a view with a pair of clear lens

Its something that I have observed out of my personal experience - whenever I am terribly sick, to the extent that I am confined to my bed, I begin to think and see things clearly. I am no longer concerned with what others might think - I just don't care. Although not in a continuous stream, the visions of yellow, red and green - amidst all these colorful stage, suddenly the truth confronts me, and most often it is of the manner - what the fuck am I doing ? (in an all encompassing sort of way)

Its hard to break away from such stand-offs. And at the same time it is hard to answer such a question.

I have always hated and still hate the facade that one envelops oneself with. I understand its necessity in the survival of modern life. But it is needless anywhere else. It is so damn hard to see through this fake shield. However, its all pervading. One is only concerned with how to get their work done with ease and depict an image of being an ideal well-wisher. I sincerely wish that all such damned creatures end up rotting in hell - in eternal tyranny.

With each passing day, I feel the necessity of moving to an alternate world where people still have faith and hope to believe in. I would really like to believe in what George Harrison said

“Sunrise doesn't last all morning, a cloudburst doesn't last all day, seems my love is up and has left you with no warning. It's not always going to be this grey. All things must pass, all things must pass away.”

missing home and friends

I have never been able to pin-point as to why I love Kolkata so much. There is no singular overbearing reason for that I suppose. But thinking about this cosmopolitan city always brings me comfort and leaves me with a warm and dreamy memory of its people and places.

Its been some time that I have been staying outside of the city, almost about six years now. However, the charm is still as new. I distinctly remember the train rides back home from Pune. Although it was an arduous 32 hours journey, I always enjoyed it especially the last leg, when at the break of dawn, I could view the lush green from my window seat. The gentle sway of the train, the morning mist and dew, and an accompanying cup of piping hot tea served in bhar - all filled (and still fills) my heart with inexpressible joys. Then the characteristic black and yellow taxi ride back home, crossing over the Howrah bridge with the swirling Ganges flowing underneath, right through the Park Street crossing, Gariahat and Jadavpur. I would always wait for such journeys taking me back home.

I have always felt that the people there are filled to the brim with emotions and sentiments (me included, but not quite to the brim). Extremely possessive about their thoughts and ideals, but carrying enough justification to support their view. Its a place with such terrific warmth that I haven't been able to find an equal. It is possible that I have an extremely biased opinion, but I really can't help.

I miss the long, bordering on the lines of meaninglessness addas, where we would voice our uncensored opinions and would even get beaten in a friendly sort of way for being extremely stern and stubborn. And it would go on and on till we would be utterly exhausted.

I utterly and completely miss bhapa ilish, aloo posto, murighonto.........rosogolla, rabri, chanar polao,mishti doi.................... - the list just goes on. Maybe i'll write about the food some other time.

Another essential element in the life of any Bengali is the Durga Puja. Celebrated in the month of September-October, this festival brings in a deluge of Bengalis and people from other communities from across the globe. Its a time when one forgets for those five days starting from shoshti, all griefs and sufferings no matter how intense and joins in the procession where people from all castes and from all strata of the social fabric rub their shoulders together to get a glimpse of the godess Durga. Donned with the newest clothes of the season, Kolkata becomes a virtual fairyland.

One can find the young and the old jostling together in mirth and enjoyment. Its also the time for young love to foster. Its a time of the year when we lose track of time and space and converge to that one point of happiness.

I am sure that this is not the end of what I love; in fact it would be unjust if even I would attempt to put everything down into writing.

--

Well the clock is ticking away, and Kenny G can't hold me on any longer too.

Another week starts today, and there is work to be done. Without a television I will be missing the IPL too, damn it. Since am not going to SA, all plans of being in the stadium and watching a couple of matches have been watered. The elections better be good this time!