Dec(ay)embers.

Winter in Calcutta takes until the middle of December to hold you in its chilly embrace hallmarked by the cosily warm touch of fleece and fingers still enveloped by the lingering smell of post-lunch oranges. Winters in this part of the world are much gentler than their cousins elsewhere. It is somehow about sleeping late and waking up even later, eyes squinting through the blanket brought up to the nose, and the unruly hair’s leisurely caressing of a sleepy forehead.

December is about the sudden bursts of passion, the zeal of those dying embers that hallucinates the eyes peeking from above a hot cuppa. For instance, this December night, consumed by one such zeal of a dying ember, I take a sip of Darjeeling, look towards the window and smirk just so slightly for my young neighbours are jamming at 2am. An interesting one, if you must know – this rendition of Ba-Ba-Black Sheep along the lines of ‘Please Mr. Kennedy’ (Inside Llewyn Davis). It’s that zeal of dying embers, perhaps.

Reclining with eyes closed, a snatch of this song I heard the other day while walking through New Market comes back to me and perhaps I am in agreement that Aj jawani par itrane waale kal pachhtaye ga and Chadta suraj dheere dheere dhalta hai dhal jayega.

Anurupa.

December 22, 2017

O’er the Solemn Hush of Midnight

“O’er the solemn hush of midnight”,              (Christmas Carol)

“The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, 

Have left me to that solitude, which suits 

Abstruser musings”                                    (Frost at Midnight, Samuel Taylor Coleridge)

And I sit here in my well-lit room,

In the darkest and coldest hours of this winter night,

Pounding away at keys on my laptop,

Wedding poetry to music, and Coleridge to Simon and Garfunkel.

“But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed
In the wells of silence”                              (The Sound of Silence, Simon and Garfunkel)

“Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side, 

Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm, 

Fill up the intersperséd vacancies 

And momentary pauses of the thought! “    (Frost at Midnight, Coleridge)

“Quiet thoughts and quiet dreams quiet walks by quiet streams
And a window that looks out on the mountains and the sea,

oh how lovely
This is where I want to be

here with you so close to me
Until the final flicker of life's ember.”         (Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars, Frank Sinatra)

Anurupa.

31.12.2016

Meandering Thought Tram To Nowhere

There is this very rare sensation that I have from time to time when my eyes sting, a weird tingling is felt near my nose, a crazy throbbing ache in my throat as if something is stuck in there; And this persists till my eyes water a little and I swallow. Swallow my inexplicable feelings and non-existent emotions and realise that I have a cold.

The humidity of Calcutta has the propensity to give me common cold inter alia. Yes, just cannot manage to not write about Calcutta and law school and in fact managed to put bits of the two in the last sentence.

During those privileged times when one is travelling by air-conditioned transport, rather than holding on to their backpacks like their dear life, dignity and money to go home are in it, one has the luxury to let their thoughts wander. North Calcutta and its culture have defined the Calcuttan nostalgia for far too long now. The internet is filled with musings of North Calcutta while those in the South grope in the dark by-lanes of their imagination for the dingy lanes the intellectual writes extensively about. The South Calcuttan in me often revelled in the glory of being called “tyash” and not –so-Bengali till I had to step out of the city and the rest of the country could apparently read the Bengaliness on my face.

I am one of those people whose Bengali accent is doubted back home for not being Bengali enough and outside for being very Bengali. I am not alone. If you are reading this, you are probably of my generation and in case you are from the same city, maybe you know what I am talking about after all. But through the cavities in your accent and the teeth gaps of your diction flows a peculiar fascination. The city in all its office-hour-rush glory fascinates me.When you walk through the streets of Calcutta, surrounded by the intimidating and yet inviting in a “mamarbari” sort of way- structures of Raj Bhavan, Town Hall and the Calcutta High Court, you feel small, tiny and freakishly jobless as you see purposeful faces rushing towards important places where they have to be. The street food that Calcutta is celebrated for – the cheap and good; that is here. In the midst of friendly morning chatter luchi-aloor dam and cha is downed.

When you approach the temple of justice from this side of the road, the blind lady's abode is to your left and that of her worshippers to your right. On your left justice is showered and a bee-line of the commonly clad is visible. You are better off looking at the commonly clad waiting for their showers of blessings rather than the scantily clad showering on your right. With British buildings on either side of Old Post Office Street , this part of the world fits well into the black-and-white days and by the end of the morning, it will indeed be swarming with multitudes of worshippers clad in black and white.

