Saturday, September 23, 2006
little criticism on Sania
This morning I was surfing the channels with much disinterest when I happened to come across the repeat telecast of Sania Mirza's quarter final match in the Sunfeast open, which is being held in nearby Kolkata. It was known to me that she by virtue of a much improved performance had won the match and in the process had set up a much anticipated and possibly a high voltage semifinal clash with none other than Martina Hingis who is also taking part in the tournament where she,goes without saying, is the biggest star.The game was ok. However I could not help but notice, not without some irritation, how the girl committed so many unforced errors.She was hitting the ball into the nets quite often as though she was seeing the net much lower than it was. It was her dress that jarred me. I find it inexplicble why a girl would show her nipples when she wears a t-shirt if she has her underwear on. Sania should give this matter some thought. It is very good of any one to say that one should concentrate on the game and not on what the players wear.But let me tell you it does look very bad especially when you are watching her sitting in the middle of a traditional Indian family and it is extremely embrassing. While I watched the match I had a constant fear that I might be misunderstood- someone might think that I was not watching the match but her. I do not understand why should a young girl who is in the focus of the public view, should not take care to not to show her nipples no matter howmuch cute they happened to be.Here I must add that the fact that player like Martina Hingis is coming to play in India really feels good. Many mainstream and renowned international singers and bands are also touring India regularly. I don't know when F1 will come to India.
Sooner the better.
Obviously.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Today is Mahalaya and the day had its own typical beginning with booming firecrackers tearing apart the sleeping town in the wee hours. Last night I went to sleep quite late and because of the incessant firecrackers I had had a very fitful sleep during the few hours that was at my disposal. I woke up feeling groggy and my eyes burning. The firecrackers went booming all through the early morning but gradually they fell silent except some occassional ones in the neighborhood which never failed to startle one. I soon found out there was going to be some sort of celebration in the house to celebrate the occasion. Pisi (my father's only sister), her husband, who had returned from Kashmir, where he is posted, a few days ago, and their children Deva and Aparna came over to our house. In the morning luchis were prepared for breakfast and later at lunch we had chicken. With so much heavy duty eating I was not feeling much comfortable at the end of the day.As Durga puja returns every year so does the Mahalaya, invariably seven days ahead of the former. It is an invitation to the mother goddess Durga to pay a visit to the earth which is considered as her parents' house. This day sets the mood for the coming puja, which , needless to say, is the biggest festival that we bengalis have. This is the time when all the schools, colleges and offices around the state announce puja vacation. Durga puja for bengalis means five days of paying homage to the Goddess and her four children, pandel hopping in new clothes, meeting with friends and relatives, having a lot of fun and of course eating a lot of junk food from street side kiosks that spring up during these days of celebration.
Mahalaya is incomplete without the customary ' mahalaya' program that is aired on every tv channels and also on the public radio in the early morning. However I missed that one.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
a short note
Each of the two religions , Buddhism and Christanity, have two respective legends regarding their founder i.e Gautam Buddha and Jesus
Christ.It is said that once a grief stricken mother requested Jesus to resurrect her dead son.Jesus, the kindly person he that was and
also one with supernatural powers, was touched by the mother's heart rending pleas and he brought the dead boy back to life. Similarly
a mother who had lost his only son to death came to Buddha and implored him to restore her son to life. However Buddha chose a
different path from that of Jesus in dealing with the matter. As most of us know that the seer told the woman that he would give her son
back only if she could get him a handful of mustard from a household which had never known death and sorrow. The mother went off
with hpoes but soon ,as was intended, she realised there was no such household in this world.Thus Buddha helped the woman to
realize the tuth- death, sorrow all are part of the life.We have to take them in our stride. No point in avoiding the truth.I personally think Buddha was more practical and also correct in every way. He showed the truth. The cycle of life and death should
continue uninterrupted you folks think?
please note I am not here to malign any particular religion.I am neither a Buddhist nor a Christan and I respect both the religion in equal
measure.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
a sticky situation
In India where reliabilty is rare you never know when you will get caught unware especially if you are availing your self a public service. The other day I have had this horrible experience at the Howrah station. The morning had started for me with sensation of uneasiness in my stomach. On disembarking from the train I realized that I need to go to a loo immediately. I cant wait to get to college. The paid loos on the station premise looked assuring with their cleanliness and surprisingly they were not crowded. However the look was only deceptive as I soon realised. When needed most the water disappeared from the tap. The next few minutes was a nightmare. I kept shouting for water from behind the closed door but no one paid heed to me, while I was getting late for my college. It was after fifteen minutes that somebody handed me a mug of water while I opened the door partly. After this little experience I have become more weary of these public toilets.
