Serve it cold

Slice the pieces slowly and sprinkle the salt lovingly into the nooks and the corners, making sure every part is covered in salt. Rub each granule leisurely into the fibers...

That's how you make fruit salad.

And also burn wounds...

Are you kidding me??

The guy who said "Life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans" was damn F- ing right!!

Wonder if he too was busy buying a crotch shield when a googly made its way to the place he was planning to cover!

Sometimes, an author just rambles on...

His words find meaning only when the harmony of his soul matches that of the reader...

Otherwise they are just mere words, juxtaposed to create a pleonasm. 

As I prepare for the battle, a war wages within... so much is at stake, that Mahabharat's gamble would be put to shame.


But I have to carry on... if not for myself, for the guardian angels that I have around me.


This is my offering to them...

The beauty of music is that at any point in time, each soul in the entire universe will find atleast one song dedicated to it. The passion of the soul and the sorrow of the melody together set forth a harmony, a resonance that shrouds the entire life force into a warm blanket of love that gives birth to another melody… and the cycle begins once again…

And it rained all night

It rained all night...
She perched on her broken swing and listened to Anjan Dutta crooning her favorite melody. He sang the song of rains and broken hearts, silent tears and moments gone by... She listened like an obedient child... She rocked... he hummed... they both were separated in their wistful mournings... but the universe had other plans...


They were oblivious.
And it rained all night...

Matchbox Heroes

"Because he's the hero Gotham deserves, but not the one it needs right now... and so we'll hunt him, because he can take it. Because he's not a hero. He's a silent guardian, a watchful protector... a dark knight."- Lt. James Gordon. As the camera pans on Batman taking flight on his batpod with the police dogs set on him like a hungry pack of wolves, the commissioner of Gotham City summarizes how a hero can sometimes be misunderstood and labeled a villain even as the common men (in this case the habitants of Gotham City) reap the benefits of his valiant efforts.

The history of mankind has been witness to many an unsung hero, who has, by his actions and bravery, filled the shoes of ten men at a time, and yet has gone unrecognized. The deadliest conflict in the history of mankind, the World War II saw the only usage of nuclear weapons in warfare, besides the Holocaust and mass deaths of the populace. Perhaps the most unnoticed of all the heroes that sacrificed themselves in the biggest war that mankind has ever engaged in are the women of Korea, China, Japan and Philippines, but women from Thailand, Vietnam,Malaysia, Taiwan, Indonesia, and other Japanese-occupied territories.

These women, often called "jugun ianfu", Japanese for Military Sex Slaves were forced into prostitution after being abducted from their homes. Some were only at the beginning of their teens, when they were forced into the flesh trade. The euphemism used for them was “military comfort women” and they were placed in military brothels. Estimates say that a staggering number of 200,000 women were working as prostitutes, to serve the soldiers of the Japanese Imperial Army.

Japanese historian Yoshiaki Yoshimi states that the undercurrent of discontentment amongst  the soldiers led to this kind of a well-organized process of prostitution. These women remain unnamed and faceless in the pages of history, where more valiant and dauntless people occupy place of respect, but the "jugun ianfu" still remain a major factor in the way Japan kept its militia organized.

Looking further back into the pages of history unfolds interesting facts from the ancient times. Plagiarism, it reveals, which has become such a big issue in today’s world ruled by technology, has been present in the entire history of mankind. History gives credit to The Greeks for their invention of Mathematics, Philosophy, Art and Architecture, but little do people know that this adroitness was derived and not invented by them. NASA and BBC have both studied and explained how the Egyptians were the ones who originally developed the Pythagorus theorem, which was only adopted by Pythagorus who studied in Egypt. The ancient Greeks have also been held responsible by the BBC in its study, for borrowing the Egyptian alphabet and taking credit for it. The Egyptians never got their due credit for inventing the alphabet and remain the Matchbox Heroes till date.

