Maybe...

| Distances |

2011-04-23T05:17:00.001-07:00

Distances
--
I don’t understand distances
but i feel them, much like
i feel pain and sorrow
congestion or loneliness.

Pain is excruciating,
sorrow catches your eye,
congestion debilitates
loneliness much like distances
but perhaps not so alike -- are inexplicable

You look at the clock and think
what would she be doing now,
in some other part of the globe
You are awake in the middle of a day
She in her sleep , resting from a world of constant running

Let her sleep, you tell yourself,
and then you turn, to find ‘distances’ waving behind you
You realise how the biological clocks have inverted,
why the routines are now walking the opposite paths
And how much like when pain, sorrow and congestion waves,
you resign, you give up here too,
having failed to understand distances.
--

When will the time come?

2011-02-07T11:12:00.000-08:00

Not now, not yet..
the time hasn't yet come
the writer tells him in solemnity;
didn't you once read somewhere
that you should 'let the world
change yourself, and you will
change the world'..

And only then,
you can pick the pen up,
be done with the room's lights,
light up the candle,
peer out the window,
and in the dead darkness of night,
start with what you want to
share with me..

Not now, not yet..
The time hasn't yet come
for you to board my ship;
but i know you are keen
and a student of my trade
so i will keep you in mind
and if there is a calling one day,
i will send you a red herring..

Tend to it,
nurture it carefully,
and then sit beside it
as it playfully jousts around
in the aquarium, to
jot down your misery
and stories of life..

And things you want to share
and those you don't,
even those, lace it around the
herring's heart,

I will be waiting,
for it to come back to me..
with the words of yours
and if i like them,
i will take them along with
me and my herring..

On the journey of a lifetime..

Till then,
not now, not yet, my friend..
the time hasn't yet come..
try one more time to be embraced
not with my life, but theirs
and i will wait to hear
more good or bad news from you..

Whichever way,
it doesn't matter,
it never mattered,
the sailing is always a emotionless
journey, and you will know by then
so too is writing..

Till then..
not now, not yet my friend..
the time hasn't yet come..

to the poet and his poetry

2011-02-07T11:11:00.001-08:00

"He repeated until his dying day that there was no one with more common sense, no stonecutter more obstinate, no manager more lucid or dangerous, than a poet."

--Garcia Marquez in 'Love in the time of Cholera'..

Door er jahajider kobita

2011-02-04T13:25:00.001-08:00

Kemon kore jeno
dur er beugol
aar chole jaoa shomoy er
hathchaani dekhte pai..

Kore bhoy, lage oshohaay.
kintu bhetor theke jeno
ke bole othe..norbor e hole
cholbe ki kore..

Nouko r haal dhora r shomoy
tor to chole elo..
chokh er jol rakh
lomba ekta shaash ne..
aar neme por ei jibon
er jowar bhata r taan e..

Koto din aar er bimukh
hoe thakbi, domka haoaa r
moto er maadol daak
er theke dur e beshi din thaka je
boro mushkil..

Jedin tor daak ashbe,
dur er jahaji der beugol e
kinba chole jaoa r
hathchaani dekhte pabi dheu er shuduuur kon e

Ekta proshonno hashi dish..
ekta lomba kore nisshash nie chaarish..

tor chokh buje jaoa r pore..
Baki ta amra dekhe nebo..
---

An ode to a nameless bird

2011-01-27T11:02:00.001-08:00

On these occasions
in loneliness and sadness
when i am all by myself
having traveled from god alone knows
where, and going to now, i don't know
where, i am left hurt, bruised and broken.

I know, the events
have not been all about me,
i have been blessed,
in many ways than i would have
not imagined and yet
somewhere within me
the fact that i deserved
better, if not as a matter of my skills
but just as a matter of a person

makes me wonder
if there is at all
on this earth,
be it snow or rain,
day or darkness,
any more value of being
good, being true, being honest
and caring for others..

values, maa and pa
taught me while growing up
but now it seems they have
all been reconciled into the
unknown dust, in that archive
of a lofty library..

Here's to life, love, and longing then..
and also to that unknown speckle of dust
take care, my good friend
i will see you again
in some other world,
in some other life,
as some other living being perhaps..

A bird maybe?
Nonchalant about boundaries
Ignorant about politics
Reverent only to innocence
Faithful only to your wings..

Under which i will hide
that dust, which in this life
maa and pa, old souls,
passed on to me..

now am old too..
And time has passed by in a mellow whisker.

from Ithaca, to Ithaca

2011-01-25T07:37:00.000-08:00

--
I know,
as the clock ticks away
and the seconds pass on
out there in the dark gorges of Cayuga
Nothing will happen.

And even it will,
how might it really change
the lives of many displaced
centuries back by men of spears
with no concern for tears

And yet, i yearn,
crossing through those hills
into an old tower, sitting atop
passionately hoping,
that perhaps..

Cayuga is listening
and the gorges will open up
and take me on
as i continue my journey
from Ithaca to Ithaca..
beyond your silent tears.
--

to cornell, ithaca on a sunny wintry morning...

2011-01-20T06:15:00.000-08:00

aaj jemon kore
emni kore chao go

aaj haoa jemon patay patay
mormoriya, bon ke kandaay

temni amaar, buk er, majhe
kandiya..kaandaao go...

-kobiguru robindronath thakur.

here and there...

2010-09-26T18:10:00.000-07:00

"When a person meets with his other half, the actual half of himself, he is lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy. The two don't want to spend any time apart from each other. These are the people who pass their whole lives together; yet they could not explain what they desire of one another. No one can think it is only sexual intercourse that they want, that this is the reason why they find such joy in each other's company. It appears to be something else which the soul evidently desires and cannot tell, and of which it has only a dark and doubtful presentiment." - A quotation apparently from Plato, in the book 'Solo' by Rana Dasgupta..

Of a Child and a old Man

2010-08-11T22:53:00.001-07:00

In the depths of my heart

a child wells up in deep sorrow

It knows not where to rest its head

Worn down by years of walking and pricking

by this world..

And as the drops labor down the corner of

his eyes, he pauses,

takes a distant look,

and wonders, at the journey

taken thus far..

Was it worth it? - is not a question

he asks, he is sure, it was..

rather, he scrambles to pause

and pet the child with a lullaby..

True journeys are taken

without knowing where they will end

who we will morph into

how the hearts will contend with the pricks and battles

Instead in the joy, that tomorrow..

Looking back,

Into the mirror of life,

One can still see the child crying..

In slow, protected, isolated tears..

Down the depths of an old man's heart.

Moving Upstairs

2010-07-21T17:56:00.001-07:00

-- Moving upstairs..

little by little

this much by that much

he gestured to me with his hand..

And i smiled..

Six years into a phd program is no small a time,

perhaps after school,

rarely there has been such a long chime..

now is when they moved me upstairs..

i have been at the basement and first too,

at the second floor,

so now upstairs is not at all a chore..

For him though,

my professor,

a philosophical sore..

little by little..

this much by that much..

gesturing me with his hand..

now, with many more grey hair

than i even can dare

that we all the academic bunch,

faculty, staff and students..

Are moving upstairs..

And i smiled..

Nodded..

hardly any words to give back in return

but he said it all, though taciturn

we are all moving upstairs..

-----

On how i love killing love..

2010-06-02T14:00:00.000-07:00

She calls me,

the night is dark and deadly,

i come and lie with the smell of tobacco

on my mouth and body..

Closer she comes,

eyes half dead

half open for an embrace..

I spread my fingers on her forehead..

and then she smells the soot..

admonishes, and turns around..

That is how

i killed my love..

unbloodied..

stealthily..

dark and buried ..

on a black night..

writing useless poetry about it..

next morning..

" hows your poetry coming along..somebody asked ... "

2010-05-22T07:40:00.000-07:00

so i replied:

poetry is a nice fancy

once upon a time by chancy

she gave way to nancy

to make poetry necromancy...

- amen..

Of mp3s, emails and old friends

2010-05-15T17:41:00.000-07:00

Of Mp3, emails and old friends

---

I was in some confusion

whether to write about this

in bangla, my mother tongue,

or to stick to the language of business

english..let it be..

I let it be..

business ruled..and

so did history as on that fine evening..

i dug up my emails from yore..

And suddenly remembered

all of your faces..

old friends

to whom i had sent all

my choicest songs

perhaps irking you with my

own choices,

irreverent to whether you

liked them or not.

Today on a fine evening

after a sunny day

that decided to end without a whimper

or a roar

those mails, mp3s and all of you

touch me painfully

somewhere in my soul

tears roll down my eyes

for all the days gone by

and some of those mp3s

keep playing in the background

a harmless poem

sums it all

an obituary for that decade,

filled with you all my friends, emails and the mp3s..

I am still alive..

only just..

still tinkering with the words..

remembering not only you

but even myself which once comprised

of emails, mp3s and you all, all my friends..

Of my problem and a few lines..

2010-05-07T10:23:00.001-07:00

My problem

My problem is

that this time around

when i was back home

i saw an ugly me,

having grown up

and with lost faith

drifting and trying

desperately to regain one's senses..

The smells,

the taste,

the sweat,

the sounds

and the sights..

not to forget the tears..

But the more i tried,

the more they seemed to elude me..

worryingly, i was unperturbed

as if each hour,

each day spent,

was just a budgeted one to go by,

and i knew i would be back

to my own unreal mess soon..

On other times

x or y or z happens on the way back

or on the way to home..

invigorating me

about home, my country, and old close faces..

this time though,

nothing substantial happened,

except meeting an old man

with grim stories of living a life

and fulfilling one's duties..

or maybe i have lost my senses to feel..

Why was the story like that?

I wonder, i scrounge for solutions..

i fail ..and despite the sleep..

i try these lines..

No longer worried,

if i have changed,

or others have,

or if i have grown old,

or others have,

just plain simple asking

whats going on,

Do you know?

---

Love you..from a laptop...

2010-04-10T20:13:00.000-07:00

I have been horrible to you..

i know..

but your morning eyes..

make me write this apology..

Maybe one day you will read it..

by volition, perhaps like old days..

without me telling you..

and i am hoping..

that you will again fall in love with me..

Forgetting the scars and bites in between..

that we shared..to just pick a pen..

and on a paper..to write a piece of poetry..

the poetry of love, togetherness, and tears..

Alas, its the blog stupid, no pens..

no papers, a laptop..a digital poem..

saying this 'love you'..from a laptop..

No wonder life has changed..

have we both too?

A Conversation between the 'Bottom and the Top'...

2010-04-10T20:11:00.001-07:00

Or maybe between the top and the bottom

Bottom: Hey you..

what are you doing here?

Across the North American border..

in Motown Michigan,

enjoying the pleasures of a business school

and jargons about the bottom of the pyramid..

Top: Nope not me..

Somebody else,

traveling, and reveling,

kind of like a child,

still to get one's bearings..

knowing not where i am going

but feeling all right that i am here

not forlorn or lost, as if this is my place..

Bottom: What happened to me then?

If its not you..remember just a decade back..

Ok i admit, more than a decade, 15 years now..

you and me were the same being..

and now you say, you are not me, or i am not you..

whats going on mate..

Top: You won't get it bottom..

the road was long..

i have lost my way..

i just drift along, like lake michigan into the bay..

Across the window..into the sky...

we always will be the same..saying each other a forlorn hi..

Into the water we will drop the cent

the price we paid why now repent?

Akashe Chorano Megh er kacha kachi...dekha jaay tomader baari...

2010-02-02T18:14:00.001-08:00

http://www.esnips.com/doc/7e682559-f6f9-4ed3-9d22-23e76cd53054/Akashe-chorano

Amita r chokhe Amartya

2009-12-22T23:42:00.001-08:00

Amita r chokhe Amartya

Prio Amortyo..

Aaj onek jug pore..

hotat kore shujog ta eshe gelo.

Tui bodhoy chilish naa..

aar ami o sherom bhabe..

janano r proyojon bodh kori ni..

Nijer moton kore..

eka eka gie..

tor aapis tuku dekte cheyechilum..

Dekhe elum!

Shedin December er shokaal..

toder subway theke berie i

dekhte pelum, toder aapis..

Amaader shantiniketon er moton..

naa khete paoa, rong uthe jaoa building to noy..

jhaa chokchok e, orthoniti r apis bote toder!

Harvard bisshwobidyaloy...

ore baba, naam ta shune o jeno..

Haar ta bhaare jaay..

Jaai hok, moja korchi naa re..

dekhlum, onek din er mon er shaadh o metalum..

Tobu keno jeno kichu i chue jete parlo naa..

Ei aapish er jonno tui aaj eto door e..

jaani tor onek aapis..shudhu ki ekta..

baki gulo o hoyto..onnanyo desh e ..

erom i hobe..

Amaar khub ekta tate kichu ashe jaay naa..

pajor e aagle toke jokhon manush korechilum..

bhebechilum tui ektu onnyo bhabe bhabbi..

Bhebe o chish..

durbikkhe r chokh gulo ke nie gobeshona korechish..

boro boro prize o peyechish..

Tobu hotaash i holum re..

janina, aar o bodhoy kichu cheyechilum tor kache..

hoyto ba, panjor er je sneho tui peyechili..

shei gulo r ferot paoa r oppekhay chilum..

Manush to..

Sharthopor to..

Boyosh onek holo to..

Tai shesh porjonto likhe o fellum..

Bhalo thakish re..

Ihojonme na hole o..

Tui to Amartya...

Hoyto ba poro jonme!

On seeing the Economics Department at Harvard, Boston - Dec'09.

Pagol Bondhu r Prithibi

2009-12-22T21:34:00.001-08:00

Pagla Bondhu

Bondhu ke, ba keno keu bondhu

eta ekhono thik bujhe uthte parini

shudhu bujhi, pagla ta bondhu..

Hotat kore phone kore, kinba mail

abaar thik hotat i kore,

puro chup kore jaay..

Din jaay, maash jaay,

pagla bondhu amaar udhao,

nije r paglami shamlate besto thake bodhoy..

Thik jokhon pare na shamlate

abar thok thok kore,

dorjaay kora naare..

Ore, kichu kor,

poth dekha, hante jaabi chol,

lekh, dheu ke nie jolokeli kor,

koto shob abdaar taar..

Bondhu bole i to abdaar..

Jodi o por hoto,

jodi o amar eka raat er,

chaand er dike takie chokh er jol er shathi na hoto,

tobe ki kokhono korto oi abdaar...

Oke shamlate gie nije o pagol hoar jogar,

Keno thok thok korish,

Keno bolish dheu ante, ba dheu er opor die jete,

besh to achi, nirbaak, nirlipto, nisthobdo, niruddesh o bodhoy..

Amaar aar kichu chai naa,

shudhu tor paglami,

aar tor bondhutto,

ei tukui jotheshto..

Aay, prithibi ta r ekta round mere ashi, cho....

Karur kono shara shobdo nei...

2009-11-18T11:53:00.000-08:00

Karu r kono shara shobdo nei..

Karur kono shara shobdo nei..

Othocho kichu bochor agei

Amra na choto chilaam..

Aar shei choto thakar shomoy..

Pujo r chuti bolo, baa vindeshe,

Onno kono chuti bolo..amra shobai..

Naatni ra, naati ra, chute jetam..

tantipara lane er oi barita te..

Dadubhai thakto amader jonno mukhie..