Realising ones own faults
This must be one of the worst lean period of my life, of course till date. No one knows what the future holds. Owing to shortage of attendance the anatomy department did not allow me to seat for the first professional which means I am still languishing in the first year while my class mates are in second year. Such a disgrace. Actually my attendance was lacking in all the three departments. Although the heads of the other two dept. agreed to allow me to seat in supplementary exam the head of the anatomy dept, a middleaged woman from whom the students prefer to maitain safe distance, balked.
I could have gone insane but I had not. I am still sane. Amidst all the heartbreaks, shame and disgracefullness I did not failed to see my own fault. I do not blame madam. It is me who is responsible for this mishap. I am the one who who gave the classes a miss, instead spending time at home playing games and surfing the net. Madam is only doing her duty.
Realising one own shortcomings and faults certainly help one to remain sane.
I could have gone insane but I had not. I am still sane. Amidst all the heartbreaks, shame and disgracefullness I did not failed to see my own fault. I do not blame madam. It is me who is responsible for this mishap. I am the one who who gave the classes a miss, instead spending time at home playing games and surfing the net. Madam is only doing her duty.
Realising one own shortcomings and faults certainly help one to remain sane.
few lines from the opening chapter of my new novel
He had seen Sima once or twice after her marriage on those few occasions when his visit to his family and her visit to her parents coincided. Each time he missed the pleasure of her husband's acquaintance by a few days, either he himself had arrived after her husband had left or had arrived a little early because her husband would come to pick her up only after he would return to Calcutta. Not that he minded it very much. Though he might have subconsciously wanted to meet the man because he learnt he was a very pleasant personality. Finally he had the chance to meet him when he went home after the 2nd proff. exam and he was happy because he really was a very friendly person. His name was Harihar.Harihar repeatedly pointed out that his home might be far from here, it was not that distant from Calcutta, so he must visit them in his free time and he made him to promise that he would surely do so. One of his qualities, which pleased him was his ability to mix with the people who he knew were banagls, people migrating from Bangladesh, and not ghatis, those who had nothing to do with Bangladesh, like him. He knew a lot of so called ghatis who cringed at the idea of bangals and took a contemptuous pleasure in demeaning their language, their culture and their food habits; they considered them outsiders and spoke about it boldly. Such broadmindedness from Harihar was not surprising for after all he had married on his own consent, although no doubt beauty of his bride had influenced him and his family.
Sunderban with all the mysteries that it stood for was very much on his mind and he decided to make a call, if only to explore a new land.
* * * * *
The lake, with its vast silver floor of clear water and its rim of trees, which on the other side of the lake appeared still and picturesque against the backdrop of the sky looked majestic. He had been told it was known as Motidighi and he was surprised, because in Gazol too, slightly moved away from their village and surrounded by a mango grove and paddy fields and close to the roaring highway there was a lake though not as big as this, with the same name. As if for the first time he realized how dogs and lakes tended to have same name everywhere. A short walk from Sima's house had brought him here. Pinky, the eldest child of Harihar's brother, had shown him the way and then left leaving him alone.
A bunch of boys frolicked in the water on the other side of the lake. In the midday silence the occasional burst of shouts and shrieks from them created a gentle ripple, unlike the huge splashes the children generated as they flailed their limbs around wildly. At the edge the trees cast their shadows to keep the water cool, and when he scooped up a palmful of water to wash his mouth it tasted bitterly salty.