Jumping forward to the 18^th century again shows some interesting facts that failed to make it to the pages of history. History has always been unkind to the less glamorous people, and has always given privilege to the people who have hogged the limelight or have made big inventions. But some others who have made earnest and substantial changes in the history of mankind, have got lost in the midst of the pages and the covers that honor the more efficacious ones.

Did anyone care to find out about the smaller inventions of the Industrial Revolution? It was Charles Brooks who invented the street sweeper, the machines with the big brushes. If searched thoroughly, Brooks might be found in one of those thick books of history, with a mention of his name beside his invention. No one wants to spend newsprint on someone who cannot glamorize himself.

The Industrial Revolution actually took place in Great Britain, and then it spread to the other parts of the world. It definitely was a boon to mankind, a huge leap from the previously manual labour and draft-animal-based economy. The introduction of the machine based economy changed the world forever and paved the way for the technology that has become such an indispensible part of our lives today.

Everyone knows that Thomas Edison invented the light bulb and Alexander Graham Bell the telephone. But has history cared to find out that it was Lewis Latimer who invented the filament of the bulb and diagramed the telephone for Graham Bell? Even the inventor of the refrigeration system for trucks, later adopted for airplanes, trains and boats has somehow escaped the pages of history and remains unknown to most of the people.

They have remained unnamed and faceless, but history wouldn’t have been the same without them. I salute all those matchbox heroes for making the world that is.

Nail Polishing

I am upset. I am sad. And I am indignant. At my perfectly painted nails being screwed royally.

It had been quite some time since I wanted to paint my nails a dark chocolate color. The nail polish bottle was calling out to me. But I had been too caught up with a beautiful coral red and a perfect shade of magenta pink to pay heed to its calls.

But I couldn’t ignore the summons of my nail polish bottle anymore.  (The red color on my nails was beginning to peel away- Plight of a housewife). So anyways, I take out my nail polish remover bottle, clean my nails and give myself a nice little pampering manicure that was long overdue.

My nails start to glow and I feel proud of them again. So I bring out my choco baby, and tell her she can finally sit pretty on my nails. Two careful coats with a base coat do the job for me.  Perfectly manicured and painted nails- the fruit of my hard work. And they start to look like they were borrowed from Filmfare or Femina (or Cosmo if I may dare say). And I am a happy pampered woman again.

But no… the Gods above have something else in store for me. The power goes out and I am bathed in darkness. It’s scary to say the least since I am home alone (the hubby’s out of town).  Considering I was watching a scary movie during my manicure, which centered around a family moving into a new house and strange things start happening when they watch a particular soap on TV every afternoon; I kind of feel the hairs on my back standing up. I was watching television too! And we have moved in only recently…

Nonetheless, I gather up my wits, telling myself that is just a figment of somebody else’s imagination, so I shouldn’t let it scare me. After all, the hubby calls me Bengal Tigress!! I fumble for the matchbox in the dim, unhelpful light of the mobile screen, and fish out a candle. I bargained for one, but I get two. Too good, I say.

But it was said too much too soon. As I carry the candles to the balcony to check if the entire neighborhood is soaking in the same darkness, I see a shadowy reflection on a picture on one of the walls of my room. Two flickers of light and an indistinct figure. It takes me a while to realize it’s me, as the old fear gets ready to creep back into my mind. I push it away into the dark corners, instilling some sense and logic instead.

While I am busy fighting my inner darkness and the demons that live there, one of the candles has burned enough and hot, molten wax drips onto my fingers. Jolted out of my reverie, as I try to save myself from the sudden attack of the liquefied villain, it drips further down onto my perfectly painted nails!!

Oh the pain! Nope not physical hurt. The pains of seeing your hardwork go waste, or shall I say waxed.

Check out the smudges on the finger tips

Now my nails have a fourth coat of wax on them. I tried peeling it off… but the polish is coming off with it, making it look so ugly! 

Damn you power cut. Damn you scary movies. And damn you wax!

My pedicure saved the day a bit though. There was no wax dripping on my toes. Thankfully.