I have got to go, enter the building on my right for now. You admire the fascinating architecture all you want. Just be careful to not walk in the middle. It’s a one-way street. You will get hit by a car and all the admiration for the temple will bleed away with you.

Anurupa.

May 19, 2016

#ManyMiniThoughts5

You see, while you go about life, there are these extremely ordinary things that go on along the side lines. When you are travelling and you look sideways, you see people cycle along the narrow pathways leading to some village, some shortcut path across the green expanse and all you feel like doing is travel along them; Stop at the small shacks for a cup of tea, halt for a friendly banter with a stranger who speaks not your language but understands you just the same.

Anurupa.

19.01.2016

Of Times That Rush Past ...

One does not realise much of their attachment to their hometown until they have to move out of it. It even seems cruel at times,to be pushed out of the comfort of your home. For a true Bengali, true home is where you have the most peaceful and most satisfying pooping experience.( Yes, ‘Piku’ portrayed it most aptly.)

 Be it for your education or your job, you usually have to make a very sudden departure and even before the feeling begins to sink in , the train wheels start rolling.

The last moments before leaving are particularly difficult. The key to accomplish a tear-free and undramatic goodbye without creating much scene is to shorten the duration of hugs and putting on an XL smile. Keep poor jokes handy because this is one time when people will actually laugh a lot at them, and when they do so, you know that the slightly loud laughter is to camouflage the tears that are threatening to well up and the throat that is almost choked.

You look at your father, but you make sure that you do not look too long and you see him make himself busy with counting luggage for the zillionth time, taxi and tickets.It is then that you know how their battle is probably ten thousand times more difficult than yours. When he lectures you on professionalism and how when duty calls family life does not matter, you listen to him and nod, all the while thinking to yourself of all the times he answered your calls in the middle of work.

The secret is, the tougher the person appears to be, the bigger he talks – the greater battle he is fighting within. They are so very proud of you, so worried and overwhelmed with so many indecipherable emotions.  Though they try their best to hide it, in their eyes you see the battle they are fighting- between holding on and letting go.

Calcutta is a soulful city. It is a trap for the unsuspecting. Just when you think you are not enchanted, or have managed to escape its web of “maya”, it entraps you. It is in times like these that you think of all the Bengali black magic jokes that your non-Calcutta friends crack and you realise the probable iota of truth in them.

The city is cruel. The Railway Station is positioned in such a way that you have to travel right through the heart of the city to leave it. It is like the invisible arrow which seems to go right through your heart at around this time. The taxi ride is always the most brutally beautiful . When you look out of the window it is like a live trailer that plays out – Victoria, Maidan, Dalhousie, Eden and to seal it all, a final blow of the heart wrenching passing over the Howrah Bridge. This time you look out of the window but before your father cries out about how you will catch a cold from the Ganga’s riverside winds, something manages to get into your eye and you have to take out your glasses and rub your eyes a little.

Oh, dramatic stunts that humans perform!

For one who loves to travel, the Railway Station is a shrine of pure joy. While leaving home, among so many things even this changes. Another thing that changes is New Year.You no more want it to arrive and despite yourself you almost pray for a 32^nd December.

Anurupa. 27.12.15.

Other Blogs that I used to maintain ...

These are links to my old blogs. I started blogging in 2011, roughly. Sadly, it has been majorly inconsistent. I had three blogs which concentrated on three kinds of things.

1. A lady with a knack   -   You may view the blog by clicking here

 Here, I mostly published Fiction - compositions, the length of short stories.


2. Sadda Haq   -   To view the blog click here

It mostly spoke about the socio-political issues I felt strongly about.


3. Bric-a-brac   - To view the blog click here

This was more of a rag-tag blog. A lot of random things under the head of bric-a-brac.


With time, I understood the impracticality of having three blogs. This is one blog where I plan on being more consistent and less haphazard irrespective of readership or lack of it. :)

I hope you enjoy my writings. I would love to know your thoughts regarding the same and criticisms, if any, are more than welcome.

#ManyMiniThoughts4

We are all like musical notes. Together there is harmony. These notes interact. While some strike a cord, others strike a discord. Like old songs, memories of people in our lives are half- remembered, half-forgotten and the humming in the middle that we do is our own interpretation- as far as we can remember it.

