wind in my hair...

another bus ride across town.there were too many gawdily dressed women on the streets today.i didnt go to park sreet for,frankly,i didnt wish to be groped.
besides excessive light and psychedelia nowadays depresses the hell out of me.
park street reeks of jing bang and such like.
and i hate when those barely clad little beggars come asking for money.they have taken to selling gums these days.albeit,none buys them.but they go selling them,still.
somebody ought to give them a reward for such hopefulness.
if there is something i really lack,its hope.
i remember i had once told S that its faith that keeps us going through life.
i fear i dont have enough faith these days.

on a different note,did you know there are people who play chess on the railings underneath the gariahat flyover?its the most amusing thing i have noticed offlate.

have a happy new year all of you!

i hate mindnumbingness.it hovers around the nape of your neck for sometime before it infiltrates your head and numbs everything.
i hate being torn between indifference and overt concern.
i hate being shocked and appalled over an issue and then revert back to listening music the next minute.
i find it all too hypocritical.
it pains me to realise i am floating in a world i dont otherwise conform to.

P.S:-to benazir,
i hope your soul rests in peace.

meet me sometime and i will tell you about the excruciating pleasure of being guilty.
coax me a little more and i might even divulge one or two things about how the sun kissed the saffron sky and night fell precariously on the wet ground.
i could even tell you few things about chorai and shalik and how they nonchalantly frisked about my backyard this afternoon unperturbed by the crow's harsh cawings.
but maybe,i would let that pass.
i wouldn't want chorai-shalik to grow up hating me because i told on them.

winter is a rather strange season.its as if it yanks the memories by their ear and pulls them out from the dusty crevices they had tucked themselves in,all along.
there are so many of them triggering at me right now,that i fear if i try writing them all down,they would yield incoherence.
maybe i would post them when my expression doesnt fail me.
right now,listen to this.
sometimes melancholy can sound so heartrending.
like here...
http://youtube.com/watch?v=cH8lXbCFTCc

of winter nights and city lights...

this winter is all about winding bus rides and random walks across the city.
walking aimlessly about the city through unknown lanes and bylanes past quaint shops,roadside joints,small eateries can be very engrossing.
the last few days have seen me travelling through the same old alleys,browsing through the same old books/magazines/hoardings/posters/records.Yet,everytime the experience has left me richer than before.
I had been getting nagging thoughts about school,lately.so when i finally dropped in at elgin road on friday afternoon,my premonitions got answered.the building still stands tall but things around it have changed drastically and how!the pavements look despicable what with the peddlers having set up small eateries,std booths,paan shops on either side.there was something oddly nostalgic about the red uniformed little girls storming out of the gates,though!
the normal din hovered casually along the Academy premises.but what caught my eye was a little kid sitting on his haunches at the farthest corner smiling sheepishly at me with his grimy and soiled face.And when i tried approaching him,he jumped up and ran away clumsily,all the time looking at me through the corner of his eye.
the cathedral(St.Paul's)wore a festive look,already.the manger and the magis were mostly in place.a little away,a makeshift stage had been erected and kids pranced merrily to a rather warped version of jingle bells with added gusto.contrarily,the inside rendered a calming,benign ambience with an old lady practising hymns on the piano.the music flowed freely and effortlessly through her fingers and for a while it seemed as if it had imbued life into the mute walls and pillars.
outside,the air had grown thick and cold as it hung heavily all around.
the walk along parkstreet mostly comprised occasional halts before bookstores,galleries,hoardings while hundreds of nameless,faceless individuals scurried alongside as if tied by an invisible string of camaraderie.and two tiny travellers infront of me clung onto their father's shoulders devouring the fanfare,lights and glitz with unabashed hunger.
leaving the flashyness and psychedelia behind,i plunged into an otherwise uneventful corner.a few minutes' brisk walking and i had been transported into a different world altogether.the night air reeked of old motheaten books and timeless records.gaily festooned quaint little shops with equally eager pairs of eyes peering at me confirmed i had reached free school street.remininscences of a kashmiri shawlwallah with big,doleful eyes selling muslin shawls with so much vigour and enthusiasm although he knew i couldnt buy any,still keeps harking back.and then there were muslim boys,clad in lungi and surma rimmed eyes who sold christmas goodies in stalls.cheap incongruous hindi music flowed out of obscure bars and sometimes,unsteady men flanked by equally unsteady,flamboyant women in gawdy jewellery would come out of them,all wobbly from intoxication,cursing abuses and swearing at humanity in general...

the past few days has been pretty much full of this and much more.there were so many faces smiled at.so many shoulders brushed past,so many faces gaped at...
and every moment gifted me with an overwhelming sense of belonging,of being held together as one whole and each time it reminded me of my miniscule yet integral existence in this throbbing megapolis.

Amolkanti ar roddur

way back in school I had once recited a poem where a certain Amolkanti wanted to be roddur.the feeling fascinated me so much that i couldnt get over it for long.even now,after so many years i remember those few lines although the actual event has escaped my memory.I remember how i would ask maa if she knew Amol and whether I stood a chance to be like him.Sometimes,I would even stay up all night contemplating Amol's fate till the morning breeze lulled me to sleep.And although life then didn't have a dearth of distractions,uncannily,Amolkanti and his roddur stayed on.He would come visiting me in lazy afternoons when the sunshine strained through palm leaves to conjure pretty motifs on the mosaic.I would lie sprawled on the baranda talking immaculately about all that captured my fancy while Amol listened on.He was a good listener.He would hear me out patiently,never flinching for a moment and when time came he tucked roddur inside his backpack and off he would go,drowning my baranda in plunging darkness.

Some months later,Amol suddenly stopped visiting.Roddur still came to my baranda but somehow it didn't feel same.Maa said he probably got tired of my stories.My rendezvous with Amol thus ended abruptly.The stories would well up inside me for now,there was none to tell them to.I never again chanced upon another listener who would match Amol's standard.

And suddenly today I'm missing my friend all over again.I still don't know how Amol became roddur.Or,if he at all did.

I wish I could become roddur someday...

peekchaar

baba.

in da club

check this one out
http://http://youtube.com/watch?v=3Ki04RocqHE











and you thought being bangali is all about rabindrasangeet and machher jhol.