 But my nails look awful!!! :( :(

Mon kharaper dupur bela

Mon kharaper dupur bela

Poronto rodey bikeler barta niye ashe

Bindu bindu ghaame chokher jol mishe jay

Nonta shadey mlaan din

Esho hey godhuli… rangiye diye jao

Brewing tea- trouble

For a person who has always had her morning tea served at her bedside all life, being a married woman is a freaking tough job. You still want your tea, your husband wants his too, but who will brew the beverage, without brewing trouble as the by-product?
Removing the warm, snuggly covers of the blanket, stretching lazily in bed while you are still half asleep, the image of a hot cup of steaming tea lulls you back to dreamland, while you expect it to sprout appendages and walk to your bedside. Probably it would present itself on a colorful tray decorated with a few fresh daisies picked from your garden in the morning, take a little bow, and say, “Madam, tea is ready.” For some reason the mug likes to refer to itself as a third person.


Who cares? As long as you can take a sip and say, “Wah! Taj!!”


But nope… that is not gonna be happenin. You will wake up in the morning, and while you are still stretching lazily trying to shrug off the last shreds of sleep from your body and mind, a voice will drone on near your ear (left or right, depending on which side of the bed is your area); “Chai banao” or “Chai Lao”. Never a request or a hint of appeal in the voice- just to massage my ego a bit- it always sounds like I was born to wake up every morning and disregarding my own need to cling to the bed for those extra five minutes, meant to sprint to the kitchen and magically produce the beverage.
Why o why, I ask?
I am a woman. Hath not a Woman eyes? Hath not a Woman hands (NOT for brewing hot beverages), organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions (to test that last one, try getting me outta the bed!); fed with the same food, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means (though sometimes only a little pampering and love is enough), snuggled and comforted by the same blanket, as a man is?
If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you anger us, do we not snap?
And if you DO ask us for tea, early in the morning, we definitely do snap. All you will get is, “Dude, get yer own.”
Seriously, how tough is it to get out of bed once in a while, and getting the tea and newspaper for your woman in the morning? There are loads that we go through all by ourselves anyways; atleast try sharing the tea controversy with us… it’s a free country and the Mughals were kicked out long back. No use trying to keep up to the long lost Maharaja heritage.


Dude! Get Real!

Saturday Blues

It's a saturday. I hate to work!!! hmph!!

Neverland... I flew away

I would fly into Neverland...


Sample the sweetness of the chocolate mountains there
Soak myself in the fountain of pure innocence

Trot to the flower garden, wipe a little color off a pretty flower
And inhale the beauty of the sunflower

Drench in the happiness of being in a flawless land of love and dreams

Where the sun shines bright and warm,
The birds peck and coo in symphony

A simple universe, where wishes come true without any fine prints

Where the heart wants what it wants
And where the heart gets what it wants...

Love, laughter, happiness and tears-
Of Joy

Hopes and dreams visit you every morning
Like the faithful milkman at your door

Where promises are delivered and never broken into a zillion pieces

Where clouded thoughts do not draw sly kaleidoscopes in your mind

And the heart soars high up in the sky like an eagle freed from chains...

If only I could fly to Neverland...

She had been through cloudy nights enough for the sunshine to be taken from her. She fought for it. Took a few lives.
She lived. In lieu of the lives.
She loved herself too much.

Butter.... the best thing to happen to mankind

She said, “You are the butter to my bread… the breath to my life…”

He promised, “I will make sure it is a thick spread.”

And she fell in love with him all over again…

The Huge Internet!!

Created by Online Education

Tanya

We leave on Sunday for Himachal to get Tanya married to Sandy. I met her today and roamed the Esplanade streets in what seemed to be the last page in this chapter of our life.

Post her wedding, life will be different. Though we didn’t meet regularly for the last few years, when we were both in Kolkata, we still knew we there for each other- staying in the same city, breathing the same polluted air, passing the same places on our way to work or play.

We didn’t meet each other, because we didn’t need to- the mere knowledge of the other’s presence and the assurance that we could meet up whenever we wanted to, was enough to keep us going in our individual lives.