Music, in general, provides much joy to me as it does to the rest of the planet. Someone had rightly observed how music is truth. It may seem ugly to some, pretty to others and yet others might even act indifferent to it. But just like truth, music prevails, Music can soothe; And in a strange way so does truth. Of course it pricks a little at first and then it soothes - once we have accepted the hurt.

#ManyMiniThoughts3

They say,tea brings clarity. As you take one sip of the hot beverage,a haze covers your

spectacles and then it slowly clears up giving way to perspective.

#ManyMiniThoughts2

Human emotions fascinate me. I am engaged in a constant endeavour to keep myself from getting entangled in the labyrinthe of human emotions, preferring to observe it from a distance. But it is like trying to become an expert at swimming without ever getting into the water.

#ManyMiniThoughts1

The unexplored land - beyond what you can see from here, looks hungrily at you. It can be your your kingdom of dreams, it seems to whisper.
So, as trivial questions, like creepers, shackle your feet and tug at them, let go and plunge into what eyes can't see.


Anurupa.

One night in 2014.

Of shoe bites and new beginnings

We go to the shoe store and buy the pair we love best. We try them out, walk around in them, check it in the mirror and then we buy it. Satisfied that this is what we want.  So, my first step into a new world which has lots of promises, started with a shoe bite, from a shoe carefully bought. The new shoes cut into your skin at first. One can throw the pair away and never wear it again or one can find a way to work around it. 

Anurupa.

July, 2015.

Of Trains and Rains...

So, I was coming back to Calcutta for the last time in a long time. And I stared out of the windows into the greens and then the railway tracks. It is mesmerising in a very peculiar way. You see, these trains have their destinations all chalked out. There are planned detours that they take, get back on track and eventually reach their destination, taking along with it passengers to places where they are meant to be.

So, these trains take these detours and sometimes show you lovely sights, sometimes not so good ones but nonetheless they need to take the detours, change tracks in order to get back on track and eventually reach the destination. My one year at JU was a detour and it showed me sights I had never seen before, helped me gain perspective. And just like trains slow down a bit when they change tracks, I am slowing down just a little to make a smooth transition towards Law School.

These days the Calcutta weather has been throwing surprises. Since the morning you see an overcast sky. So, when you do go out you arm yourself with raincoats and umbrellas. The skies get so dark that you think it could rain any moment and you had been preparing for it since the morning. Yet, when it does finally rain it takes you by surprise. The first few drops are bound to fall on you, you are bound to get caught off guard before you shoot open your umbrella. I had been preparing for my dreams for years now. And even then, the first few drops caught me off guard.
So, I really have to go? I really have to shoot open my umbrella and step into the rain?
So, there might be puddles and muck on my way? How do I find my way through all of that?
I had been preparing for it. So, am I really ready?
Maybe. Perhaps.
But I have already stepped into the rain and I must march my way into it as the raindrops hit against my umbrella.

Anurupa.
2nd July, 2015. 

These are a few of my favourite things

Am I the only one or are there more people who tend to associate music with certain days and specific life situations.
Anyway, here is a list of a few of my favourite things and songs uncannily related to them.

You ever have those moments when you sit with or without a cup of hot beverage, stare into the distance and think of little things seemingly insignificant; and the thoughts, of their own accord, form a strange train and meandering take you to strange places inside your head, that you did not know existed. Sometimes they take you to happy places and at others, to places with a tinge of grey. There's a place - Beatles.

" There's a place

Where I can go

When I feel low,

When I feel blue... "

I have always found bridges to be not just fascinating but also, in a strange way, romantic. Being a city person, I get to see very little open sky. Somehow bridges provide a bit of that. Sunset from a bridge while coming home after a long day gives me strange joy.
Harder than easy by Jack Savoretti 

" At the end of the day when you're lonely,
After begging to be left alone,
You can look at this world as your kingdom,
If you want you can make me your home "

I do not know if anyone feels this way but mornings and nights both have a distinct smell of their own. It is uniquely intoxicating, energy-giving and soothing, all at the same time.
Over the hills and far away by Led Zeppelin 

"Many dreams come true
And some have silver linings,
I live for my dreams
And a pocket full of gold "


And then of course there is the smell of wet earth that is universally adored.