He arrived here this morning, three and half hours after he boarded a bus in Calcutta. He was always susceptible of a long bus journey but the warmth with which he was greeted by his hosts made up for the discomfort suffered on the road. Sima was so excited to see him that she fell all over herself in her attempts to please him. Since it was Sunday, Harihar was home and more than once he told that he was happy he had come on a Sunday when he was home and not attending his shop. The first thing he noticed after setting his foot in this area of the world was the queer looking two storied mud houses the like of which he had never seen before. Their house in Gazol was of mud too but not was it two storied. From whatever little he saw as he passed through the brick layered street of the village on an overly packed van-rickshaw from the bus stop it appeared every family had at least one such structure on their property. Some of them looked quite odd while many of them were surprisingly elegant with smooth walls sharp outlines and some even had a small balcony. Harihar and his family possessed two such large buildings, facing each other across a courtyard. These two houses, one for each brother, were connected by a number of clotheslines. When Anil asked about the making of the houses Harihar's brother, Rakhal, a figure that had gained weight from his sedentary job as a cashier in the family garment shop, explained how unbaked bricks were used for the building purpose. Anil had no idea that raw bricks could be so useful as well. Mud was used as a substitute for cement, Rakhal informed him further. Anil wondered how people back home had failed to come up with such an ingenious way of house making.
Anil could see Sima was sincerely happy for his visit. Because of the huge distance that lay in between her parents’ house and in laws’ she rarely saw someone from her home or village and through him she met her family and the village people who, when distance and separation played their parts, were no less than family.
Harihar and his brother lived in a joint family. Their father, Bimal Adhikary, who was not interested in agriculture, although their grandfather was a prosperous farmer, founded the garment store. After grandfather died Father sold some of the land and with the money obtained bought a new place for the store which till now was housed in a rented property, and also expanded its volume. While rest of the money was put in the bank the remaining lands were leased out to small farmers who themselves had little or no land. Even in father's time the shop had a considerable business and now after five years of his death it had only prospered under his two sons who perhaps were still living as one family because of that store.
In the summer heat the water of the lake with the comforting coolness in its depth was alive and it seemed it had wound him around with invisible tentacles .He almost felt like as if he were a water creature and he would die if he had to return to the land. He swum around, took dips and did underwater dives surfacing at the middle of the lake. It was such an elated feeling to have this vast expanse of water all to himself, a pleasant change from the leaky taps of mirthless bathrooms of his hostel. But as his eyes started burning he took his last dip and turned toward the bank smoothing back his wet hair with his hand. But before he could take a step forward he stopped and stood in water that reached close to his chest. He was startled and bewildered and then an involuntary and hoarse shout ripped out from his throat,
"Hey, stop...stop"
The figure was concealed behind the shrubs but the red dress was visible through leaves and twigs. It was the hand with a few glass bangles around the wrist that showed the person was a girl. From her concealment behind some undergrowths, careful not to expose her face the girl had stretched out her hand and between her fingers she held his watch a few inches off the ground where he had kept it along with his glasses and his clothes before going into the water. As the initial bewilderment passed Anil was shocked to realize that his watch was being stolen, right before his eyes. Instinctively he dashed for the dry ground, his eyes, red from water fixed on that hand as though he hoped to grab it before it moved away. The water suddenly felt too heavy to move through and the earth beneath his foot too slippery to steady his balance.
Sunderban with all the mysteries that it stood for was very much on his mind and he decided to make a call, if only to explore a new land.
* * * * *
The lake, with its vast silver floor of clear water and its rim of trees, which on the other side of the lake appeared still and picturesque against the backdrop of the sky looked majestic. He had been told it was known as Motidighi and he was surprised, because in Gazol too, slightly moved away from their village and surrounded by a mango grove and paddy fields and close to the roaring highway there was a lake though not as big as this, with the same name. As if for the first time he realized how dogs and lakes tended to have same name everywhere. A short walk from Sima's house had brought him here. Pinky, the eldest child of Harihar's brother, had shown him the way and then left leaving him alone.