An odd movie outing, or a hot cup of coffee on a cold winter afternoon were the innocent pretexts of our meetings, and at the end of each shopping spree or adda, the goodbyes came naturally- without much thought or a sense of loss.

“She’s just a phone call away, and we can always meet up for dinner next Saturday”, was what I thought on those occasions. But the weekends obliviously rolled into Mondays and the din of the city and the weight of our responsibilities sucked us into a vortex of mechanized, frantic struggle for a living.

Summers turned into winters and raw, sour mangoes gave way to sweet oranges, but our meetings never increased; nor decreased. A chat on the phone, a stay over at each other’s house was how we connected, but the real source of sustenance of our friendship went way back in the past when I had shared my life with her in a faraway hostel room in an alien city.

She had been like a sister to me, sharing my joys and my sorrows, laughing at my jokes, teasing me for my extra fat, taking care of me, fighting with me, staying up late at nights, so we could munch on Haldiram’s ‘Salted Kaju’ and watch ‘Remix’ on TV after I returned home from work at 5 am. She even cleaned our usually unkempt beds and the room we shared, as a birthday surprise for me. It sure was a relieving and welcome sight. A neatly made bed was unimaginable those days.

She played her guitar those mornings, as I sat listening, smoking a cigarette. Sometimes I would join in and sing a couple of lines of the song she strummed on her guitar.

La la la ra la la ra la la ra la la la ra
La la la ra la la ra la la ra la la la ra
La la la ra la la ra la la ra la la la ra
Bhalo lage shopner maya jaal bunte
Bhalo lage oi akasher tara gunte
Bhalo lage meghla dine
Nishpoloke ramdhonu khujte....
Bondhu!

She tried to learn the tune of ‘Coffee houser shei adda ta aaj aar nei aaj aar nei, Kothay Hariye gelo Shonali bikel gulo shei, Aaj aar nei’.

But she failed.

So we sang the ‘Bondhu’ song again and again, until tired and prodded by the gently rising sun, we would wind up our music sessions and drift off to sleep.

We worked nights then, and slept days.

Today I know why she couldn’t learn the tune, and why her fingers wouldn’t pluck the strings in the then unfamiliar way.

Tanya, you fool, how could you think you could play the song of loss and fond recollection, when it was time to make happy memories?

We were full of vivacity then, like rivers in their youth, gurgling past boulders and pebbles, gushing towards their destiny, on a path already set for them, but their innocence keeping them blissfully unaware.

But my dear friend, the river has reached the plains now, the pace slackened, and on the path destined, it flows through towns and cities, its responsibilities to nurture civilizations stripping it of its restless gurgling. It’s a stability long desired, but acquired at the loss of the wild youthfulness of yonder.

As you turn over a new leaf, I can only wish you my purest best, and pray that your dimple works overtime.

Try strumming the guitar now. You might be able to play ‘Coffee House’ finally.

Summer Salvation

Let your tongue feel the smooth coolness… your throat savour the taste of the liquid, as it makes its way down… flowing like a lazy river... touching different parts and bringing them alive with its rejuvenating freshness, the slight pungent taste, bringing a welcome change in your mouth… Feel the sheer pleasure when it begins its journey down to its destination… flowing, halting, touching parts of your mouth, you never knew existed… It begins from the slight opening of your lips, from where it pours itself into the welcoming warmth of your mouth, cooling every place it touches, bringing relief like the first nor’westers to the parched, waiting earth… creating havoc with your senses, as they struggle to cope with the unexpected yet pleasantly surprising taste of the fluid…

As it continues on its chosen path like a carefree little girl, gurgling her way through the banks of a river long dried, hopping on boulders, chasing the grasshoppers, laughing to herself… the liquid finally reaches the youth of its journey… it takes on a pace- fierce and passionate, and without a second look at the dreams of its childhood, it takes the plunge of its life. Flowing down the throat it numbs your mind, body and soul for a moment, when nothing else feels true but the union of the inexperienced orange drink with the very wise and experienced gullet… and when pro meets novice, the effect is dynamic. Each has something to learn and something to teach. The tyro has the world to learn and in turn teach the experienced renewed innocence; the innocence that is left behind in the rollercoaster of life. And it is this union that sings the swan song of the orange drink… it carries on in its way to the final destination, where it meets its final destiny… oblivion.