Didubhai roj nanaan dhoron er maach..

Kinba shondhe holei, roll, chop-cutlet anaato..

Aaj..Karur kono shara shobdo nei..

Buro manush gulo ekhon

chaai hoe ube geche..

amra choto ra ekhon boro hoechi..

nanaan mohadeshe..naanaan kaaj e nijeder moton kore

obosthaan korechi..amaader shobaai i ekhon aar keu,

choto o noy, ekaa o noy, shonge jibon shathi ra esheche..

Ma-baba ra, maane oi amader mashi-mesho-mama ra, shobai boyesh hoe..

notun projonme r alo amaader haate tule dieche..

Ei ashay..

je notun projonmo abaar alo aanbe..

aanbe onek kolahol..shokale fute thaka chotto kuri r moton..

notun jibon..

Ashchorjo -- tobu charidike karur kono shara shobdo nei..

Keno jaano ?

Ei juge,

keu shara shobdo kore naa..

Keu kolahol kore naa..

keu chop-cutlet khaay naa..

Jug ta amar moton 'karu' der noy,

tomader moton 'Goru' der..

---

2009-10-27T10:56:00.000-07:00

I could not resist getting back to my blog after an eternity..Reason being the mail above from some guy who apparently got misled into a folk-lore about me..strange to know that i have become one of those eccentric sample that CAT coaching institutes are now touting around to highlight how life can become once you have an IIM MBA...i got into ETIG -- true while i was close to being made a Philips conventional sales & marketing offer on campus -- but that is a little away from the truth that is being circulated with these guys, that i ditched an offer. No way, perhaps i would have charted my life in a different manner had life itself not taken control of my paths ahead...in any case, my kudos to India and Indians..the IIM culture, the MBA hogwash, the eccentric samples (some of whom direct a movie, others open up a travel-firm, or some others end up writing books and praising the latest good looking actress in bolly-town)....and offcourse to the Indian-ness in me..i was given an adrenaline shot with this characterisation in the email..from 2003 to end of 2009...6 years, about half of what appears to be a divine cycle in Hindu time-periods, maybe another world is still coming along...Alvida..

Growing Old

2009-05-11T06:29:00.000-07:00

--Growing Old--

After years trickle by and

new faces and cities

become part of a new life.

When instead of my old lean self,

all you note is my paunch..

I look around and feel

the passing of a decade,

today the young have come

and the hair has grown grey..

It is then, i remember you..

Your touch..

the fingers in my mouth..

The softest corner of your..

Tender lips melting in mine..

Your honest innocent hug,

Still clings on to me,

The last morsel on

your hungry child's lips..

The tears oozed by one by one

As the decade passed

in your sleep on my lap,

i have stayed awake,

Today, the full moon is out.

I have grown old.

2009-04-08T11:57:00.000-07:00

Blogging poetry..
aaaaaa

Four liners for the maple leaf

2008-08-30T21:09:00.000-07:00

If my mother were to know

we all live in this world of shame

she would have sighed and

not tried her hand on poetry.

You and me,

all wrapped in time, running for glory

i see little kids, looking at us,

finding nothing, save a sad story.

Sometimes the light's all shining on me

Other times i can barely see

Lately it occurs to me

What a long strange trip its been.

You are the star,

Wanting to know where we are going,

Too much light here,

The destination not worth showing.

Hit and miss, blood and tears

Childhood stories, grown up liars

I eat your breasts, you bash my penis,
thats to life dear maple, and all its glories..

~ Onno bhor er kobita ~

2008-04-15T23:13:00.000-07:00

Onno Bhor er kobita
--
Shedin notun kobita likhlaam,
onno bhor er kobita.

Ami bhor er pothojatri noi,
shokaal belaay uthe pakhider daake r
piyaashi o noi,
bhor er manush er bestota
amaar kache praachin desh
kinba ojana manush
er motoi orbachin, ochena.

Nisha amaay bhalobashay bedhe rekhechilo,
taanke bhalobashtaam na onno kichu ke,
janina, hoyto taanr nisthobdota ke,
hoyto baa taanr ekakitto ke,
mone hoto, taanr nirliptotay
jeno ami khuje petam,
porom apon nijer konojon ke.

Aaj, nisha vindeshi,
koto din raatri jaagi naa,
taanr shonge bhalobashay motto hoi naa,
amaar kache ekhon notun jibon er patheo,
ei notun bhor, onno bhor.

Age jaantam
amader shoa r pore, bhor hoto,
pakhira deke uthto, shurjo jholshato,
Prithibi taar jibon shuru kore dito,
amra khaali shue thaaktam sharata din
prithibi r theke door e.

Aaj, mishe gechi shei prithibi te,
Bhor e uthi, notun bhor e,
onno bhor e, aar tumi ekhono shue,
din er door er manush ekhon amar kacher.

Nijeke kemon jeno
chinte pari na,
taai kobita likhi,
tomay nie noi,
tomar shoba r pore
purono bhor ke nie noi,
onno bhor ke nie.
--

~ tomar kobita ~

2008-04-13T02:09:00.000-07:00

~tomar kobita~

keno janina,

onek bhebe o,

tomar jonno kobita likhte gele,

amaar haath kenpe jaay...

nijeke proshno kori,

kaaron ta ki..

tumi ki amar kobita nao,

shedin shondhyay tobe ke chile tumi?

hoyto jibon..

aar taai tomar kache,

jibon er kache..

haath kepe,

kobita naa likhte pere,

amar kono lojja hoy naa..

tumi i to amar kobita..

aabaar ohetuk likhe bola keno..

....

A moment in the setting sun

2007-06-15T17:06:00.000-07:00

A moment in the setting sun...

Grandpa strolled across with kids,
youngest in a pram, brother and sister beside
fighting, getting bashed for their antics
crying, stopping, showing signs
of fake anger, forgetting and running along..

They fade out in the distance..
As Mr jogger went past
Sweating body, what a shape,
God's gift, well done man,
keeping it prim and proper!

In the distance the sun,
still bright, tired, its time
to set, the clouds smile
ask it to come back home
it was a hard day's work..

at the signal,
there are cars now,
all colors and shine,
black and blue, steel and white

Time ticks,
music strums into the ears,
the lyrics say, "what do i know love,
of sad evenings, it has lit up,
now that i took your name"..

Time ticks,
Get back to work,
get back to living..

What do i know love,
of sad evenings
or this moment in the setting sun?

~ in memory of Kurt Vonnegut ~

2007-04-12T15:25:00.000-07:00

When the last living thing

has died on account of us,

how poetical it would be

if Earth could say,

in a voice floating up

perhaps

from the floor

of the Grand Canyon,

“It is done.”

People did not like it here.

My life from the rains to the snows and...

2007-02-17T18:09:00.000-08:00

---

While writing these few lines
and walking amidst the snows
i suddenly have all the yearnings
for the rains...

Around me a pale sun
and stilled out trees
flakes pouring a pile

here and there around..

thats the winter country
living in, i realise how

i have forgotten my
own beloved rains...

and how in another world

they come bringing with them

joy and sound, green and peace,
playing with clouds and lightening in the sky..

none of that here...
in this snow country
no rains only flakes
no green only white...

Somebody once told me
that heaven is perhaps like this
he hadn't seen the rains
born in a winter country..

and left me wondering

how heaven n bliss, never being there

yet differ in imageries we know...

and keep knowing and changing thus..

while writing these lines
walking through the snows
looking at the trees

stilled by incessant flakes

travelling and yearning

for green and beloved rains...
born in a rain country
walking now in a snow country..

dying ...who knows which country? :)

~:)

Utshob er baluchore..

2007-01-28T16:34:00.000-08:00

Kubja, esho prithibike khuchro bhabhe dekhi..
kauke bujhie bolar dorkaar nei, keno e-bhabhe dekha..
noukou teer e laageni. tikitghor ekhono ondhokaar..
shudhu amaar angul er angti r pathor joljol korche..
jeno banshberia r aalo.
tobe ki aamra kono utshob er baluchore pouche gechi?

Kubja, come, let us see the world in its smallest elements,

no need to explain to anybody, why we shall see like this..

the boat hasnt touched the shores yet, the ticket rooms still dark..

just the ring on my fingers are shining bright still..

as if the last flickers in a dark bamboo jungle..

Is it true, that we have finally reached the beaches of some festival then....

~patchy and rusty posting after a long time...a bengali poem by Utpol Kumar Basu at

http://www.boipara.com/bengali_literature_ebooks/bengali_poetry_ebook_kuri1st01.asp

~ 2 Himself ~

2006-11-13T17:47:00.000-08:00

---

Now you will rest forever,
My tired heart. The fabulous deceit
That i myself believed eternal has ended.
Ended. How sharply i feel,
In we of the dear deceit,
There is no hope, desire being spent.
Rest forever. So many
palpitations. Your flutterings
Serve no one, nor do you dignify the earth
with your sighs. Life is bitter and empty,
nothing more. The world is a slough.
Calm yourself now. Despair.
For the last time. Fate gave your kind
no gift but death. At last
nature disdains you, the brute
power that, lurking, imposes the common day,
and the infinite variety of things.

~by Giacomo Leopardi from the Italian version, and yet the tears dont stop reading these lines, knowing these lines, living these lines....

~ You and my cigarette ~

2006-11-06T11:03:00.000-08:00

--
Most times,
when i travel miles,
across the skies and oceans,
reaching you and your gentle hand,

I can sense your numbness.

I move my fingers slowly
on your sleeping ones
i wide awake in the sun of the day,
you in your dreams of the night

And you turn around just a bit.

Slowly, i caress your hair
move the sheet up, to cover
your sensitive soul
and give you a kiss on the forehead.

I walk out then for a cigarette.

It is sunny here,
people soaking in daytime activites,
me and my cigarette sees them
and smiles in trifle sadness

You get up,
something told your dreamy self
that i must be out, on the terrace
or on the streets, smoking,

And you come and embrace me,

I hold you tight,
I stand still,
i sense my numbness as you get alive
and i ask my stupid self,
Why, WHY do i smoke a cigarette?
--

~ to Love ~

2006-11-05T10:34:00.000-08:00

'To Love'

----

I didnt ask you to stay
but you stayed
I never asked you who you were
Or what you wanted.
You were simply there.
What do you want from me, love?
Was i not stronger alone?
And did i ever need you?
But stay a bit longer.
Not long,
Just until they stop asking
how i am,
And i stop saying, 'Fine'
Everyone can tell at a glance:
You are here.
If you ever leave me,
i will go with you.

-------

~ from 'Love in thoughts' extract 3.

~ at the zenith ~

2006-11-05T10:32:00.001-08:00

Maybe its true
that people are only truly happy, just once in their lives,
just once, And then they are punished for it for the rest of their lives,
The punishment is that they can never forget that one moment.
I think its best..to say goodbye at the right time. Namely when you'are the happiest.
Precisely then, At the zenith.

-- From 'Love in thoughts' extract 2.

'love in thoughts'

2006-11-05T10:32:00.000-08:00

-------

Dear Universe,

When we have ceased to exist,
we dont want anyone to miss us,
or shed even a single tear for us.
If anyone wants to keep us
in his memory, let him do so in joy.
For you see,
we did the only right thing,
we lived.

-------

from the movie, Love in Thoughts, extract 1.

| Blessed are the cigarette smokers |

2006-10-24T09:28:00.000-07:00

Dear Mr Cigarette Manufacturer,

Its time to compliment you today.

Many years back i had slapped a friend, who smoked and entered my hostel room. I was a young chap then, with preconceived notions of what one should and should not do. Smoking and drinking came under the aegis of those 'one should not do' activities. Times have changed and like the aging leaves of autumn who stand the wrath of winters and finally wither off, that me has wrinkled away as well.

The new me survives on cigarettes. And what beauty and solace you bring to me, Mr Cigarette. Especially in times like these. When i scout for some soul in this world to talk my soul out. But find none. Not my mother. Not sister or father or even the person i am going to marry in a few months time from now. No friend to open my pains out for all that they possibly can do listening to my predicament is to listen and empathise. But given the backgrounds they come from they possibly wont be able to offer me active strategies.

And behold i dont want 'strategies' i just want the blessings of the 'cigarette smokers'. :)

The first snow of the season has occurred. Its cold today but that is only but a metaphore to my life. Life has become a queer concoction of conflicts, which i might want to handle and steer towards peaceful solutions. But know fully well, that i cant. It will be difficult. Handling never solved anything, the outcome, as Mr Godbole in Forsters 'A passage to India' will like to say: is defined.

Writh in pain i may, handling strategies i might devise, but the outcome shall still remain defined.

Mother understands it a little. But what can she do? Poor she, she feels it, but given her willing submission, she has opted to be the second player. Else perhaps she would have met somebody to my liking and steer my wedlock in that direction. And then again, who can assure that that particular outcome would have assured perfect harmony. Perfect harmony is a myth is it? I dont know but till then:

Blessed are the cigarette smokers.

Sister gets married off in a few months. To a very lovable chap. And i, to another lady a lovable woman. Unfortunately, the women in question, sister and she, will be trapped in the beholdings of us - the lovable chap and me, their respective husbands. And they might whimper about comparative situations, but the outcome still shall remain defined.

A moving out, is that a solution. Staying single for some more time, a punch on the face of a lady whom i have 'touched' gently and genuinely, is that a solution? Dont think so. How selfish would that be? Perhaps silence is golden only for such situations.

But till then Blessed are the cigarette smokers, and the song writers who write words like these:

"And here i sit hand on a telephone,
hearing a voice i know,
a couple of light years ago,
heading straight for a fall..."

Bless the fall Mr Cigarette Maker...

~ Amen, the cigarette smoker.

? Who am I ?

2006-10-22T19:10:00.000-07:00

---
Who am I?
---

In many ways,
you are like her,
coming with your ideas to me,
a flash flood not known in the seasons,
of lost love
and broken faiths

In many ways she was like you,
picking the phone up,
talking a little,
then rushing off, with excuses,
money or work, whichever you want,

In many ways,
you are like her
calling me by the same name,
with which mother ushered me into this world,
a baby long back, now a aged bumpkin,

In many ways,
you and she,
and she and you,
are like all of you,
who walk into my life,
own me, despair owning me,
leave, leaving me wiser, whimpering,

that you are not she,
and she,
if alive and listening,
is or was not you,

how about me then,
who am I?
----

|Junk Talk|

2006-10-22T19:06:00.000-07:00

-------

Good morning!
Hello!!!
How are you doing ?
Oh..i am good...
How about you?

Quite nice..
Thanks for asking:)
Catch you around

Walk on.. Next Morning,

Good Morning!
Hellooo!!!
What's up ?
Nothing much!
You ?
Oh same old story! :(

Life is boring,
Ah...true!
I got to rush
(fear getting emotional in office)
(have to keep work n life in separate silos)

That is fine..
Have a good one.
Take care man..
How about taking it easy..
No No, hang in there..
not too easy, nor too tight.
figure out the optimum..