A bunch of boys frolicked in the water on the other side of the lake. In the midday silence the occasional burst of shouts and shrieks from them created a gentle ripple, unlike the huge splashes the children generated as they flailed their limbs around wildly. At the edge the trees cast their shadows to keep the water cool, and when he scooped up a palmful of water to wash his mouth it tasted bitterly salty.
He arrived here this morning, three and half hours after he boarded a bus in Calcutta. He was always susceptible of a long bus journey but the warmth with which he was greeted by his hosts made up for the discomfort suffered on the road. Sima was so excited to see him that she fell all over herself in her attempts to please him. Since it was Sunday, Harihar was home and more than once he told that he was happy he had come on a Sunday when he was home and not attending his shop. The first thing he noticed after setting his foot in this area of the world was the queer looking two storied mud houses the like of which he had never seen before. Their house in Gazol was of mud too but not was it two storied. From whatever little he saw as he passed through the brick layered street of the village on an overly packed van-rickshaw from the bus stop it appeared every family had at least one such structure on their property. Some of them looked quite odd while many of them were surprisingly elegant with smooth walls sharp outlines and some even had a small balcony. Harihar and his family possessed two such large buildings, facing each other across a courtyard. These two houses, one for each brother, were connected by a number of clotheslines. When Anil asked about the making of the houses Harihar's brother, Rakhal, a figure that had gained weight from his sedentary job as a cashier in the family garment shop, explained how unbaked bricks were used for the building purpose. Anil had no idea that raw bricks could be so useful as well. Mud was used as a substitute for cement, Rakhal informed him further. Anil wondered how people back home had failed to come up with such an ingenious way of house making.
Anil could see Sima was sincerely happy for his visit. Because of the huge distance that lay in between her parents’ house and in laws’ she rarely saw someone from her home or village and through him she met her family and the village people who, when distance and separation played their parts, were no less than family.
Harihar and his brother lived in a joint family. Their father, Bimal Adhikary, who was not interested in agriculture, although their grandfather was a prosperous farmer, founded the garment store. After grandfather died Father sold some of the land and with the money obtained bought a new place for the store which till now was housed in a rented property, and also expanded its volume. While rest of the money was put in the bank the remaining lands were leased out to small farmers who themselves had little or no land. Even in father's time the shop had a considerable business and now after five years of his death it had only prospered under his two sons who perhaps were still living as one family because of that store.
In the summer heat the water of the lake with the comforting coolness in its depth was alive and it seemed it had wound him around with invisible tentacles .He almost felt like as if he were a water creature and he would die if he had to return to the land. He swum around, took dips and did underwater dives surfacing at the middle of the lake. It was such an elated feeling to have this vast expanse of water all to himself, a pleasant change from the leaky taps of mirthless bathrooms of his hostel. But as his eyes started burning he took his last dip and turned toward the bank smoothing back his wet hair with his hand. But before he could take a step forward he stopped and stood in water that reached close to his chest. He was startled and bewildered and then an involuntary and hoarse shout ripped out from his throat,
"Hey, stop...stop"
The figure was concealed behind the shrubs but the red dress was visible through leaves and twigs. It was the hand with a few glass bangles around the wrist that showed the person was a girl. From her concealment behind some undergrowths, careful not to expose her face the girl had stretched out her hand and between her fingers she held his watch a few inches off the ground where he had kept it along with his glasses and his clothes before going into the water. As the initial bewilderment passed Anil was shocked to realize that his watch was being stolen, right before his eyes. Instinctively he dashed for the dry ground, his eyes, red from water fixed on that hand as though he hoped to grab it before it moved away. The water suddenly felt too heavy to move through and the earth beneath his foot too slippery to steady his balance.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
acussing god
We love to accuse God of neglecting or depriving us more than often. After a setback we would start doubting the very existance of Him."If there were any God then how come this happen to me?" I was no exception. I used the word 'was' deliberately. Yes now I don't have such thoughts. When I see a blind man begging on the street I thank God. If he had wished he could have robbed me of my eyesight but he had not done so. He could have made me to live a life of beggar but I am still living in a well off family. When I see a lame person hobbling along with much difficulty I thank God. He had preserved my legs. What more can we ask from him.
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