Traffic snarls are a regular at metros and Calcutta is not an exception - I play this strange game to pass my time. I like to call it people-watching. It is so much fun - looking at unknown faces and conjuring little life stories for them. Random faces in a random place with strange stories. 
People are strange

" When you're strange, faces come out of the rain,
when you're strange no one remembers your name..."

Anurupa.
May 17, 2015.

Since Sec 66A, IT Act is gone ...

There is such conch-shell (read:boo-boozela) blowing all around about a certain "women empowerment" activist being back. The poor guy has been tormented enough  - by social media memes (You surely have seen the ones about Chota Bheem!), intellectuals, sarcastic people, lets-shout-out-loud-and-chew-the-microphone kind of local politicians, people who do not understand politics and the rest who pretend to - basically, the guy has been bashed by Arnab and his nation, on Prime Time Television and off it. Oh and I forgot to include in the list the "other leaders within the Party"(yeah they exist too!)
Anyway. You get the drift.
Remember what our mummies used to tell us after those school annual concerts, where we would fall in the middle of the stage, forget the dialogues and start crying? - Beta, participation is important.
And to compensate for the embarrassment - remember the ice cream? The park trip? Well, you see babies of all shapes and sizes need them. You get the drift.
But he is back. Yay!
Remember how even after months of the concert debacle we would insist (within our enclosure) and tell all our relatives how the forgetting of dialogue was actually the teachers' fault, how because the shoes didn't fit well, we fell. You get the drift.
Remember those times when there was that one kid you hated. He contested against you and the class chose him as the monitor. Oh, the force with which you said, "The back-benchers gave him chocolates. He will just let them talk now. " The drift. You get it, right?
What only few have realised thus far is that, the power lies with the Parivaar. Star Plus and all.
So, here is a guy who needs a Parivaar, who needs to get married to a susheel Indian girl! (Hear the Shehnai now instead of the "booboozela"?!)
But you see, he is a little stubborn.
He keeps saying this - Mumma mere "Party" kara de tu! ( See the full video, please)
Okay. That's it. :P

And who said everything must make sense?

There is strange comfort in drinking our favourite beverage from our favourite mug  every day. We set ourselves little routines or habits which we like to follow. Perhaps we try to find familiarity in an ever-changing world. There is variation even in the way we like our tea or coffee. I belong to the cadre of sticklers for particularity in my kind of variations. The newspaper we like to read, the toothpaste we use. Not surprisingly most of these that I have mentioned above relates to morning –  the waking hours, when the body and the mind are in the process of internalising that which is external.  

I have this tendency of getting attached to my surroundings. It is almost as if the inanimate things around me influence me, direct me towards a certain something. More often than not cryptic meanings of such and such things delude me. This is one of those. I can most certainly perceive a sense of direction even in baffling circumstances.

We, as human beings, are very prone to attachments. We get used to things. We simply adapt to changing circumstances and get used to it. We have our comfort zones and when we are forced out of the same despite our attachments to our comfort zones we instinctively take up the challenge and find for ourselves a new comfort zone – a new place to call home- to call our own. So, we move on – from dusk to dawn, from newspaper to e-newspaper, from one comfort-zone to another, from 2014 to 2015.

As we bid goodbye to 2014, let us thank it for all that it had to offer and hope 2015 will bring fresh promises as well as clear 2014’s logjam(both at the Parliament and those in our minds). Let us hope that the year we welcome now with open arms be so great so as to expand our embrace beyond what we think is possible.

Best.
Anurupa.

December 31, 2014

Second-wind from Mother Nature …

On a wet monsoon evening as this, when lovers love to be with their loved ones, I peeped out of the window and looked at those wild green rebellious patches who despite being a minority in the concrete jungle have somehow not got discouraged and kept up their fight for existence in bits and parts around the city of Kolkata.

  It was that afternoon when after battling with life for three days little Mahi gave up. Six years back, some 160 km away from where Mahi used to stay, at kurukshetra Prince who fell into a similarly uncapped bore well survived due to timely action. It was that heart-wrenching evening when I felt disgusted with the rotten circus that had been taking place in the country … over how terribly wrong things are … Indian Politics now only means the ruckus over the presidential elections, officers appointed for civil service do their duties by sitting on chairs at the site, to watch the live circus of the late initiated rescue operation of Mahi, the four year old child who represent every non-bureaucrat’s child who is unsafe in this country and we find the tax-payer’s money go down the drain to finally make its way into the politicians’ wallets ( or perhaps to their Swiss bank accounts) . Debates taking place at all large-scale and small-scale TV channels seem to be of little help. One of the prominent reporters, once during a debate said that he would like to “embarrass” the politicians…my friend, they are all beyond getting embarrassed.. the word shame feels embarrassed when it looks at them.