Junk Talks..
give me my solitude,
please, i rather not talk,
than to talk junk at all.
-----------

A letter to Senor Sharma

2006-10-22T18:59:00.000-07:00

---

A letter to Senor Sharma

---
Dear Mr Sharma,
Your Sons, A & R,
Are with me in the same college,
Young Chaps, good chaps, Senor,

They have it in their eyes,
yet many a times,
a little low i feel,
not for them,
they are fine,
eager to make a mark,
like you the strolling diplomat,

no roots, no anchor, so what,
for the country's sake, you
rove the world, but for you,
yes,

a little low, i feel,

why this messing up of life,
why leave your kids behind,
in one concrete jungle after another,
large cities and small,
urban and semi urban conglomerates,

When,

they could have done so well,
by being a little more secure,
a little less fidgety
surer a little more of their wants,

More importantly, also of,
not what they want,
with you,
Senor Sharma at home,
surer roots not travelling,
alas you dont, you come and leave them,
fine chaps, good chaps,
the Sharma brothers
talking to me,
another Senor in the making,
in their college?

--

out of fear or fearlessness ?

2006-10-22T18:48:00.000-07:00

----
There as you stand, smoke,
And smoke and stand,
tall, strapping, hair unkempt,
fearless, loquacious,
you remind me of past days.

There used to be evenings,
not so long back, a year
there or after, when,
fear i had known none, today

not that i am afraid,
but the question of being so,
has walked past me,
as if,

lapping me up in the corner,
leaving that last iota of
travelling thoughts,
beyond fear or fearlessness

Me still not venturing,
or having ventured,
in a journey useless,
stand here still,

looking at you,
standing and smoking
and smoking and standing,
wondering why i am, where i am,

trembling,
out of fear or
fearlessness ?
----

'Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore'

2006-09-28T16:51:00.000-07:00

~
Everyone knows that there’s no place like home
I’m just seeking refuge in a world full of storms
Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore

The natives are hostile whatever I say
The thing they fear most is I might want to stay
By their side on a different shore, can’t go home anymore

I escape my tormentors by crossing the sea
What I cannot escape is the memory
Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore

Everyone knows that there’s no place like home
I’m just seeking refuge in a world full of storms
Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore
Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore
Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore
~

-- and however much, i try to forget, that its puja time, this irish folk song catches me by my tears...am washed up on a distant shore, cant go home anymore..i can smell the kaash ful, feel the air back home, sitting here, on a distant shore, and do nothing, sit silent, i can't go home anymore..

'Bhalobasha bhalobasha'

2006-08-29T05:13:00.000-07:00

Amaar moton shukhi ke aache,
aay shokhi aay amaar kaache,
shukhi hridoyer shukher gaan,
shuniya toder juraabe praan...

Protidin jodi kaadibi kebol,
ek din noy hashibi tora,
ek din noy bishaade bhuliya,
shokole miliya gaahibo mora,

Bhabona kahaare bole,
Shokhi..jatona kahaare bole,
tomra je bolo dibosho rojoni,
Bhalobasha, bhalobasha,

Shokhi bhalobasha kaare koy,
She ki keboli chokh er jol,
she ki keboli dukh er shaash,
loke tobe kore ki shukh er tor emon dukh er aash...

-- my day starts with this song, some silent tears, and loads of classes! :) bingo!!!!

'Amelie'

2006-08-28T14:32:00.000-07:00

amelie

walking home alone from the crowded
theater, i stop to watch a single
petal float and shimmer in the
street lamp's gentle warming glow.

i cup it in my open palm,
and say softly to myself:

i need to be reminded,
now and again,
to love.

- DBN

and this poem by a new faculty member, posted on his website, reminded me of that Hariharan ghazal...Halka sa ek nasha tha...

'Its Mom you Know'

2006-08-28T14:26:00.000-07:00

--
I have been thinking about this
for sometime now,
how drab i have grown,
my lines dried up

Lo-behold they came back to me,
today evening after classes,
with a stick in my hand,
i strolled out for a smoke,

The droplets tried to
run my stick over, but
i tried being fast
outpacing the rains from drenching my smoke

When i caught hold of a chap
seated beside me
talking on the phone
as a lady strolled by

Keeping the person on the phone
waiting, he chatted with her
and when she said, i will catch you
later, you get back to the phone,

He said,
'Its Mom you know..'
a smirk exchanged,
and i wondered, Mom did you know?
---

time for 'A Sentence'

2006-08-24T13:19:00.000-07:00

its time to be back to life again..celebrating with a poem, writer, Anna Akhmatova, fits my situation well..travel on...

A Sentence
--
And the stone word fell
On my still-living breast.
Never mind, I was ready.
I will manage somehow.

Today I have so much to do:
I must kill memory once and for all,
I must turn my soul to stone,
I must learn to live again—

Unless . . . Summer's ardent rustling
Is like a festival outside my window.
For a long time I've foreseen this
Brilliant day, deserted house.
--

| Fire Asha |

2006-05-28T15:48:00.000-07:00

--
Dobhashi r dayitto niyechi,
likhte boshechi kobita,
banglay, ebong ektu, engreji,
Shironaam, Fire Asha.

Nischoy bolbi, dhong,
kobita likhe i khalaash,
kothay fire ashish tui,
kaar kaache ashish,
aashar icche ki shotti i aache tor,

Uttor to jani naa shona,
tobu likhi, fire ashi,
I come back, fire asha,
coming back

Cheshta kori naa,
uttor dite, amar dike
deyal er oi kon e boshe,
tui jokhon takiye jiggesh korei cholechish,

Fire ashi, ei kon e,
shuye, tor dike takai,
amar priyotomo tui,
janish, shomoy, jug, kaal,
praani ke koto boro theke,
koto choto kore dey,

Kintu dekh toke dekhe,
aami onuprerona pai,
Shunte pai, ekshomoy
tui naaki, prithibi dapiye berati,
ki guru gorjon tor,
aami i dhoritri r raja,
ekhon khali, tik tik, aar tik tik,

Maa bolchilo,
amar o naaki, golar gorjon,
hariye geche,
tui to amar bondhu,
bujhish nischoy keno,

keno, train ta jokhon,
chottobelar bhore r bhire r,
station e thame,
aashe naa kono chokhe jol,
hridoy e unmadona,
tobe ki shotti fire ashi,

firi, maa er kol e firi,
nischoyi, firi, icche thaka,
baa naa thaka shotteo, fire
aami ashi, eta onekta,

bari r briddho manush ta r,
shesh din gona r moton,
bachte i hoy, beche aachi,
firte i hoy fire ashi,

Aar pitpit kore takash naa,
amar je kicchu i hoy naa,
bhoy, lojja, shorom,
kicchui noy,
shudhu tor pit pit dekhte pari,
tik tik shunte pai,

cheshta korlam, toke bojhate,
je fire eshechi, kobita ta likhe,
dobhashi r kaaj niye, engreji teo
fire ashi, i come back,
bangla teo, shei fire asha, having coming back.
--

|Walking through the open skies|

2006-05-17T14:13:00.000-07:00

An Open Sky

After all
the prayers
have been said,
and the tears shed
and the uncomfortable silences,
when we cannot respond,
endured
there remains
the soft, tender sorrow
that time does not heal.

And in that sorrow,
Fatah,
an opening
to the genuine sadness
of being alive ---
open to
the absolute necessity
of letting go
of everyone
and everything
we love.

we can close off
this deep sadness
or open
our tender hearts
so wide
that our heart
becomes as an
open sky ---

no borders,
nor boundaries,
just
an open sky.

---

In a couple of days more – the first chapter of the story shall be over.

A boy shall enter into intermission - much like movie show ones -- having tasted another un-tasted chapter of life. How was it like? Warm, nice, affectionate, slow, fast, alien, uncomfortable or what special adjective shall fit the bill?

Neither the boy knows, nor the writer of the story. Sometimes the boy wonders does anybody know anything at all. He looks at eyes of men and women, layered with various colors of the skin, looks at large cities and small, sits in long journeys in the buses or in trains smelling or perfumed. Nobody knows, they, much like him, seem like zombies walking the walks of life. Only the kids know and the simple village folks do. But then when was the last time he was with one of them, a small child or an unaffected simple working rustic fellow? He has forgotten.

What he remembers though is that the last year was another plunge he took. Was that by choice, or just that he was made to drift into here, this small city so many miles from what he knows to be home. He faced people who have migrated too, much like Siberian cranes as they do to escape the harsh winters. The people here from all around the world do that too – unlike winters they escape their pasts, the old roads from home, the hardships of a not so easy life back in what they call their home country. There is no home, noone’s own country, just where the heart lies, there shall the feet travel.

So where does the heart lie? Interesting question, wish he knew, or somebody knew, but maybe it lies just around the corner, ripped apart from the torso, throbbing still. He looks at it at the corner of the door, still pumping, not willing to die, despite failures in his life, myriad throwing around by fellow men or the feet becoming tired still. Today the heart lies and looks at its heartless body. Walking like a zombie. And then it looks at the open sky, cries with Rumi the poet:

No borders, no boundaries, just an open sky!

In a couple of days more, the first chapter of this story shall be over. He will be back into the skies again, kissing the clouds, travelling across borders and boundaries, crying up in the air, hidden from everybody, to see if there is any chunk of heart still left, from where his feet first started walking.

| Ruk jana nahin, tu kaahin haar ke, kaaton pe, chalke, milenge saaye bahaar ke |

2006-05-15T11:44:00.000-07:00

---

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my advisory committee for their help and support during the years. Professor RP has always been on my side and her constant encouragement has been priceless in finishing my dissertation. She mostly helped me in modeling and empirical analysis, but her influence on my research and life is far beyond that.

Professor RT is one of the most dedicated and wise researcher we have ever seen. Thanks to his help in modeling, I am able to finish the third chapter of this dissertation with full confidence. And lastly, I cannot express enough gratitude for the support and encouragement by Professor AA. He helped me in every aspect of my research. He left a mark on my research style. And I will benefit from his influence immensely in my future research. He was the one that encouraged me not to take the shortcut, but challenge the best.

It is never enough to emphasize the importance of my family in my life. Without their dedicated love, life is meaningless. Particularly, my farther has been my life-time role model. He taught me no matter how difficult it seems, there is always a solution. He has not had the opportunities to devote his energy in research regardless of his thirst for knowledge and innovation. I would like to express my gratitude to him: ”You have been a great father, and this dissertation is also yours.”

Moreover, I would to thank the Heinz faculty. It was Professor RK who led me into this fascinating research field. Professor WV has offered his best effort in sharpening my empirical study skills.

Finally, I would like to dedicate my thesis to my homeland, China. I have been a proud Chinese throughout of my life. That never changed and will never change!
---

A few notables of life hopefully in order.

- Visited New York city, mingled with different kinds of people. Some newly in, boisterous eager to gell into the city. Some dearest ones, long timers, looking to settle down in life. And some others, talking about how to shift midtown and stay close to their working places.

- The city is huge, a totally different experience, imagine how it has been so for all these decades, a strange medlee of different cultures, and this is the city the other-world creators tried to attack and destroy. Capitalism, is this world, first make a different world dearests, and then you wont need to attack or destroy anybody, they would come and flock at your corner. Just like they did at the Big Apple. Saludos New York City am humbled by your show...

- Coming back, i met an angel on the bus. An upcoming singer from New York, a beautiful discussion we had, on life love and longing. That is how the strangest things happen in life. After a year of studies, there the interesting bit of life came back to me, on the bus, in a different land, but the feeling of travel and fellow travellers still the same.

- Pittsburgh, dear old pittsburgh, i missed you. Sorely missed you, and suddenly when in New York city, realised how i have neglected you. The secure confines that you have blessed me with, my desk at school, the research solace, am glad am here, i must not be as negligent as i have been till now with you.

- And finally, the 'acknowledgement' section, above. By a passing out PhD student in his dissertation. Some day, lady, yes i see you as lady, i will write one such page too. Till then, do be with me, despite my weaknesses, frailties and shortcomings.

- About 4 days from the travel back home, am totally full with emotions. Each note, each path comes back, the taste of the different fishes maa makes, the leaves of the trees in my city back home, the open spaces, baba, bon, maa, we all together after such a long time again....

I am coming darling! I am coming...but then, my lady awaits me here too, and i will have to be back...:)

~Amen...

| Holud Paakhi |

2006-05-10T17:28:00.000-07:00

shei je holud paakhi..
boshe jamrul gaach er daal e..
o tor holo dakadaki..
amaar shoishob er shokaale..

Ekdin gelo ure, janina,
kon shudure..
Firbe naa..she ki firbe naa...
Firbe naa..aar kono din..

......

| Smiles gone Grey |

2006-05-07T00:14:00.000-07:00

I have been asked
to write a poem on the colour grey
Not black, nor white
but which lies in between, grey

And all i can think of
to start with greying hair,
grey school trouser a decade ago
or the grey clouds embracing my sky's home

The poet, me
feels like a child
Asking me, she has vanished
Into her greys, me here in black and white

A dozen things in this world
are in those two colours
but for those three blind men
coming down from the train

the station before mine
in the last city i lived,
they i know, knew not grey,
neither black or white

Colours, grey, black,
white, or those of the rainbow,
do they carry much meaning?
or it is about how they are splashed at you

On a tottering easel
and splintered drawing board
modern painting they might say
But she and I

Having seen the greys
the blacks, the whites
knowing, what it was,
Smiled..

I had been asked
to write a poem on the colour grey
Not black nor white
but that which lies in between, grey

And we smiled
our smiles now, grey..

~Amen..

|Bharat Hum ko Jaan Se Pyaara Hain|

2006-05-05T17:46:00.000-07:00

15 more days and i cant but be restless to get going...Home, where my heart is...and look at my fellow country men, here so many miles away, so apathetic, merciless, so nonchalant about being away..from the land that they smelled, toiled and grew up in!!!

Guide says, rather unemotionally, before going u have XYZ more days, c what you can do? - How can somebody work, after all these weeks of toiling, when home starts ringing its siren bells..Doesnt he understand?

A friend says - come out of it, what home sickness man, dont behave like a woman, is it a trait of a woman, that you long for your country back so many miles away..

People - ask why are you going home, you could have stayed over summers and done research, what research, i wonder, when the heart is not in its place, bled, despondent, full of stories to be told my nearest ones, where in the picture does research come at all ?

- Listening to Hariharan and writing, they have, i have allowed them, to take away all my poetry, but not this last bit, never....

~Bharat hum ko jaan se pyara hain...

| Hey Mohajibon|

2006-05-04T21:18:00.000-07:00

| Daayeri Theke |

2006-04-30T08:58:00.000-07:00

From a Diary..

Kobita r Agraahtishojye aami aaro oneker i moto,
du-chaarte bhul kore feli, chonde r bepare toto,
Obohito non uni, kono mastaar bolechilo,
shikkha r obhav aache - emon o shunechi.

Shob i oudhashinnye mene ni, karon shokaale,
bajaar er pothe, shobji r dokaan e, aarchokhe letush pata ti
dekhechi, ebong bhebhechi, jodi or moto lojjay,
kukre jete paartaam, jol er obhav e jodi shukotaam,
khure nebaar kicchu khon baade jodi benke jetaam,
chire portaam sthobdhotaay, holud-shobuj salader plete e..

A Translation

In the overeagerness of poetry, myself,
like so many others, make a mistake or two,
about rhyme, he is not so aware of,
some teacher had said once, education he lacks,
have heard that too..

I accept all such shortcomings, nonchalance, because,
in the morning, at the market, buying vegetables, i saw,
kind of benignly with my slant eyes, the lettuce leave,
saw, and said, if i could like her, shrink up in shame
just before being dug up, if i could bend out like her,
tearing myself, in the sounds of silence,
over the yellow-green salad's plate..

