond is explored keeps coming back to me.And as I listen to "Aditi" on the headphone,I get the feeling that all criticism aside,the film managed to connect,not just with the college crowds but with everyone who ever loved and had a friend to die for.And that might just be Tyrewala's best work,the accomplishment of the most difficult task set to him;He manages to keep the film alive in each one of us and makes us identify with at least somebody.You will find yourself unable to control yourself from clapping at the climax, weird as it was!And every time you listen to a piece of music from the film or snatches of words from "aditi"..you will always,even if for a few seconds,transported into the magical world of Jai and Aditi,when the world was still beautiful and they could love each other without tags or conditions.

"Jaane Tu..." might have been a great film.It isn't.But that is quite beside the point.It isn't what you will remember.What you will remember is how it felt to be Jai and Aditi.

A long time ago,in a city....

I got up today.Dressed for college,cursed the college time table and got out of the house.I spend a regular day,trivial occurrences interwoven with mundane circumstances;pointless conversations concocted with petty tricks,emotions not quite genuine getting lost with mirthless smiles.
It was only on my way back,wallowing in self pity,that I chanced a glance at my watch and realized it to be the 11th of July,or the watch proclaimed,the infamous "7/11".It was on this day,two years ago,that Mumbai was ripped apart by seven horrendous blasts that changed the socio-political scenario of the nation forever.Though I never have lived in Bombay and in general have a very limited idea concerning the outline of the city or its people,than what Bollywood and its closest living relative,the news media affords us to have,I had and still have a considerable number of friends and people I love who reside in "the city of dreams".

I returned home and turned on the television.C.B.I''s magnificent success in an open and shut case after months of mud splashing and shadowy speculation in the media seemed to have caught the nation's imagination,gripped its psyche.People seemed ill-disposed to recall something so profoundly and evidently painful on a day of such revelling glory.A single news channel dared to air a story about a person who has been in a perpetual state of injury induced coma since the black day.Of course he was poor,he had no money to pay for his treatment hereafter and had,in short,no right to live.The channel promptly relegated the piece to the back benches.Not for him, the magnanimity of the nation witnessed in the outpouring of grief or the flooding of relief money.There was no resilient spirit that would help him stand back on his feet again.

"One of the nation's worst human tragedies,with over 200 people killed,The Mumbai massacre ranks internationally as one of the most gruesome acts of crime ever..."screamed one reporter stationed to cover the condolence meetings.I sincerely wish she meant the empathy,absent from her voice.A meeting "to remember the martyrs " culminated with the principal speaker concluding that "the central government was a complete failure and the Samajwadi Party was being opportunistic."He stood beside a lady who had lost her son and husband,both wage labourers,as he waxed eloquent how the government had no moral right to continue.

It is easy for me to don the critical eye.It is even convenient.After all,I was,in no way,affected me,snug as I was in front of the television,both then and now.No Concern of mine emanated from a genuine exigency,just plain curiosity and outrage.But it is indeed depressing that things haven't looked up for those whose lives were truly affected by the blasts.Who lost everything they had or perhaps still have a crippled brother at home,all to a unnamed Jehad,a war they were never a part of.Sadder still,perhaps,is the fact they look up towards us,the society,the people unscathed,rich,Outwardly sympathetic with hope in their eyes.Perhaps they think all the soundbite does mean something.perhaps the next C.M. visit might yield a hospital bed for their father.Or Barkha Dutt's riveting commentary might mean something other than a dozen mikes poking into their faces.
They hope that their tragedy will mean something else than general knowledge question in the years to come;a benchmark for future genocides.They hope that they will somehow get a slice of the amazing spirit of the "city that never stops".Maybe they hope us,people who see them but don't notice to sit up today and think.The sad thing is that it seems they are hoping in vain.

Today

I had planned to take a break from blogging for six months.Life had seemed too engrossing,too mundane,too regular for me to share.I didn't plan to break the vow today.But then something happened.
It is today that I realized how difficult it is to stop people from what they ardently wish to do,even if they themselves had admitted at one point in time,albeit in private,that it does show them in poor light and is WRONG.Perhaps greater trouble are those people who think what they do highlights their talents,veils their imperfections and spruces up their "cool" factor.People who wish to see can be lead onward.People who only think they can see cannot.

There was a concerted effort this year in my college to stop the menace otherwise known as Ragging;euphemised by the wishfully blind who like to call it "orientation"/"interaction.Students chose,in droves,not to undertake the stupid and horrifying "custom" of hazing the "juniors"(rather condescending !)They insisted that they wanted to get to know the students,for a change.
I was buoyed.With so many standing up for something their own petty interests,there was truly hope for betterment.It was truly difficult to comprehend why something so trivial wasn't getting rooted out,especially when so many were against it.All the first year students were greeted with toffees on their second day.A friend of mine messaged his girlfriend that they had decided to become "caring seniors".

The question was answered today.I was taught that just because people know something is wrong,they will never stand by it.They will waver on their pledge;they will instead do what is convenient.Most of the people who had pledged their support found it too difficult to honour their word.The ragging started in earnest today.I was told that if someone wants to rag,its his liberty to do.I was shown proofs of how the first year students were eager to get humiliated by their "seniors" and how I was being the wet blanket.The day drew to a close the same way it had every year.With massaged egos the seniors walked out triumphant;the juniors weren't vanquished either,holding,with pride,onto their solace that they would be the perpetrators of the humiliation the next year.Life went on.
Hindsight is perfect.And thus as the day draws to a close,I can say that I was sadly deceived in the character of man.A friend of mine today quoted Frederich Nietzsche....he said the force behind a man's life is "the will to power".And as I sat there and rued my loss,I suddenly realized that the win had been a hollow one after all.There was no collective desire to weed out ragging.There was simply an urge to look noble.There had been no change of heart.There simply was a change of tactic.
Sociologists say ragging is for those with an insecure persona.It is the perfect way to get your ego boosted...today,however,I saw that it was far more complex.There was a ego massage involved,yes,but far more pivotal was the power which the seniors were bestowed with.Making a guy marry another guy didn't emote as much fun as the reverential stares and the awe effused with fear which their eyes betrayed.They were in charge.

I was wrong.It perhaps cost me a few friends but the lesson is the better learnt for that.No one wants change.Because oppression always facilitates the privileged.The seniors rag because they can;it is "fun" and for a few weeks,the nobody-s get to become somebody-s.The juniors get ragged because it will be their turn next year.That is tradition.We all make pledges to make the world a better place.We all hope and pray and curse the previous generation.It is a pity though,that we don't act.Maybe because its too difficult.