Civil service, sorry Indian Civil Service – the words themselves cause any teen or tween to frown, let alone thinking about it as a career option. Standing here when my country, your country, our country.. our Mother whom we salute on Republic days and Independence days only, calls for help, it will be put into an old age home in the wrinkled hands of weary senior citizens for its brightest and most privileged sons and daughters are busy turning millionaires away from her soil, are so busy that they have turned shameless enough to ask poor old Mother to work after retirement to bring up those unprivileged siblings( remember how every morning at school we say/said and in civics text books we read, All Indians are my brothers and sisters).

I was feeling absolutely frustrated with all of this and it had caused me to look out of the window to take in some fresh air when I received the second-wind from nature. I was filled with despair but now I understand that there’s always darkness just before dawn.

I just hope I can make it through the thick night,

 With my fast fading torch light …

  Anurupa.

June 24, 2012 

End-Sem Days (and nights)

"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world". - Oscar Wilde.

Being an ardent believer in the above quote or rather being a self-confesssed hopeless indolent night owl, having embraced the quote as my mantra I took up the arduous task of completing my 1st semester university courses.
The preparation always starts with the struggle of moving my backside from the couch and pushing myself towards the study room. With sleepy eyes I reach for my phone - earphones plugged in - playlist - Motivation. The much needed factor. Having played the entire list , feeling motivated enough, I decide to plough through the impregnable fortress of reading material piled up dauntingly on my desk. Just then I hear the dinner call which my forever hungry gastronomical parts compel me to answer. So far my achievements for the day include- reading the newspaper, watching repeats of Big Bang Theory and listening to the Motivation playlist.

Dinner smoothly leads on to Dadagiri (Its Sourav Ganguly, people!) . I try to convince myself that the Googly riddles will activate my brain cells and help me study better. The guilt does not leave and neither do I from front of the TV set.

Around midnight as the world around me prepared to doze off, I arose - Sleeves rolled up, targets decided, to-do-list prepared. MISSION 1ST SEM. The plan seems fantastic!
Well, now. Time for some midnight snacks. The labour put in making that plan must not go unrewarded. Time to take a stroll around the sleeping household.

Its 1am already. Self-pep talk - Now I must get down to study.
But, not before googling How To Study When Under Time Crunch?

Having read a bunch of weird articles, turned maximum number of Google Search Result links purple, I decide to hit the books - studying comes much later.
I stare at my reading material with dyslexic eyes and thirty minutes later realise that it's not helping.I start reading it, marking it. Good going! I have finished reading one full handout. Yay me! Wait. There are five more left - err, from the same chapter.
#Realisation - This is why college kids miss school days. Sigh.

A look at the watch- 2:45am. -- Loo break. A short one, I promise myself.
Fifteen minutes later, I am back - ACDC playing Thunderstruck in my head.

The birds outside, who am I fooling, the crows outside have woken up and are doing what they do best - crowing. The crowing is interspersed with the occasional train horns from a station somewhere closeby. At one point, I romantically fancy that the minstrels of this dark sleepy hour have conspired to engage in a concert for me - the night watchman's whistle, the train, the crows and the ticking clock - (Yes, Pink Floyd, I know)

Romantic - or maybe lunatic. Whichever.

Its 4am already.Nevermind. Night is still young - party with the menacing handout of Andrew Heywood.An additional hour of drudgery with the sound effects still pouring music to my ears.The 5am azan, sounded from a mosque distant or close floats across . I close my eyes for a bit and stretch. After a 30 seconds debate in my head I opened the windows and disturbed two sleepy pigeons who flapped their wings and flew away. Romantic or lunatic? Whichever.
The cool December morning winds brush across my face. I like the chill. A strange energy. Sipping coffee while watching the neighbourhood wake up, the apparent peace only broken by a baby's shrill cries from a home nearby.
But maybe this is peace much adored where it is much better when broken by baby cries for food than cannon cries for human fodder.
Good Morning.