Oshadharon, beautiful poetry, by Utpol Kumar Basu, this time's Anondo Puraskar winner in Kolkata..More on him at http://www.boipara.com/bengali_literature_ebooks/bengali_poetry_literature_utpal01.asp

~amen..

| Musafir hoon Yaaron |

2006-04-28T14:06:00.000-07:00

Musafir Hoon Yaaron
Na ghar hain naa thikana
Mujhe chalte jaana hain
Bas..Chalte jaana..

Ek raah ruk gaayi
to aur jud gaayi
mein mura to saath saath
raah mud gaayi
Hawa ke paro par
mera ashiyaana..

Musafir hoon yaaron
na ghar hain naa thikanaa.
mujhe chalte janaa hain.
Bas chalte jaanaa..

Din ne haath tham kar
idhar (pittsburgh) bitha liya
raat ishaare se udhar (durgapur) bula liya
shubha se shaam se mera dostaana

Musafir hoon yaaron..

|nucleus of a song and a smile|

2006-04-24T13:47:00.000-07:00

one song, one smile..and how it captures..the nucleus of life, subtly and delicately.. ..am i the person for such a somebody!

him jhora chandni aalote..
haath duti raakhle noy ei haate..

ei tumi ei aami aanmone..
ek hoye gechi prem milone..

him jhora chandni aalote..
haath duti raakhle noy ei haate..

kotha noy aaji i niralaay..
mon deoa neoa hok dujonaay..

ei tumi, ei aami, aanmone..
ek hoye gechi, prem milone..

him jhora chandni aalote..
haath duti raakhle noy ei haate..

~tis a week of a song, which killed me..a smile which soothed me..thank u lord, more than me, do bless her..

| Remembering Mumbai |

2006-04-22T19:58:00.000-07:00

~An Ad..nice one..

Omolkanti

2006-04-17T23:00:00.000-07:00

| 2 Questions, i dont want answers|

2006-04-17T17:59:00.000-07:00

How are you?

happy or unhappy,

Last night, after so many days,
living with you, your imageries,
left over silences, chirps,
loving you, i finally unloved you..

Go, where you want to go,
come back, and the promise
i had made, i will be there,
will be null and void..

She deserves all of me,
not you, not you,
how mean, how black
and white, full of no-greys,
how ruthless you were with me,
understanding me, and yet
not at all understanding me

If you find me, or I find you
dont expect anything, from me,
she has all the rights,
her hair, her eyes,
her gait and silences, obediences,
the child in her, has rights on me,

Today i have again decided
to become free, to love her,
unloving you...

What is love, though?

|Amaar Nisheeth - o Raat - er o - Badal - o - Dhara..|

2006-04-16T15:38:00.000-07:00

In Bengali..

Amaar Nisheeth - o Raat - er o - Badol - o - Dhara..
Esho hey, gopone, amaar, shopon o loker dishahara,

Ogo ondhokaar er, ontorodhon, daao dheke mor poraano mor,
Aaami chaine, aami chaine, aami chaaine topon, chaine tara,

Nisheeth - o - Raat - er o - Badol - o Dhara..
Amaar Nisheeth - o Raat - er o - Badal - o - Dhara..

Jokhon shobaai mogon, ghum er ghore, niyo go, niyo go,
Amaar ghum niyo go boron o kore,

Jokhon shobaai mogon, ghum er ghore, niyo go, niyo go,
Amaar ghum niyo go boron o kore

Ekla ghore, chupe chupe, esho kebol, shur er rupe,
Ekla ghore, chupe chupe, esho kebol, shur er rupe,

Diyo go, diyo go, amaar chokh er jol er diyo shaara,
Nisheeth - o - Raat - er o - Badol - o Dhara..

Amaar Nisheeth - o Raat - er o - Badol - o - Dhara..
Esho hey, gopone, amaar, shopon o loker dishahara,
Amaar Nisheeth - o Raat - er o - Badol - o - Dhara..

In English...

|Amaar Nisheeth - o Raat - er o - Badal - o - Dhara..|

The clouds and rains of my dark deep nights
Come over, secretly, so what,

if aimlessly from the land of my dreams
Oh the innermost treasures of darkness,

Come over, cover my soul,
I dont want the sun, nor the stars,
Just the clouds and rains of my dark deep nights

When all of you are asleep,
do take my sleep over, you oh darkness,

If you come, come over,
only as music, in a solitary corner of the room,
And try giving answers to the tears of mine,

The clouds and rains of my dark deep nights
Come over, secretly, so what,
if aimlessly from my land of dreams...

~This song in bengali, explains the phd path, in totality it seems, start walking dear child, she, he, they are all waiting for you to join the walk with them, its time, high time.....else everything will fall astray...

|How Ustadji taught me a lesson!|

2006-04-15T18:38:00.000-07:00

Am talking of Ustad Amjad Ali Khan, and his recital here, at the Carnegie Music Hall, yesterday. Some factoids before we get into the meat of the story.

a. He was accompanied with his two sons, Aman and Ayan.

b. Two tabla players too, one a disciple of Pandit Kishen Maharaj, and the other son of a decently stalwart tabla player, Anindo Chatterjee, the names: Anubrata Chatterjee( the announcer got it wrong, spelled it like a woman's name, and i wondered, how incidental, :) the readers of this page would know why!:)), and the other i have forgotten the chap's name, its a sacrilege but am sorry...

c. The plan of the programme: Ustadji, plays two short compositions first, leaves the stage for his sons, comes back, plays again a short one, and the three then end, the story for the evening, with Raag Kirwani, a South Indian classical borrowing, very judiciously picked..since all evening we were listening to entire India, East (Bengal and Assam), North (with a pilu kinds beat), West ( a Ganesh Bandana ) but then, what would happen to the South Indian brethrens spread around the world...hats off Ustadji, you sketched it nice...

The lesson:

a. But before that, let me talk of what else, if something else, is happening in life. A friend calls up, wants me to help her with an online magazine she wants to launch, and i talk of, i can help, but...lets bring young people, writers on board..and she agreed, and i thought, so are we becoming old....

b. The other day, my advisor, and two other very senior professors, start debating in a seminar if 56 is an old age, and i wondered, so...here is a feeling thats not new to me alone, aging men and women think about this too, that there time is going, and its time to pass on the baton, the stories to a new generation ...after all, tomorrow we will all perish aint it!

c. So hold on, the lesson is coming, but the weather outside was beautiful. It was sunny the entire day, rained a little in the evening, with Kimi, my Japanese friend, ( who thought Ustadji's music, seemed to give him a feeling as if he was walking on an ocean, he could feel the waves, and could see the bed, and yet, he knows that his walk on the ocean is alone, still, ongoing...) i enjoyed the sporadic Westerlies, that were stripping the spring flowers and laying them astray on the plush American roads, so typically home, i thought and felt comfortable....

All righto, the lesson then, and we go back to Raag Kirwani, and how Ustadji managed the cadences with the Sarod, he went fast, and then went slow, and then allowed Aman and Ayan to pick up the speed and then calibrate it too, giving space to the tabla players to catch up with the beats and the intermittent gaps as well, beautiful control, yes, thats the word, control, and beauty, composed, and lilting, like the rivers, which flow from the mountains into the plains, and soon submerges into the oceans, Kimi's oceans.....

Got the feel, collected it all, her and my thoughts to include young people, on board, how professors think/dont know/wonder, if 50+ means you are aging, Baba had written about this a little while back, the brain not being able to store data more, and i understood..the winds of change are blowing..

If i dont latch on to it now, bridge the young the aging with a new garb of being on stage, who will..if you dont, dear readers, who will!

So on that note, Vaah Ustadji, heres to you a bow, and a lovely poem to leave you with...

O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities fill'd with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light--of the objects mean--of the struggle ever renew'd;
Of the poor results of all--of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest--with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring--What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here--that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you, you...will contribute a verse.

~Still a Child, but a growing child, the poem courtesy Walt Whitman!

|Tales and Truces|

2006-04-14T14:16:00.000-07:00

|Tales and Truces|

Tell him dear,
That if i could
I would have written
this in my mother's tongue
This small piece for him..

Years it has been,
have left her womb,
embraced languages and concoctions
Writing still In adopted
scripts, the words loosing meaning..but not the feelings,

Tell him that my old friend,
Dadu, Grandpa, waits for him too,
Up there, Is it up,
Maybe its down, or maybe
the transition is on a same level ground

From one womb to the other
One tongue to another
One country to another
Some people to some other
All one, the same, life and the world..

Tell him that as i write
Sitting in a class, a professor,
narrates his work, a goatee,
suggesting dissertation topics, I look
at him, write and cry,

Tears, Moist eyes,
Wet noses, but they,
they are all so busy,
engrossed, analysing the area,
'The dark side of social ties'..

In this life, Am privy
to a social ivy, but,
the people who study the
world, seem to me as
nothing more, but on a chevy..

Tell him, am still on my legs,
No wheels, not yet, future,
i dont know, mother says,
she is afraid, she emails
me, and i revel at her dexterity..

To adapt and adopt,
changing times, varying rules
of the same old game; she sitting there,
just refuted the professor,
and then she went quiet..

Everybody knows the futility of it,
this is not a changed world, some things
are always the same,
vulnerable, praying, hoping,
still beautiful, with its own beauty..

Like her, continuing the argument
the professor tries, explains,
She just smiles, a beatific
one, the prof shakes a litle,
his goatee rumbles, truce;

Thats how life has been,
will always be; about truce,
He, my granpa, you, me, the lady
In the corner arguing, the professor,

My mother, her son,
the world, students inside
or outside the class, workers or
idle chaps, lovers or
disbelievers of love...

Everybody i know, look around
has made a truce, I realise
there is, was, always has been
a battle, for the children,
the young and the old,

Making a truce at the end of it,
waiting for nights to arrive,
the sun blazing, little too much,
the moon beckons, Its calmness
and languid black etches...

Like her voice,
the rare time she speaks,
I write, keep writing,
dont utter a word, hoping
that this you will tel him dear..

That nights, the deep darkness,
Days, the warm sun clad ones,
the most thoughtful lost ones,
or the nonthinking fools, around,
they are the same, mirror images of each other,

Truce that is what, they have all
made with each other, the images,
the people, with smiles,
tears, anger, sadness, warmth or
perhaps with a little blood

Tell him dear, we,
you and me,
still the warriors, and when,
our tales on the battlefiled
will have been written, shall make truce too...

~Rather shoddy, will embellish this one, some time..

~ The Night, from outside my house ~

2006-04-14T11:04:00.000-07:00

--The Night--

1.
Today I have become the night.
Let no light touch me.
Let the meaning I have been cease.
Let my body become a different body.
Let all names signifying me disappear.
Pushed by an irresistible impulse
to become the night
I arrived here.
Let me become the night today.
I have a single aspiration today—
to become the night,
to abolish the ugliness in everything
and install beauty in its place.

2.
How long must I wait
before it is night ?
One cannot recollect the day's looks
unless it is night.
The moon and the stars will not arrive
unless it is night.
The whole sky will be a wilderness
unless it is night.
How do I get the time
to bring back to my mind
your celebrated eyes
unless it is night ?
How can the tuberoses of my steadfast love
blossom into expanding whiteness
unless it is night ?
How long must I wait
before it is night ?

3.
Describing that night is unholy.
Remembering the eyes of that night
is also unholy.
Years pass,but that exquisite night
does not re-enter my mind
that's still, and on the way to holiness.
Some unfinished poem
was inscribed on that night's face.
In the lamplight of my soul
I had once read its lines.
I am the despair of that poem,
and I dissolve
in the night.
I am already an ingredient of the night,
but the splendour of that night
(which, once upon a time,
was my own body's splendour)
does not return,
and years pass.

-- Prabashini Mahakud Tiwari,

Source: An old man, a close friend's grandfather suggested him to read this poem and having read it he sent it to me.

| for Maa, Baba and Bon |

2006-04-13T15:37:00.000-07:00

|To every Parent |

There are little eyes upon you,
And they are watching night and day;

There are little ears that quickly take
In Every word you say;

There are little hands all eager to do
Everything you do,
And a little child who's dreaming of
The day he'll be like you.

You're the little child's idol,
You're the wisest of the wise,
In his little mind about you,
No Suspicions ever rise,

He believes in you devoutly,
Holds all you say and do;
He will say and do in your way when
He's grown up to be like you.

Theres a wide eyed little child who
Believes you're always right,
And his ears are always open and he
watches day and night;
You are setting an example,
Everyday in all you do
For the little child whos waiting,
To grow up and be like you..

~Author unknown.

| No more Masks, No more Mythologies ! |

2006-04-12T16:44:00.000-07:00

The Poem as a Mask

When I wrote of the women in their dances and wildness, it was a mask,
on their mountain, gold-hunting, singing, in orgy,
it was a mask; when I wrote of the god,
fragmented, exiled from himself, his life, the love gone down with song,
it was myself, split open, unable to speak, in exile from myself.

There is no mountain, there is no god, there is memory
of my torn life, myself split open in sleep, the rescued child
beside me among the doctors, and a word
of rescue from the great eyes.

No more masks! No more mythologies!

Now, for the first time, the god lifts his hand,
the fragments join in me with their own music..

~ Muriel Rukeyeser.

| Reality, from above, through the window |

2006-04-12T15:54:00.000-07:00

"Everytime i close the door on reality, it comes in through the window."

|Spring 2006|

2006-04-12T14:42:00.000-07:00

|Spring '06|

Last spring, was down and out,
This spring, feel the pressure of the world,

Last spring, she went out of my life,
This spring, she strides in

Last spring, hated discipline
This spring, start loving it

Last spring, was still near home
This spring, so far away, that distances i fail to understand

Last spring, was made a man,
This spring, am becoming a gentle-man

Last Spring, despaired,
This Spring, stay aware

This of two Springs, from other seasons,
of two mes, from all my other mes...

Some select things happening in life.

* Shed off my favourite moustache after about a decade.
* Try to love routine and organisation to give reign to myself.
* A very senior (i respect a lot) economic history professor tells me, i need to discipline myself, though my "ideas flow a mile a minute".
* Float the idea of a magazine in our school's research community, might steer it start a Heinz Research blog. Seems like i am getting included in the community.
* Maa is worried, sister is worried, but i am not, i feel peace ever more so in life. This despite, a queer financial crunch i live through these days.
* And that despite knowing life shall be tough from here on.
* And yes, after a long time, i meet a good lady, dont know what will happen with her though, despite our ever promising increasing friendship.
* She says, i dont know a thing, and really i dont know a thing, let it remain that way.
* Remember dadu a lot, these days, and his walks, and the walking stick and what he shared with me, before he was gone.
* Got to sit with baba, its been a long long time, since we have had a heart to heart discussion, maybe we need it, so that we both enrich ourselves..

~agrowingchild.

| Am sad, is this how the world should be! |

2006-04-11T19:23:00.000-07:00

From a post at IIM Calcutta's Discussion Board..somebody wanted to convey something about the current reservation debate..Gross.

Re: Petition against "RESERVATION"

I am having drinks at an upmarket pub, Zenzi, in Bandra. It's a Saturday evening. I am alone and on a lookout for a hot babe.

