Forging another return, yet again

It’s been a long time since I last posted anything. A time which has made me pretty overladen- in all collateral dimensions possible: physical, financial, social, emotional, philosophical, intellectual, and most importantly ideological. Perhaps this new shift had its origins in June when I was called for interviews at two reputed universities, and subsequently I miserably turned out to an absolute no one. In fact I have now learnt to accept this as a natural corollary to my inaptitude. That experience and the inevitable knowledge that I have to spend at least one year at home ‘preparing’ for the forthcoming exams had enough of latex to bring in a momentaneous slump as I was taken aback at most trivial of occurrences - be it the technical glitches of my service proprietor, or the spicy side of an oily curry. So much was this consternation that I was deemed to declare myself unfit for a proper and disciplined way of life.

Then came the August in its flourishing supply of good luck, at least momentarily- for I got a small job, an odd one to be honest, at a newspaper. Though I was foolish enough to think myself capable enough to carry on the job in style I proved to be otherwise, justifiably though. All the flagrant ideas that I had, which I vowed to put to use, before joining seemed to evaporate at an embarrassing rate, and once again I was the banker with a debit card but no cash balance! So frustration haunted me agian as I let myself slump into a mire of hopelessness, pondering over all wrong decisions I had taken so far.

Besieged in this curfew of my thoughts I squandered away my precious time watching documentaries and trying to inspire myself from the biographies of greats- never quite realizing that the great had their own great ways and I am no great at all. Self conjured lectures followed, unconditionally transferred over the phone to my soul-mate, who was magnanimous to listen to all crap, and never get upset even though I barked like a mad, but overfed, bull dog.

And so I kept on sneaking for opportunities, not professional or monetary ones, but those which would propel me out of the slump. This included taking a claustrophobic bus ride through the busy and crowded streets of Burrabazar on the eve of the Lakshmi Puja to get the essence of a Calcutta infested mainly by outsiders- generally known to the civilized Bengali as ‘meros’ and ‘biharis’- a move which I justified as a giant step to understand the term ‘culture’ in all its eclectic possibilities and tendencies. Battling asthma, which I had inherited long back but only realized as late as this year, I sniffed around high drains, forbidden streets- not quite doing anything though, coffee houses, shopping centres, just to energise myself and free my intellect of that never ebbing tide of cabin fever. From the posh to the filthy, I treaded all. From the famous and the rich to the game keeper out of his job- I met and talked to all. From software engineers to BPO out-sourcing fellows I lived with all, and still I was inundated in that one endemic- confusion, nurtured by an ideological despair. From Lennon to Knopfler, from Beatles to Bob Dylan- I listened to all to cajole myself out of the slump and attain a much sought after sublimity, with no success obviously.

But it was that one resilience to pen down ‘my bloody problems’ in an old diary which provided me a way out. Now I have a clear head, and I know what to do- people close to me are aware of it. Not that I am sure that I will succeed, but at least ideologically, and that is the most important, I know what I am and what I would become. I have a clearer focus if not the clearest, and I have resumed my flow to write- and that gives me immense pleasure to get back to this silly blog and share whatever I can.

As a token of this I present to you a poem which I wrote in the message box of my cell phone, in three separate message drafts, on my way back home. Though this poem needs to be edited, and which I will surely do I put this up as my friend Sayantan feels so.

I welcome myself back to this world of virtual permanence.

a walk we had

the traffic is not so loud,

the sky is covered in cloud.

the rain is just an excuse

to make you of some use.

don’t be scared little big umbry

you won’t b seared, it’s not sunny!

can’t you ‘see’ the wind blow?

the tension is also at a low.

this i’ll always say without fail.

remember how we got back on the trail?

so come let’s make this evening too

before they come back and confine us in the zoo!

oh how is this?

the memory of a forgotten kiss!

old i am for sure

but at heart still pure.

who says i’ll walk alone tonight?

you’ll be there by my sight.

i remember those walks also

in the mud and across the snow.

creak you do as my bones

make it fast before life mourns.

nO EnD to mEmoRIEs !

All i had against Pondicherry University was personal, even now as i listen to Phil Collins and sip Three Roses i can’t but curse the people with higher degrees who are here defacing everything. But having said that i would take an opportunity, the opportunist i am, to admit that i am indebted to this place. If my UG in Calcutta taught me to ask questions, then this place, this undeserving place i sometimes opine in anger, has enabled me to answer them. I am writing this because i got a pretty emotional sms from my friend Dhivya. She has said, and quite rightly she has, that our course is going to end pretty soon and we will be missing everything which this university has given us. Pondering upon it and sitting alone in my room with the doors and windows open my mind is getting carried to the first day i entered the department.

A fair and handsome (self proclaimed) Bengali boy, in blue wrangler and black DJ n C, with hair spiked up in a mow hawk, sporting brown shoes and a sling bag from Ruggers, walks slowly up the stair case. He sees two girls: one in a green salwar suit with brown stripes, the other in a brownishly blue salwar suit and boring specs- Anju and Samhati. Entering the class room the boy is perplexed to find people who look so different. He scans the class and sits at the back. This was to be his place throughout the course! He gets nudged by a fellow Bengali whom he has earlier suspected of being a thief. This ‘thief’ was to become one of his closest mates in the campus, and his gadget guru, and ghatak too! Arijit, later Arijith! The thief opines that the class is full of ‘yea s’. A surreptitious Bengali term which can mean anything derogatory. Quite condescendingly he nods an assent. He looks puzzled to find a short man, with his face ‘over-powdered’ and badly in need of Fair and Handsome, enter the class. A joker, may be the clerk. He thinks. NN. Nalla Natarajan- the HOD. ‘This class(aa) is yea myini Yindia!’ and a lot! All to come in the following semesters. Crapanan! The hour does not turn sour as he lets the class off within half an hour such that they can explore the campus. Pshew! Exclaims the boy. What a place! Yuck! As the folks gather around the desks a guy busies himself in collecting phone numbers from the girls: Jubin. Bloody flirt thinks the superior fellow! (Me) This flirt was to be the most innocent person he would ever see in the campus. A good person who would waste money in writing Public Exams! As the class moves out he goes and asks the only fair complexioned girl ‘Bengali?’ Oeendrila. The first girl to whom he gives a lift. (That very day.) The day ends as he smokes a cigarette in desperation, a habit which was to be discontinued later.

This was just the beginning. The days which followed brought me close to many and also took me far from them. The place to which i was biased was to tell me that i am a racist! Here i was to learn how to apologise and say sorry. Here i was to find the love of my life. Here i was to realise how difficult it is to accept the fact that other cultures exist. Here i was to get a feel of what India is. And many more.

Indeed we people from the other part of the nation, North as it is called here, have many false reasons to dislike this place; but this university campus to me has started to mean a lot. I can now say that i have friends, and in every honest implications of the word, who speak Tamil, Malayalam, Telegu, Oriya, Marathi and English. In fact this not so urban place has taught me to be cosmopolitan. Indeed i have my own reservations regarding my taste for food, music, and films, and buses; but nevertheless to acknowledge that there are other ways to say ‘hello’ is not worthless at all!