And then it is time for another gulp of your Glucon D!

Our days at TARA

Path and Sin are sitting beside each other and working from the same comp. Reason? Recession.
Path: Open my Twitter account
Sin: yeah then you can write me a msg,
(Account opened. Both accounts operating.)
Sin (Twittering): Finished watching Before Sunrise.
Path(Replying to sin’s Twitter): Told you it was a wonderful movie!
Sin: Aaare have you noticed one thing? We manage to be the Biggest losers on earth! Sitting on the same comp, Twittering to each other…
Path: Lol!! Chal lets go have lunch! Or shall I Twitter that too??

POST LUNCH
Both sitting bored on the same comp again. Full and satiated, Path belches. Sin disgusted. Both sigh like the emissions of a steam engine.
Suddenly Path: Oye!! Akshay Kumar unbuttoning his jeans!!!
Sin: Lets see lets see!! (eyes popping, she starts a mad search on the internet, while Path looks on dreamily).
Sin: OYE!! THE FUCKING PAGE NOT OPENING!!
Path: F5… FUCKING F5!!!
F5 pressed, both stare at the blank screen blankly, as it takes its own sweet time to reload.
5 secs…. Still staring… 10…. 15…
Path: FUCKING F5!!!!!
Bored yet anxious, they turn their attention to the TV screens across the floor. A particularly non-descript channel catches their attention. A woman with nothing womanly clad in a hideous stool-coloured saree is jiggling and bouncing her silicones all over the screen. It appears to be a Pak Filmfare Award…
Path: Dear God! I refuse to watch that. It is a deliberate assault on my sense of aesthetics and knowledge of the arts.

Sin: Fuck! They’ve introduced terrorism in movies as well. Mr.PM was right! Pak IS the epicenter of global terrorism.
Path: Yeah! They’ve commercialized it too. Next you know, those gun-totting barely-out-of-teen guys will wear sponsored T-shirts!!
Sin: Lets’s drink to that… RINKYYYYYYYYY………… let’s go for tea!!
They pull Rinky out of her reverie and file down for tea. Card punching is a big issue here.

Till death do us apart

Waiting with my arms outstretched

To embrace life as it comes

For it is life that I’ve been wedded to

Till death do us apart

Till death do us apart

It’s a marriage that was signed by God

And His angels high above

I held life’s hand

And walked into this world

Till death do us apart

Till death do us apart

In sickness and in health

The pledge was made

To live with life and let the smile not fade

So I’ll let the tears dry and the sun shine in my eyes

Till death do us apart

Till death do us apart

I write, I prove and I don't lag behind

The other day I read a blog where the blogger mentioned that the hardest thing for a human being is to keep thinking and writing coherently on a regular basis. Well that proves that I am a normal human being... it IS hard for me to keep writing regularly... which is why the last time I made a post on my blog was one and a half years back!!

But I am going to change that now.... I felt jealous of other bloggers when I read their frequent posts... that made me realise how much I was lagging behind in the blogosphere.... and as a human being, lagging behind is not what i was taught from my very toddler days.... we are all destined to compete in the rat race, where the dog eats another of its species.

so, while i am just tagging along and not lagging behind in all other spheres of life, why should the blogosphere be treated as a step child by the cruel mother?

so here's to the virtual sphere.... i will virtually do anything to keep writing.... even if i write incoherently... even at the cost of losing my smart image to my smarter writer friends... come to think of it, they might have had a point to prove when they wrote all their blogs; and they continue to keep writing even now!!

But I will write for the love of it, coz it helps me think... and last but not the least...

it gives me the satisfaction of knowing i am one of the rats, really and virtually :)