And there she is. Lissome and Sensuous. Enjoying a beer with her girlfriend. Before I make my move, a hunk approaches her. I am cursing myself, thinking why am I always late. May be my Boss was right when he denied me promotion citing my lack initiative.

The alphamale hunk is having a drink with her. Both get close. Seems that my Saturday night is blasted. But hey! Suddenly the hunk looks disappointed and leaves. What happened?

Anyways. It's a blessing in disguise and I make my move. We start with casual talk. Her gestures are inviting. We share a drink. She knows how to hold a guy's interest and that's rare. I am thinking 'Why does this have to be a one night stand; Can we have something more than that?'

I make my final move.

She hears: I've got a beautiful apartment. Wanna be my guest?

I hear: You know the policy of 50% reservation. Yesterday was my "Merit Night" and today's the "Quota Night". So, what's your surname?

Zenzi Hears: Hey, Alphamale! Wait!! I am coming too.

Am Sad.

a. I know whats he saying.
b. Probably i would have done the same.
c. Why is the world like this?
d. Why cant I, and the world move out of such mental frameworks?
e. Leave India, Leave USA, Leave the world, is that answer, am sad indeed...

~isthereacornerwhereicangettruehappiness!

..an illusion of some days..

2006-04-05T14:34:00.000-07:00

--
Some days are like this
full of ennui full of clouds
look out the window
for sun, none, neither a stretch of blue

some days are like this
you know you are late
for reasons you wish
you were not so irate

some days are like this
full of void and knowing not
what to expect, cold or hot
despite outside the flying kites

some days are like this
you with yourself, and only
yourself, no change in
matters, or events galore

and i look at that pic of yours,
glasses and jeans, looking,
no, not at me,
an illusion, like today,

or those days
when like today
some days,
have always been like this.
--

Youngs Guys writing to me, Fill me with Tears...

2006-04-03T17:48:00.000-07:00

May god bless them with the right direction...A mail from a very close junior from undergrad, one of the nicest blokes i have seen in life, highly promising, at the crossroads of life..What exactly can i tell him, save, keep the faith, keep working hard, its all the same story all the time, then, now, forever!!!
May god bless you dear...

love u dear...

Dear Chiru,

Hi...Its been a long time since I wrote to u...But I think u r intelligent enuf to interpret such spells of silence...

Today I need the advice of an elder brother...And I am turning to u for the same...

D's story:
I joined TCS hoping to work in the field of GIS...GIS in terms of technology holds levels of promise as mobile telephony did 15 years earlier...TCS had promised to provide me with opportunites where I wud get to use my architecture/planning skills as domain inputs and combine the same in working on some state of the art GIS projects...Sadly, enuf that did not happen...I did join TCS (the eventful day was the 28th of July, 2005...the maundy thursday of my life...)I went thru an excellent trng program and manage to top the trng...But I was in for a cruel shock when I came to Delhi...The GIS group did not have any projects...But then they did get a big project related to the oil and gas domain...halliburton was the client...a big name...one of the senior members of the GIS group recruited me for this project...atleast it was better than sitting on the bench...(the ones who didnt join this project are still sitting on the bench !)...

now...i was a fresher in a project populated by grandmas and grandmoms...they first wanted me to be a shadow resource...one who wud chip in when others wud be holidaying...its just like the rig u knw...the billing cant stop...so someone has to be all the altar to be sacrificed to the gods of halliburton...

but then the gods felt othewise...my client made me a fulltime billable resource...and a gentleman with almost four years of experience was sacrificed...the tcs manager felt bad...for his bet had been mocked and crucified by the client...

I like my client...he is a very practical and nice man...I am a member of a 3 member team...my team lead has 9 yrs of experience...my boss is from hell...and i shall soon land up in hell for cursing her always...

the folks in tcs are mediocre...mediocre too is a superlative degree for their skills...
the management sucks...docile group leaders and spineless managers...
the company hardly pays a salary...

but still I continue to battle...rarely do I get credit for my performance...the boss takes all the credit...but then I am patient...

all this while...i made a resolve...to go for a management degree...

I have joined TIME weekend classes...
I have been part of organisation initatives...(Corporate Social Responsibilty, I represent the TCS Gurgaon debating team, ushered in strategical changes...like a system of 360 degree feedback and many more, essay competitions, etc...)

I shall take CAT 2006 in November...and GMAT in August 2006...

Now, if u r wondering as to wht makes me write this mail other than a crib story being scripted...

well, my accuracy is fairly good for my cat preps...but then my speed is very, very slow...somehow i am not feeling very confident to crack the CAT...Though, I really want to do it...

I am fearful...wht happens if I am unable to bell the cat ???

i am also considering isb, hyd as a strong choice...for that i need a good gmat score...720 plus...i m confident of achieving that...
the essays i can manage...reccos...that too sudnt be much of a problem...

another surprise has come my way...my client wants me to visit houston for a month...sometime between august/sept/oct...the dates for the same have not been finalized...that wud affect my preps as well if I have to go...

Now I want to ask u...sud I continue working with TCS or look for better opportunites elsewhere...(e.g. evalueserve.com where I cud work in the area of business research...inductis...again a consulting role...etc...)these opportunites wud be more rewaring in terms of compensation and HOPEFULLY workwise as well...

but then a job hop wud mean that I get the label of an unstable employee as well...one who jumps...(this might not be very productive in terms of my B-school application for ISB, hyderabad)

on the other hand...

existence each day in tcs is a battle...the crib story sud paint a picture to u...

Chiru Da...I need ur insights to help me make a decision...

Looking forward to hearing frm u soon...

Mom keeps remembering u very often......

I hope that u r doing well...Do write back abt happngs at ur end...

Luv,
d

| A man has a heart 2 |

2006-04-01T16:06:00.000-08:00

The Heart
---

In the days of his youth,
When he is still blinded to the truth,
In his quest for passion and joy,
A man's heart is like an unused harp,
Still to be played for others to enjoy.

With the slow passing of time,
As he enters the era of his prime,
Aching for a touch to stroke its strings,
His eyes are still with his heart,
Ignorant of the pain that love brings.

Until his harp is finally stroked,
And its brittle strings are finally rocked,
By the coy, the gentle and the strong,
He will learn the danger of being touched,
When one string makes everything go wrong.

To educate a seeking heart,
Which is devoid of art,
One has to walk a while,
Where beauty is a thing well known,
Learning when to put on a smile.

~Oley Maruma

| To be Honest and True |

2006-04-01T16:01:00.000-08:00

To be Honest and True

My father brought me up well,
Haranguing me whenever he could,
That if I did not want to go to hell,
I should be good, honest and true,
Even when I was dejected and blue.

Whatever happened to my life,
My prospects would always be good;
Whether beset by misfortune or strife,
If my belief in honesty and truth,
Stayed with me beyond my youth.

My name would be puffed into fame,
If I did not become a thief or a knave;
Rose through deeds to the top of my game,
Acquiring wealth by fair and honest means,
And not by foul and dishonest means.

It is better to have an honest fame,
Living a modest, good and virtuous life,
Than to acquire a rich and notorious name.
It is better to feel loved at home,
Than to be revered abroad, in a foreign dome.

-- Olley Maruma

~Captures everything, so beautifully, saludos poetess..:)

Lying in Me..

2006-03-29T11:26:00.000-08:00

Lying in me

Lying in me, as though it were a white
Stone in the depths of a well, is one

Memory that I cannot, will not, fight:
It is happiness, and it is pain.

Anyone looking straight into my eyes
Could not help seeing it, and could not fail

To become thoughtful, more sad and quiet
Than if he were listening to some tragic tale.

I know the gods changed people into things,
Leaving their consciousness alive and free.

To keep alive the wonder of suffering,
You have been metamorphosed into me.

-- Anna Akhmatova

| You |

2006-03-25T23:58:00.000-08:00

You
--

I don’t feel like writing about you,
And yet I Do

You who pull yourself on,
Clad in white uppers
Beneath, the black bellows

You who come around me
At the dead of night
Various speeds, almost a shadow of

the zooming black car
Or the dragging white one
I stand, keep looking at you

Afraid, fearful, that if you
Look at me, I will live
And die too,

leaving my fingers trivial
These words inconsequential
You who walk around me

Wanting to give me a hug
Giving not still, being patient
Waiting for your time

Giving me time, why?
To enjoy your other shades
Not white or black alone

But those, my eyes
looking at you,
can see in your tears
and me wanting,

To shake hands with you
For your smile,
Alone, forlorn, walking, dragging,
On and on and on

Without me or my poetry
A sham, and yet I do,

Though I don’t feel like writing about you
Tell me why I do?
Though I don’t feel like writing about you,
And yet I do…

| Aapnara Bangaali |

2006-03-25T13:27:00.000-08:00

Ajeeb Dastaan Hain Yeh,
kahaan shuru kahaan khatam,
Yeh manzilen hain kaunsi,
Naa woh samajh sake naa hum..

For a change i will not translate the above in Hindi, but this one pertains to the journey, that Hindu philosophy where the journey, its wonders and saga, keeps the travellers motivated to keep the walk going..Some days in that walk appears so excellent, full of life, shine and verve as if you were here for this precise purpose to live...

Today seems to be one such too! Though like the capricious clouds my moods change, yet it seems at least till now it still is. Thank you! Last night i was watching Iqbal and seeing the brother-sister chemisty in the movie, was remembering my own dear little one. She was in the capital of my country, that same time, hopefully taking another plunge of life.

When she was small, and i dont remember this story, but this gets repeated every now and then in our house's folk lore, she broke her leg. With a broken leg then, she went to her primary school admissions, won over the nuns at her missionary school with her zeal and bagged a seat in what was a critical thing in a small town then in the lives of our parents. A good education, they always believed, like most others, around the world, would give us both, sister and brother the fundamentals to walk forward in life.

I heard last week, that she sprained her leg again too. But look at her defiant self, she travelled to the capital, met her prospective match, and i hear things are going in the right direction too. When she called me to tell this, the first thing i felt was relief for her. Nobody can know this, but we, baba, maa, myself who are close to her, can only understand what she has gone or has been going through in life.

May god, baba lokenath give the right direction to her life. Out i spring from the bed after the call from home, try to make chowmein, fail miserably, ending up with a hotchpotch, walk out, flakes of snow oozed through on a sunny day, strange combination aint it.

I reach school, buy my daily quota of cigarette, and suddenly hear a bengali couple sprinkling away mishti, sweet bengali monotones at each other.

After a long time, more than 9 years of staying from the bengali environs in which i was groomed up, having travelled to north of india, mastered the art of functional hindi as well as the colloquial one, travelling to bombay for my job, and messing all that mastering too, having left home and the language that gives me the peace of my mind, when i hear songs in it, i asked them, "Aapnara Bangaali"..Are you bengalis!

You had to see the glitter in their eyes, the guy and the girl duo, pittsburgh residents, and deep within hidden a bengali soul, saying, haan, aamra kolkata theke..we from Calcutta, and then we introduce ourselves and then disperse as usual in the new-tech life of ours..

But i am touched, not by anything, but by that moment, in which i ask, not so usual of me to do, but still i did, "Aapnara Bangaali", and then they with glittering eyes answer, Haan, yes, Aamra Bangaali !!

Today thus to this ajeeb dastaan, to the land of the Royal Bengal Tigers, the strange story of "Aapnara Bangali!"

~Thank you..

.."Tis isnt life that matters, Tis the courage you bring to it"..

2006-03-23T12:13:00.000-08:00

* A lady writes -- part of the matrimonial stuff, that she liked the above lines at my email signature. No extensions no interpretations.

* Lucky she, caught me at a time, when i got bashed by my advisor, my strategy paid, though in a risky way, now i know, what exactly is the thought going in his mind..

* But then, tis a time to walk the tight rope, and sail too!

Billy Joel sings in Downeaster Alexa:

So I could own my Downeaster "Alexa"
And I go where the ocean is deep
There are giants out there in the canyons
And a good captain can't fall asleep

I've got bills to pay and children who need clothes
I know there's fish out there but where God only knows
They say these waters aren't what they used to be
But I've got people back on land who count on me

So if you see my Downeaster "Alexa"
And if you work with the rod and the reel
Tell my wife I am 'trolling Atlantis
And I still have my hands on the wheel

Now I drive my Downeaster "Alexa"
More and more miles from shore every year
Since they tell me I can't sell no stripers
And there's no luck in swordfishing here.

I was a bayman like my father was before
Can't make a living as a bayman anymore
There ain't much future for a man who works the sea
But there ain't no island left for islanders like me...

So, for islanders like me, another life, another sail, what shall you call your ship, Senor Chatterjee?

~Is that how, they drag you in, every time, pity you Senor? :)

..Dreams of Glasses, for Vineet's Mother and Mine...

2006-03-22T16:02:00.000-08:00

dheere jalna dheere jalna
zindagi ki lau pe jalna
dheere dheere dheere dheere, dheere jalna
kaanch ka sapna, gal hi naa jaaye,
soch samajh ke, aanch rakhna...

Today's post shall be an effort to capture this mood of mine. Let me not use any adjectives to describe or define it. Rather state some facts that have happened offlate in life. And end with a song's line i am listening to in Hindi as i write this out.

- Heard a lady i have always admired, having tied the knot too. Sure, i didnt have any expectations/dreams with her, but then, as long as you are untied, hope lives isnt it! Now its gone, Mr Chatterjee! Again, a close school friend and it happened in such a surreptitious manner, sometimes i dont just understand this essence of keeping things under the wrap by people at all, thats my only complaint, nothing else!

- She, the She of the poem below taught me real goodness. So did my sister and maa, some of the good-est women i think i will ever happen to walk by in life, sometimes i wonder, where will i be, when each of them are gone, sooner or later!

- I have also decided to keep my door ajar, wide open, for anybody to come and stroll by and leave, somewhere i dont know from where, this coming and going, and its affecting me, is no longer of concern to me. I rather enjoy the changing of these stations, people, and places.

- Last night, i thought of some of my most treasured childhood memories, grandfathers' places in Belur, the artifacts that laid bare on the way to the terrace, the TV shows that me and sis used to watch together...Where have all those days gone, and why do i even ask that question, for that matter!

- Work has stormed into my life, research, is this how they drill it into you, i am getting savvy with huge datasheets, loving the interface of MS excel, as i do a kind of boney, robotish socialising in my life in this city. I fear i am getting sucked into the lifelessness that pervades almost everybody around me..

- Vineet's Mother, and mine, share one common attribute. They cant think of how to live without their kid, V's mother wonders tells me that when she talks to me, and mine, tells me when i ring her home -- that she looks at the next door kid, and remembers intensely the long gone days, when swinging water bottles i used to go to school.

- There is nothing much more to report then, India lost, should not have, Mr Dravid, i am with you, these things happen, as always i am expecting you to learn from it and keep marching like the soldier, sister darling has like her yester years sprained her leg, just at a critical time of life, god's way of telling us how uncertain things can be, all the time..

This, to Vineet's Mother, My Maa and kaanch ka sapna -- dreams of glasses!

dheere jalna dheere jalna
zindagi ki lau pe jalna
dheere dheere dheere dheere, dheere jalna
kaanch ka sapna, gal hi naa jaaye,
soch samajh ke, aanch rakhna...

~dheere jalna, dheere jalna, dheere dheere dheere dheere, dheere jalna...burn slowly, burn slowly, slowly, slowly, slowly, burn....

| She and I |

2006-03-21T20:52:00.000-08:00

She and I
--

She has decided
to be fair with me
And I,
torment myself

As She
teaches me goodness too
And I,
Enjoying her classes

She,
is leaving it to other births
And I, a fool,
wonder which other?

She says,
one of the supreme power,
And I, dumb,
write out a poem instead

She,
I ask, can i father your child?
And I
Will she ever mother mine?

She,
refuses to show me her face
I, smile,
having seen it already

Tis of She and I,
two children, with us,
knock, knock,
Is anybody around?

--

to the "Chicken of the Sea"

2006-03-21T16:01:00.000-08:00

Yes, they call it that, the Tuna Fish, and here is a recipe i created last night, for my burger fillings.

The international part of the recipe:

a. Buy the tuna fish.
b. Beware it smells, much like most sea fish, my first taste of that in Mumbai.
c. Put some Teriyaki Sauce in it, allow it be covered and be like that, for about half and hour.

The Indian part of the recipe:

a. In the vessel, oil, shredded onions, garlic and ginger tinklers, tomato gravy or shreds, a little carrot shredded again, some small green chilly, a little Meat Masala and/or Goan fish Masala, if you have some such at your disposal, and offcourse a little coconut powder and salt to your taste.

b. Please be aware, the oil goes first, warms, then goes, onion, then goes garlic and ginger, then the tomato, peas, green chilly, at the end the meat masala when the onion is a little browny, finally the coconut paste.

c. Take the tuna now marinated with the Teriyaki sauce and keep stir frying the same on the pan.

d. It dries up pretty fast, no excess water, take the fried fillings out, bake it on a microwave or a oven you have, and then spread some little cheese(preferably chedar or Italian parmesan i suspect)/butter on it.

e. Hopefully by now you have your burgers warm and ready, your cucumbers slashed, and your onions and anything else you would like to add as a raw filling prepared too.

f. Take the fried-baked Tuna Teriyaki, paste it on the burger, warm it again, or eat, depends on hungry you are...

So shall we call this the Tuna Teriyaki burger, just got to know something like this already exists, not the first one to test it out, and offcourse that was to the Chicken of the Sea - The Tuna Fish...

~Saludos, an evolving Chef at your disposal Ladies and Gentlemen! :)..

....defining a Poem...

2006-03-19T20:47:00.000-08:00

"Poem"
--
I am like a distracted child
whom they drag by the hand
through the fiesta of the world.
My eyes cling, sadly,
to things...
And what misery when they tear me away from them.

--by Juan Ramon Jimenez, beautiful!

"Ain't your feet getting Cold !! "

2006-03-19T14:47:00.000-08:00

On a solitary sunday afternoon,
Walking into his kind of permanent abode,
Slowly, but surely and steadily too,
the police-woman asked him,

Aint your feet getting cold!

Turning around, he noticed her,
Kind of plump, driving a cop-car,
wanting him to take the elevator
with her to the second floor, asking

Aint your feet getting cold!

Knowing not, how much to answer,
and what to omit, he just smiled,
Stopped, looking at his own feet,
not in shoes, but relaxed floaters

Sure it was cold outside, and those
fingers were stiff a lil bit,
but the feet of his, needed some airs too,
And how could he not offer them the same

Thus he replied,
i am tired of wearing shoes,
wanted to give them some airs,
yep, they might be a lil cold,

She smiled, left, a nice warm one,
and i, walk up, rest in peace,
wondering if indeed,
my feet was getting cold.

..Love & Left Overs...

2006-03-16T22:08:00.000-08:00

So there you go with another definition of love, picked up from the movie, i watched today morning. Captain Corelli's Mandolin.

Says a character in the movie: "love ignites like a volcano, flows, and then slowly everything subsides, it is then the left over you have to deal with, and make choices, if you can live or not live without it."

Outside of this new definition, Captain Corelli's Mandolin, was nothing too great, i must pick up the novel to taste what happened in the Ionian Islands those times.

Offcourse here are a few goodies, you can surely watch the movie for:

a. http://www.captain-corellis-mandolin.com/main.html - the movie site, offers you an intriguing facility to write a love letter to somebody, pretty enigmatic way of sending somebody an e-version of a letter!

b. Penelope Cruz - how can i ignore her - ethereal, smooth, sensuous, in the movie.

c. In my dream destinations of some day doing a getaway, alone or hopefully with a suitable lady of my dreams, comes now the Greek Ionian Islands too. The scenic beauty of the place, reminded me of a place i had visited on the Konkan coast when i was in Mumbai, Harihareshwar, around 6 hours drive from Mumbai that is towards Ratnagiri district.

Beyond that, the more definitions of love i am lapping up these days, the better i stay out of it, its not at all my cup of tea!!

ps: Yet why do i always get embroiled in it -- hahahahah -- wish i knew, perhaps good i dont know!

Enjoy the mandolin!

~aquietchild.

..Ask not what you can do for your country. Ask what's for lunch....

2006-03-15T16:58:00.000-08:00

Well i cant comment on which side of the above statement i shall take sides on, but then, heres a quick recipe i mastered..all courtesy, Vik, a new friend of mine..

Enjoy the kathi rolls, i intend to try the non-veg versions too, with some keema if that can be located anywhere.

Ciao!

Paneer Kathi Roll - Quick Recipe.

raw material:
buy milk.
buy lemon juice - white vinegar - any souring agent.
buy chick peas, gajaar shreds, peyaanj shreds, tomato shreds, hari meerch shreds,
get either and/or - indian roti-parathaa or mexican tortillas ( substitute of rumali roti)
u can buy some - basel sauce and/or coriander leaves/parsley leaves for some cool garnishing.

process:

a. milk ko aache se ubalo - fhir ubalte hue milk mein souring agent daalo aur fhir -- paneer ko bante dekho -- u might like to add some saffron color to the paneer - fhir channi se paani ko nikaal do paneer ko taiyaar rakho alag se.

b. in tawa peyaanj - tomato - ganjaar chick peas - garlic-ginger paste - a little salsa sauce if available - aache se stir fry karo...fundu saa..u can add a little bit of whatever indian masala combination and salt to the stir fry according to ur choice and palate.

c. fhir thora reddish ho jaaye - usmein paneer daalo aur usko fry karo -- it would be like a paneer bhurji thing that would be ready through constant ulatna palatna.

d. meanwhile on a different tawa -- put oil -- take the tortillas or the roti/parathas and usko thori se tel mein -- aache se seko...thora brownish ho jaaye usko alaag se raakho.

e. and keep wrapping it with the fillings prepared as in pt b and c and garnish with little dhaniya patta and serve hot....

f. alternative: make a few such and keep it in the fridge microwave mein garam karo aur dostoon ko khilaao...

~this to long left home, and my eternal love, then, who else but food!

| This place in the Ways |

2006-03-14T15:26:00.000-08:00

This Place in the Ways--

Having come to this place
I set out once again
On the dark and marvelous way
From where I began:
Belief in the love of the world,
Woman, spirit, and man.

Having failed in all things
I enter a new age
Seeing the old ways as toys,
The houses of a stage
Painted and long forgot;
And I find love and rage.

Rage for the world as it is
But for what it may be
More love now than last year.
And always less self-pity
Since I know in a clearer light
The strength of mystery.

And at this place in the ways
I wait for song,
My poem-hand still, on the paper,
All night long.
Poems in the throat and hand, asleep,
And my storm beating strong!
--

i read a good poem after a lonnnnnnnng time!

~This to the poetess Muriel Rukeyser, then.

What do you leave someone with ?

2006-03-14T15:10:00.000-08:00

What do you leave someone with?

--

What do you leave someone with?
Niceties, goodness, fairness
all virtues of life
What life, you talking about?

What do you leave someone with?
Touches, smells, textures
All virtues of living
What living, you talking about?

That life and living,
where, someone comes
and someone goes
what about blindness then

Going blind, deaf and dumb
Only with your ownself
One fine day

Leaving that self,
Life and living too,
yet still asking,
What do you leave someone with?
--

..Of, a few friends and Me...

2006-03-14T14:51:00.000-08:00

Of, a few close friends and Me..
--

A few close friends
avoid me these days

The reason,
She told me once, I,
have not grown up one bit

I know, I should have
But i can't, for if i do,
damn, not me, but,
won't they miss themselves too!

Nobody to take their decisions
I know am wrong, Who knows
They like missing themselves too

Thus, A few close friends
avoid me these days
They their grown up them
Me, still the not grown up me.

--

~she,an unknown goddess, i landed up in life, thus a rose to her, this time!

..Raah pe Rahete Hain...

2006-03-12T16:19:00.000-08:00

Raah pe rahte hain
Yaadon pe basar karte hain

Khush Raho Yahale watan
Hum to safar karte hain

Haan jal gaye jo,
dhup mein to, Saaya ho gaaye,

Aasmaaa koi kona, thora so gaye
Jo Guzar jaati hain bas,
Usi pe guzar karte hain..

Raah pe rahte hain
Yaadon pe basar karte hain

Khush Raho Yahale watan
Hum to safar karte hain

That's her in the picture singing. I wont be around, but she shall sing, maybe to others, maybe to herself, but i heard her singing yesterday on the phone too.

This after, she heard me, suggesting the song. And i talked to maa and i heard her hum the tune in the background.

It was when she was a toddler that the picture above was taken. She has lived life on her terms, as far as possible, given the constraints of a bengali, brahmin, middle class, towards conservative, indian family. Some of these categorisations carry no meaning to me increasingly in life, but then such is life, it carries no meaning too, and yet one has to live with it.

To her, again. She has endured fits of the deadliest diseases in life, each time, she was gone gone and going, and each time, she has come back. Be it when she was a toddler or when she was just flowering in her adolescent years as a growing woman.

She has seen life from the most sensitive corners of one's soul, travelling to a large city, savouring its myriad trappings, and the circus of people around, and has come back, and resided within the safety and sanctity of home. Today her sensitivities persevere with ruthlessness on the outside.

With time, i find her becoming that woman, who dedicates herself to life, and it is about time thus to make this prayer for her. Soon she might travel, may she travel oh lord, on her raahs of life again, and this time, put that song on her lips, pleasee!!

Praying for my lovelist sister darling, pucchu pucchu shona..

~aquietchild.

...a tribute to a Warrior's face...

2006-03-11T12:21:00.000-08:00

A Warrior's Face

--
Spring waters flow,
Warmed by Father Sun,
Swelling beyond the keeping banks,
Leaching winter’s frosted ores,
Through spreading fingers,
Of the water’s course,
Renewing those, along its path,
That seem at first, to succumb,
Then emerge from the inundation,
With the strength of stamina,
And will to persevere,
Ultimately without complaint,
In understanding and appreciation,
Of the gifts of the tribulation,
As the water keeps its sacred task,
Cleansing Mother Earth,
Like the tears on a Warriors face,
Cleanse the soul.

-- from somewhere on the web.

In many ways this man amazes me.

- I am not in any sense a fan of him.
- I completely agree with people who tell me, that he is froggish on the cricket field.
- I know how severely constrained he is on unfavourable pitches, especially when he practices his art.
- When i look at others practising his genre, leg-spin, i also see how uncreative his bowling is.
- This man, married a divorcee woman, and fought for taking custody of her child from her first marriage, what courage! You ask me, what women want, that is what they want.

Thus to him, a selfless, unmarketed, completely hard working man, Anil Kumble this post shall be. Congratulations on your 500 wickets, Mr Kumble.

SS sent this rather lovely poem to me, this for you..

Suraj ki arunima, aansoon ki boondein
dher sari hawayen, kaliyon ki khusboo
ek pyara sa , sath bankar tumhara
tumhare es jeevan ko chand taron
ki chamak dekar,us kshitiz par
pahucha dein jahan se sirf aasma hi
aasman najar aaye,pair jamin par ho
par taron ka sang nazar aaye...

May god give you, your loved ones, the keys to heaven....

~Amen..

...she may be leaving forever, but the homework is still due...

2006-03-10T16:53:00.000-08:00

so wrote a friend of mine, talking about his german live-in partner leaving forever for germany...absolutely true mate! lets take it this way, lets complete the sentence.....

...she may be leaving forever, but the homework is still due...and offcourse salsa dancing too.."

People are crazy and times are strange
I'm locked in tight, I'm out of range
I used to care, but things have changed...

shaanti shaanti om shaanti om shaanti...back from salsa class..some quick learnings shared:

a. its all in the mind.
b. its all in the touch during the swing and the fall.
c. the woman matters - incredible with 1st -- soo, sooo with the chirpy second - horrible with the last ...then i retired and danced around with myself!!! sharing the stealy glances with the first every now n then..:)

shaanti shaanti om shaanti!!! :

bob dylan sings things have changed..2 the salsa beats. attached. ensoi people!!!!

1234 - 5678. 1-2-3-4---5-6-7-8......

I hurt easy, I just don't show it
You can hurt someone and not even know it
The next sixty seconds could be like an eternity
Gonna get low down, gonna fly high
All the truth in the world adds up to one big lie
I'm in love with a woman who don't even appeal to me...

~this2thesoulofsalsa...

ps - remember, ...she may be leaving forever, but the homework is still due...and offcourse salsa dancing too..:))

..my first reference letter....

2006-03-08T19:13:00.000-08:00

For whom it May Concern

Mr KSM and I share a similar educational lineage. In 2002 he completed his under graduate education in electrical engineering from the Indian Institute of Technology (IIT), Roorkee, India. This was a year after I had completed my under graduation from the same institute with a major in civil engineering.

I have observed K to be not only an attentive listener but also a diligent learner ever since my first interaction with him since 1998. These two traits of his, extended equally to the curricular training offered by an IIT, as also to the co-curricular elements that comes with a hostel life in an IIT campus. It is understandable, for readers of this reference letter, to have an apprehension of a bias in this assessment of Mr M. With this in mind, even before writing this letter, I had an extensive interview with him for over an hour. In that conversation, to buttress my conviction about him, I grilled him on his career history and goals. K impressed me again in that conversation, like he did the very first time I met him, with the clarity in his career objectives and his zeal to listen, learn and implement. The conversation left me convinced not only about my beliefs, but also in Mr M’s abilities and unquestionable eligibility to deserve a place in the CMU campus community.

After his engineering education, K joined the Indian Oil Corporation (IOC), the first Indian Fortune 500 petroleum company. This, despite having a safer option to join his own family business in Punjab, India. I believe such a step, shows his willingness to take risks in expectation of learning the details of business, real-time and on field, working as nothing more than a salaried employee of a large conglomerate. Those are the learnings he carried forward with him later on, as he joined the GS Group in early 2004, as a Director of business development. The GS Group, K’s family enterprise, is a diversified entity transacting in cement, automobiles and petroleum distribution with an annual turnover of $ 12.5 mn. This figure is around 0.04% of the annual turnover of K's previous employer, that of IOC. The shift in the quantum of business and responsibilities, K subsequently handled, is evident in this small calculation itself.

Contrary to perceptions, joining a family business brings with itself, huge responsibilities, a keen desire to succeed while taking measured risks, offering to an individual only a thin line of cushion between success and failure. While exuding an entrepreneurial urge, I find K excelling in all of these, delivering with élan in his new role. It is through individuals like him, that today, India’s emerging economy, expects to surge forward in its growth figures, while not forgetting the socially responsible role of a corporate individual.

In entirety, I thus believe, that K should be looked as a candidate, who comes with the business toughening offered by a large conglomerate (through his IOC stint), an entrepreneurial urge (that the current GS Group role has nurtured in him), and a rational mind relying always on reason to solve problems (from his IIT education).

An international MBA programme as offered by The Tepper School of Business at Carnegie Mellon University, I believe should not miss out this opportunity to induct a candidate like him into its rolls of students. His perspectives from an emerging economy like India should usher in a symbiotic process -- the school’s rich and diverse student pool benefiting from him as much as Mr M shall from Tepper’s respected training in managerial skills.

A Word about Myself
----
I write this letter in the capacity of being a doctoral student and member of the Carnegie Mellon fraternity -- with a wish that CMU inducts in its rolls, the best of students. Currently, I work with Professor Ashish Arora at the Heinz School researching in issues related to the economics of technological change. Before joining Carnegie Mellon, I was working as a business journalist for a couple of years with India’s leading business daily, The Economic Times, Mumbai, India. This, after I had completed my engineering and management education in India, from the Indian Institute of Technology, Roorkee and the Indian Institute of Management, Calcutta. Please feel free to contact me for any clarifications through an email at chirantan@cmu.edu or a telephone call at 001-412-720-8128.

2 questions:
- am i endowed, or capable of writing a reference letter?
- was i fair and focussed enough in this version, doing justice to the cause!

~i dont think i will ever know!

..2 the mid-day moon..

2006-03-07T19:09:00.000-08:00

Every time the moon rose, she prayed.
Finally Wol-nam’s mother, at forty, bore a son.

In dreams before pregnancy,
she swallowed the moon.

After her son was born, Wol-nam’s mother
would lose her mind
without fail
every time the moon rose.

Late at night, washing dishes,
she’d smash one bowl—
the moon then hid in a cloud
and the world grew blind.

- from The Moon, in Korean, by Ko Un.

~this 2 the moon, shining in the middle of a sunny day, today!

..When I am God, Everyone Dies...

2006-03-07T15:00:00.000-08:00

Why are some days in life like this -- when one can sense something cooking in the horizon. Well i dont know how to explain this, but probably an unconscious connecting of issues could point to some answers.

So here we go:

a. Last night, after my econometrics class i was mighty tired and wavey. It suddenly dawned on me that i am so damn far away from home, and maa's food that nothing nothing at all can come and give me some solace, in the life i lead. The particular econometrician's work that we were discussing, i learnt later, Abraham Wald had died in a plane crash while visiting India. For death, was it then, that I yearned for Indian food! -- some spicy food -- and resorted to a rather shady version in an Indian restaurant here. Spending $ 8, which to me, a graduate student is a luxury indeed.

b. The night ended with a long sleep, and i again, much to my own disliking over this other self of mine, managed to skip a class in the morning. I dont know, why i am not able to control this rampant other myself! Everytime i do, it gets the better of me, i had fixed an alarm of 8 in the morning to be on time for today's 9 o clock class and yet slept till 1.45 in the afternoon!

c. After that, eating some random stuff, I come out, board a bus, and inside, i find a student wearing this t-shirt titled: it doesnt matter if the curtains doesnt match up to the carpet. Quite anticipatedly, such a line got me thinking, what it could mean, who could be the curtain and who the carpet, and how i could relate it to my own personal life.

d. Alight from the bus, enter the Indian store for my daily single cigarette before school, and there on the TV, i hear this song. The same song, which was the caller tune in her cell phone. I was affected mightily last night, and this song, again, reminded me, that you, if you are reading this, must be thinking about me. Tried i, rather helplessly to control myself, not to buy a calling card to call you, what else could i do?

e. Come out, walk from the Indian store, to school, again i see three things. The time was afternoon, around 3ish, but the moon could be seen in the clear blue sky, though it was a mighty sunny day..I revelled at how it managed to retain its light despite its cosmic counterpart's brightness...My eyes came down, i noted an american old couple, ditching the signal and crossing through, calm confidence in each other's hands, a car breezed through, they peaceful in each other's fingers. I was touched, sighed and walked on to school.

f. Suddenly I found a young chap crossing the streets. Emblazoned, in his back, these following lines.

And they, shall be the lines with which i shall end this post of today..i know i am not, but still cant help but finish with these lines..

~When I am God, Everyone Dies.

...Punjabis and Bengalis...

2006-03-02T19:03:00.000-08:00

I believe, there is an uncanny and unexplainable similarity between these two states and its people, speaking here in the Indian context.

The recent movie - Rang De Basanti created some flutters -- but hey, hold on, long back did not tagore write something similar in his song 'Rangiye diye jaao jaao..'

Let me marvel at this connection as they dawn in my personal life too -- here some instances.

a. My roomie, my advisor, is from Punjab. I am offlate starting to like my advisor.
b. Meeting punjabi people around, and they liking me, me liking them too.
c. In nagpur, india, Monty Singh Panesar, makes his debut for England and this article catches my heart, in bengali though.
d. I had been intrigued by Bhajji and Yuvi chemistry with Sourav.
e. Really admire, PM Manmohan Singh.
f. And to end, here you go with a nice limerick, that Vik, my another Punju friend passed me on today...
g. And yes, one of the nicest women i have seen in life, composed, beautiful, aware of herself, is a Punjabi woman in my stint in Times of India..Ms MD. She might have become a Mrs by now though! :)

This quick one, in a day of frequent posting, to the Punju-Bong combination.

Sharif hondi hai khoti,
Inha Whadda lendi
Fer whi Chup raundi

Translated:
--
Decent are those a!@#s,
They take in all the big ones,
Yet stay silent all the time!
--

Ahem, slightly obscene, apologise, it captures many things virtuous too about Bengali and Punjabi women...

~chakdefatte, apologise for the luridity in the above limerick...

...now, skeptical of the Condescending pat....

2006-03-02T16:58:00.000-08:00

Being a fellow walker in this world of academia, i can say one thing. We are very weak and gullible to the rosey world of theories.

Dr Singh, prime minister of my home country India, is an erstwhile academic too, having done his PhD in economics with impeccable credentials. But now he is a country's premier, totally in the pragmatics of issues, and here in this pic i can see a vulnerable, could-be fooled self.

Reference to the pic: Times of India cover page story today, on the historic nuclear deal between India and the United States.
Implications: India now acknowledged a de-facto, nuclear state, but why is that not being proclaimed by the US?
Most concerning: The academic in Dr Singh is visible in this photograph, he and his men around might have inked the deal with all the theoretical world of future in which India plays a leadership role in mind, but i hope they are noting Bushy darling here...

I dont like his condescending pat on Dr Singh's shoulders, beware Dr Singh hope you have done your homework ably, the country looks to you for the right steps, in tiptoes or in trotters...

~skepticalofcondescendingpats!:)

..Confessions to Desh Raag..

2006-03-02T16:27:00.000-08:00

I dont have much to write, but how today i understood, what a major mistake i have done in life, never having learnt music, rigorously.

I was at the Mellon Institute's auditorium here, the same MI from which our university first started. Regal place, close and warm acoustics, and Arvind was singing a carnatic classical version of Desh raag.

Nobody else was there, we were inspecting the place for a future concert of Spic Macay, and i listened to his voice, trained for 24 years he told me later.

What could be a word to describe a musician's voice, maybe one should not use any word, just treasure the peace and calm it brings to one's mind, listening to it...today i wished, like him getting lost in the music, i could possibly too, had i learnt classical music listening to maa, long back...

Raag Desh it was, and how more than 13 years later, a feeling of guilt envelopes me, on being callous with maa's wish to learn music..

~silence,justthat.

..me & Salsa...

2006-03-01T14:32:00.000-08:00

Ok..now, here is a piece of news! If not to anybody, but to myself surely. I am going to learn Salsa....it shall be the LA style on the first beat, level 1, offered by the univ's grad student association, and am going to lead. Details in the mail extracts below!

May god bless my gaunt and awkward, yet suddenly dance-craving soul! :) The above pic shall be changed soon, too!

~Amen..

---------------
Learn to dance
SALSA
Los Angeles Style

Two levels
6 weeks of salsa

Level I: Fridays, 6:30-7:45pm
Mar 3, 10, 17, 24, Apr 7, 14

Level II: Fridays, 7:45-9:00pm
Mar 3, 10, 17, 24, Apr 7, 14

At the UC aerobics room

$20 for CMU Grad Students
$25 for others

Linda Danza, professional instructor
No partner required
First come, first served

To sign up, contact shubhie@gmail.com
Please indicate:
- Level I or Level II
- Lead or follow
- CMU grad student or not
Only requests with complete information will be considered.

SPONSORED BY THE GSA - The Graduate Student's Association.

Limited space, sign up now! :-)

Note: Level II class is for people who have previously completed a Level
I class, or are comfortable and solid doing a cross-body lead.

======================================================================Here are some
further details for you:

DO YOU LEAD OR FOLLOW? Please help me get this right! Send me an email
BEFORE the first class telling me your gender -- I try to guess based on
your name, but it is embarassing when I guess wrong. (I am assuming
that men will be leading and women will be following -- please tell me
if otherwise.) Also, please let me know if you are interested in the
Level 1 or the Level 2 Salsa Dance Class, and whether you are a graduate
student or not. ONLY REQUESTS WITH COMPLETE INFORMATION WILL BE
CONSIDERED.

LIMITED SPACE: Each class is limited to 17 couples. I am creating a
list of people who ask to sign up in the order I receive requests. By
requests I mean the emails you have sent me to ask for a spot. However,
your position is not guaranteed until we receive payment. If you haven't
paid until Thus afternoon, your position may be given to the next person
in line.

PAYMENT: You can pay either by cash or by cheque (preferred) made out to
"Linda Danza Atkins". If you are a CMU grad student, bring your student
ID when you pay to prove it for your $5 discount (thanks to GSA). The
cost is $20 for CMU grad students with a valid student ID, and $25 for
others. If you sign up for both level I and level II classes, you will
be charged for both of them. Please note that there will be NO REFUNDS.

SIGNING UP: There has been an overwhelming amount of interest for this
class. To avoid frustration and long lines at the first class, we ask
people who get a spot to pay by leaving a cheque in my mailbox (Nikos
Hardavellas, Wean Hall 4212). Your last chance to leave the check would
be Thus, Mar 2, at 5pm. Please, do NOT slip checks under the mailroom
door, or hand them to staff. Just enter the mailroom during normal
operational hours, find the mailbox, and deposit the check.

If there are spots left, we'll call people in the waiting list to come
30 minutes earlier than the first class. We will be seating outside the
UC aerobics room, 30 minutes before the start of the first class, and go
through the list from top to bottom, and if you are there when we call
your name you can pay and sign up. We will stop reading names when the
class is full. We will repeat this exercise for the Level II class.
PLEASE be on time -- if you are late, then the class may fill up before
you arrive...

(NOTE: usually there is plenty of space in the Level II class. Tell your
friends!)

If you decide not to join the class but have requested a spot, I would
appreciate it if you could email us and let us know...

=======================================================================Salsa Class FAQ:

1. Do I need to bring a partner? No, you will be rotating partners in
the class.

2. How do I sign up? Send email to shubhie@gmail.com to reserve a spot
in line. If you get a spot in the class, you can pay by depositing a
check in my mailbox (Nikos Hardavellas, Wean Hall 4212). If we don't
receive your check by Thu, Mar 2 at 5pm, your spot is no longer
guaranteed and it may go to the next person in line.

3. Is this class good for beginners? YES! The Level I class is aimed
at beginners.

4. Am I good enough for Level II? If you have taken Linda's Level I
class, then yes, you are. :-) If you have taken lessons elsewhere, and
are comfortable and solid doing a cross-body lead, then you probably
will fit in as well.

5. Do I have to attend all the classes, or can I miss some and still
keep up? You are better off if you can commit to attend all of the
classes -- each class will be building on the material learned at the
previous one. It is also a good idea to try and practice some in
between classes if you can, such as by going out dancing at a club...
:-) (We can tell you fun places to go dancing to try out your new
skills.)

6. Is the price per lesson, or the entire 6 weeks? It is for the
entire 6 weeks.

7. How do I pay? Either cash, or a check (preferred) made out to
"Linda Danza Atkins" is acceptable. If you are a CMU grad student,
bring your student ID to prove it for your $5 discount.

8. What do I bring to class? Wear comfortable clothes (dancing is
exercise, and if you wear jeans you may be too warm), and comfortable
shoes. Shoes with a slippery sole (such as a leather sole or a hard
plastic sole) are preferred to sneakers, since you will be learning how
to spin.

9. What is LA style? It means that the class is taught on the first
beat. This is in contrast to the NY style, which is on the second beat
(Mambo).

10. Can I switch classes after we start? If you find level I too easy
or level II too difficult, you can switch classes provided that there is
space in the other class, and the lead-follow ratio is not too uneven.

======================================================================See you in class!

---------- End Forwarded Message ----------

...Just pick the Shiny one..

2006-02-28T16:50:00.000-08:00

Aab Use Dil e - Tabah Ki,
Halaat Naa Poochiye,
Benaam Aarzoo ki, Lazaat Naa Poochiye,
Ek Ajnaabi tha, Rooh Kaa, Armaan Ban Gaya,

Ek Haadsa tha pyaar ka, Gumnaam ban gaya,
Manzil kaa Raasta koi mujhe,dikhla gaya koi,
Yoon Zindagi ki Raah Mein, Takra Gaya koi....

Yoon Zindagi ki Raah Mein..

What a day! so surreptitious, yet so subtly profound, what a day!

But before i proceed - here i paste for future reference -- an interaction with a lady over the phone. Have not been able to tune myself into the Chetan Bhagat books, but here is an experience real time. She (again name undisclosed) works for a travel agency, in delhi, helped me get the the travel tickets back home. Its 5 in the morning there back in Delhi, and i believe the day after the budget, which talks of India shininig and rising and all that, has been doing so all these last few years...

I am wondering though, slowly how, they are sucking in, all such nice youth of India, with such work hours. I remember, once having heard of the fact, how, India's culture, that of waking up early mornings, doing the religious rituals, prevalent in the yester years, will undergo a sea change with these strange working shifts that the Outsourcing wave has brought in. And add to that, the rampantness i have heard people telling me about the life too, with such work hours introduced.

Its 6 in the evening for me, and this lady at 4 in the morning, servicing me quite meticulously seems to be so much at elan with herself!

Just a few hours ago, i again messed up quite naturally, as to which door knob to turn while entering my building. Here, everything is the other way around, and when i am lost, i just forget that its not the right one, but pick up the other one most times...Most such things i have noted over these last few months are the opposite -- the electric switch pushed up to switch on, the roads u follow the right, and the water tap, you turn the opposite way too...Nowadays i tend to ignore the specifics even, but let me not continue the digressions.time to enjoy the conversations pasted below:

Oh yes, why the shiny one, cos, the person entering from the other side, today taught me a nice lesson as to how to remember which door/knobs/switches/roads to go on or follow...Just remember the shiny one, the one more used with hands, the shiny one! So...

Here you go then:

--
from SS..
--
Dear Mr.Chatterjee,
Namaste and Greetings from MakeMyTrip!
Thank you for visiting our website and trying options, suiting to your travel plans.
Based on your search details, we have learnt that you have tried to make a reservation but due to certain reasons, you were unable to do the same.
We have tried to understand your travel plan and have worked out the below option: -- bla bla bla...
--
from me to SS
--
Thanks S..

You have been of great help. We talk tomorrow about the payment.
How do i receive the tickets? Hope there wont be any problem, if i pay you first and wait for the tickets subsequently. Also you wanted to send me something on the 'payment details' - nothing in this email. Is it possible in any way -- that i send you a cheque ? (in case I dont want to trouble my friend)
Please let me know.

Thanks again,

Cheers
Chirantan
--
from SS to me
--
As these tickets will be paper ticket so we will Fed-ex that tickets on your mailing address, for your convenience I will provide a fed ex tracking number so that the tickets can be tracked once dispatched.
There will not be any problem in this.
Thanks
S.
--
from me to SS
--
Hi S,

That sounds good. Thank you.

My mailing address:

Chirantan Chatterjee,
Doctoral Student,
c/o Ms Carole McCoy
H. John Heinz III School of Public Policy & Management
Hamburg Hall, Carnegie Mellon University
5000 Forbes Avenue, Pittsburgh, PA 15213-3890
Tel Mobile - 001-412-720-8128.
Am getting back to you tomorrow on the CC details.

Cheers,
Chirantan
--
From SS to me
--
Hi Chirantan,

Thanks for your prompt reply. And one more as you are asking about Aerosvit Airline; it’s a 3 Star airline.

And airline is almost like our Air India. So I think not that much bad.

Thanks
S
--
from me to SS
--
S -- not that much bad, but not that much good either. As a student i cannot complain though, thanks dont worry, am fine by it...as an Indian one tends to finally leave everything to destiny - Karma. Hain naa!

Chalo, i will get back to you! I am your client and perhaps professionally i am not supposed to say this, but i am touched with your service.

Now go get some quick sleep -- the kinds doctors get when they do night shifts in the hospitals! :)
--
from SS to me
--
Oh Thanks A Lot.
Hey please don’t say client all this…………….bada ajeeb legta he.J
No don’t leave anything on destiny.
My shift is going to over after half an hour then only I will sleep.
Chalo……………….bye for today.
Nice to talk with you.

Thanks again.
Byeeeeeeeeeee, S.
--
from me to SS
--
:) ok ok wont say. chalo, bye!
--
and i just got the last one, time: 8 by my clock should be 6.15 in the morning, there in Delhi from SS to me
--
Ok thanks

Bye!
--

time for the few beginning lines from the Mehdi Hasan ghazal...

Yoon Zindagi ki Raah mein,
Takra Gaayaa Koi,
Yoon Zindagi ki Raah mein,
Takra Gaayaa Koi,
Ek Roshni naa der mein,
Bikhhra Gaya koi,
Yoon Zindagi ki Raah mein,
Takra Gaayaa koi....

~Yoon Zindagi ki Raah Mein...

..Walking with You ....in the setting Sun...

2006-02-24T15:35:00.000-08:00

No, i dont remember anymore
No, i dont remember anymore
I row and row my boat,
singing the songs of the river
No, i dont remember anymore

I used to row with my youth
Singing songs as i sat on the banks
So much music, full of joy and sadness
Floating all around
Today, No, i dont remember anymore

So many years have passed
this all, with strength of my hands, My oars,
dont listen to them old anymore,
No, i dont remember anymore,
And I row and row my boat,
singing the songs of the river..
But no, i dont remember anymore...

Walking in the sun with a beautiful lady could be the most refreshing of experiences. Whichever way life goes, that is the truth, always, forever.

She was beautiful today, curly tresses flowing, her goggles tucked up, excited about life, talking to me about her years, from almost a decade back.

I did feel like touching her, her fingers, or her hair, and rearranging them, a little, when she almost seemed to well out pearls of tears from the depths of her immense pain.

Or just stand behind her, gently holding my hand around hers, when in her black coat, she stood shivering in the little cold, that the setting sun and the darkening evening ushered on us.. we kept standing, waiting for the traffic signal to allow our ways.

Walking in the sun, with a beautiful lady, immensely radiant in her soul, and her stories, and her walks, and her chirps, could be but no one's but god's gift to you...the most refreshing of experiences.

This an ode to that walk, though tomorrow i might no longer remember you, or this walk with you in the setting sun, still walking in the setting sun, with you, signora was one of the most beautiful experiences.

~May god bless your beauty, lady!

..From the Other Side of Monangahela...

2006-02-23T11:33:00.000-08:00

The Other Side of the River

--
Plunge my oar in the water I take your oar in mine.
I believe that I have seen a light on the other side of the river.
The day will little by little turn cold.
I believe that I have seen a light on the other side of the river.

Above all, I believe that everything is not lost.
So many tears, so many tears, and I am an empty glass...
I hear a voice that calls to me,
almost a sigh: It rows, it rows, it rows!
In this edge of the world which has us imprisoned is useless.

I believe that I have seen a light the other side of the river.
I, seriously, am rowing, and inside, I smile.
I believe that I have seen a light
on the other side of the river.
---

dont know who wrote the first mail...and I loved rudrayani..what a wonderful name!!!!!...but I am happy,but also a little sad and a little jealous....about all thats happening...all the people who love you..I hope they really do...and for all the people who inspite of not being a part of your integral life,want your good.....but I am sad too...

Maybe we both are intrinsically very different human beings...born to the womb of the same mother...you feel and keep those feelings nicely wrapped,I feel,and I move on...maybe is it because women are essentially meant to flow?never asked any woman freind about it...My emotions are like thunders which come and go,like the river which doesnt know its destination,but just flows...yours is like that mountain which stands the test of erosion,wind,sun...and life......I donot want to go into which is nice, which is better.....but sometimes I really feel like being the mountain...which i never might be....sometimes I want to be just as good a human being as you...and not that blob of matter that I reduce myself to...is this self of yours a manifestation of staying alone for a long time?...I dont know.....

Sometimes when the river flows over the mountain maybe it does become a little too interlinked...so those times when I hurt your feelings..when I speak bad about people you love ,I just try to protect or more correctly gaurd you from those erosions...maybe truth,goodness still exists..we never get to believe it because we ourselves are moving away bit by bit from our own goodness....tai bhabtey bhoy lagey jey keu ashbey hoyto tor ei goodness take exploit korbey,manipulate korbey...you would either cut away that gangrenated part..or just stay mum....but bhoy hoy rey..because again you would keep thhose emotions nicely wrapped....

Right now we are at a stage,where we might embark on different journies...and I might not be close physically to you..maybe another person might come and sweep me away from this reality of mine..my ma my baba my dada...and this sense of "my" family.....but I just hope that we never forget ourselves.....

I would thank the commentators of the blog and rudrayani...for making me feel so close to my dada after a long long time........I wonder how every new birth,and every new emotions can make such difference....
love you

My closest ones, this one from pucchu, my sister darling, are writing at last and my patience with them is paying...Thank you, Oh Force! :)

And i would be missing something, if i dont chronicle this moment down.

The day: 23rd of February, 2006.
The place: Pittsburgh, along the eastern coast of the country called United States of America, in the western part of the state of Pennsylvania.
The writer: me.
The readers: All my friends, my sister darling, from whom comes extracts of the above thoughts she sent in an email, after she read my blog.
The last few hours: Have been as mishti - sweet as the past. Full of profound emotions. J writes a tearful email, i take a walk and lunch with SN who tells me of how sometimes there is a feeling of, just leaving everything and starting the 'walk', of the goal one reaches in life, being the 'living dead. SN is one of the nicest human beings i have ever seen in life. Come back, read pucchu's email. And i try to question, if i am indeed a mountain, that she sees in me, and she the river, or she becoming like the mountain, and i the river or somehow from our darling maa's womb, we have started this entire journey, of the rivers or the mountains...or was it all from something more, from that land the sole resident of which is the Force, beyond those rivers and the mountains.

Just dont know, if a poem could capture this enough, maybe it will come, for now i have nothing much, but to note this happening, and leave you with the poem above, the translation of Al Otro Lado Del Rio..from the movie, The MotorCycle Diaries, meaning 'The other side of the River'.

Then i go to:
http://www.motorcyclediariesmovie.com/home.html
click on Venezuela on the top right corner.
click on the 'Music Player'.
a new window opens with buttons for forwarding songs and increasing the voice levels.
I listen to the following songs.
a. Chipi Chipi
b. Al Otro Lado del Rio - The Other Side of the river
c. De Ushuaia A La Quiaca

In that order. Now i really need some sleep. Yesterday evening i had a strange dream. I was in Durgapur at home, shouting, making strange but laughable jokes with maa-baba-bon, living life i always did, then the sleep went off, i came back to Pittsburgh with eyes open, and while ordinarily, the realisation would have brought pain, this time, it brought a strange sense of complete transition.

Rivers always had a special place in my emotions. From the Damodar where i had to undergo my sacred thread rituals back home in Durgapur, to the Ganga in Roorkee where many years ago with Raj, dunno where he has dissappeared in life, we talked on the 'Rule of 3' in leading life, to the Hooghly back in Kolkata, one crosses daily, after arriving in the Howrah station from Durgapur, to Thakuma (grandmother) narrating her and the family's escape over the Podda, Meghna and Jamuna in Bangladesh back in Haridwar during our Kedarnath trip, or in Mumbai -- oops cant remember a river! :), (except offcourse at Murud and Harihareshwar), to the Teesta when last year with B i had been to the North Bengal mountains and plains, and then the gigantic Brahmaputra with its flickering Namaste to me, as we visited Guhawati too, to now Pittsburgh, and its threesome, Monangahela, what a nice name, Ohio and Allegheny...

Today I dont find it too hard to believe, after i wake from my dream, to live, to start the walk again, fully understanding how now i am on the 'Other side of the River', this time the Monangahela...:)

Only an Indian song, can capture the emotions running through me now! And yes Maa would have i am sure.

Dil to hain Bezubaan
Dil ki Sunaaon Naa
Aate jo Dil mein Hain
Hoto pe Laao naa,
Shaamo Ho yaa, Saher Ho,
Dil mein tum har pahr ho,
Saathiya...

~Palkein Jhukaaon Naa, from Saher....

....tears for writing or writing for tears....

2006-02-23T08:48:00.000-08:00

--
Hi

I keep reading your blogs. I actually dont understand much. Not to say that you dont write well......I think you really are a good or even a great writer. because when i read what ever you write i get the same feeling which i got when i read great people's work. maybe all great people have a similar style. or a different explanation could be becasue of my poor english. I guess the former is right.

While reading your blog i started thinking if writing makes me happy or sad. was wondering if these are your personal thoughs/feelings why would you want to share it with others. again, not to say you shouldn't but i wouldn't do that. i dont share much, unlike you. probably beacuse i think that people would only look to enjoy my misery and feel extremely sad when i express happiness. thats the way people are. they hate to see others happy. i just dont share anything with them. especially to strangers. i wanted to post comments on your stories....will do it sometime.

i think you are just too good. you are esentially a very good human being. someone whom the wind of emotions just sweep you off your feet. you suffer because you think the world's a fair place. both of us know it aint.

i feel so happy to have spent those 6 months with you. i must tell you that i was the same sensitive guy like you were. i had faith in god, had some values, laid premium on words like "character", "morals" etc. and i changed and am still changing, to be just one among this ocean of people who i call losers. they must have accumulated wealth, friends, fame but they are all losers cause they traded their values to achieve all this.

i want to refrain myself to be one among this mob. its not too difficlut either. or i feel maybe that i am better off being in the majority than minority cause the minority never get the fair deal.

your blogs touch me cause i can see what you are going thru, what you feel and the child in you. shall i say - "grow up and be a man" or shall i let this child think the way he does and fell the way he does. I really do not know.

`nameundisclosed...

---
Long back, long long back, when i first wrote my smallest poem in a dilapidated diary, an old LIC one, with yellow pages, i never knew, writing would ever bless me with so many friends.

Having travelled and stayed in quite a few places, have met and mixed and got drenched or have been juggled around, as i shared walks and strides with men and women. If anyone asks me, why i still have persevered in continuing to write, it seems to me, that it is only writing, in this world, who still, despite it all, knows my original me and is my BEST friend.

The me who trotted or cycled to school, the me who exulted at exams, or despaired at not getting a 100 in mathematics, the me who shied away from girls in school even if one or two of them felt like ladies whom i could aspire for, the me, who saw the first X-rated movie much to the internal horror and self-guilt of having seen one, the me, who travelled vulnerably and apprehensively out of home more than 9 years back, the me who waded through the principles of engineering college orientation - call them 'ragging' in India, the me who slapped a close friend for coming drunk and smoking in my hostel room, and the same me, who made a volte face with his first beer, and first smoke and first dope soon after, the me, who feared nothing to reveal he smokes to his parents, the me who stood devastated at sister's tears, the me, who saw women come and go by in life, and risen up and fallen again and again and again.....:)

Sometimes, i know, i am no longer the same 'me' and perhaps i would have died, physically, had not writing kept that 'me' of 'Me' alive...

While just a few posts away i was contemplating, giving up blogging, this email from a friend i know, and at the same time, somehow i thought i didnt know, affects me. Maybe it is the Force's gift trying to say me, to continue to write.

Let me not know anybody. But as long as my writing knows everybody else, and forms the bridge between the unknown me, and the known not-me, others, and make them write such lines to me, i will bow to technology and stuff like internet and blogs and all of the entire chain for what else, but dear old, beloved writing!

A song, soulful Hariharan in Khamoshi singing, Baahon Ki Darmiyaan, and a poem written sometime back to end with...

~amflushedwithtears, thank god there is nobody around! :)

Maybe--
The child who saw you
with your eyes is lost
where do you search for him
maybe here, maybe nowhere

The child who bowed before you
wants now a bow from
others, a role reversal,
they the children, he the grown up

The child who stole a glance
from you, now has forgotten
to steal, looks straight,
wanting back, no less straighter stares

So are you the child, who
wants to see me with my eyes,
where do you search for me,
maybe here, maybe nowhere.
---

2 Rudrayani.

2006-02-22T11:44:00.000-08:00

An excited new father, and a close friend writes this to me about the new born lady in their lives. That is the father, the mother's lives. I use initials to avoid breaching of privacy.

"But, Shri Chirantan, this mail is to give the big news ! Pe.. and I have been blessed with a little daughter. Rudrayani Basu-Mukherji made her entrée on 18th Feb 2006, kicking and squealing. I was there with these two beautiful ladies in the delivery room, and their elemental struggle was a humbling experience for me.

Your Pe...di is fine. Though it was a normal delivery, there was some incision necessary, and her stitches are very painful, and she is sore all over, but the docs / nurses are saying that she will recover in a day or two. They have come back home yesterday.

Rudrayani is a fastidious little creature, as impatient and loud as her mom :-). But like her mom, she has these two lovely eyes, and when she stares at you, it just makes you go all mushy--check out the pic. "

-- Affly, Ra...Da..

What can i write? Your excited papa darling has this to share. Let me for the moment bow to you, Rudrayani! :) Welcome to the world, i will one day visit and play with you, promise! And yes, when you start understanding human language, i will tell you then, that in this world, you should keep your eyes open for the light and ears open for the music.

~once a quiet child...