The Good Indian: "Flower-seller boy’s bedrock of academic dreams"

Flower-seller boy’s bedrock of academic dreams

Baul Mon

Why does it happen that the mind is never satisfied with the current state of affairs. Why I am sitting at Dubai and thinking about London? When I was at London, I yearned for Kolkata. Why do we have to romanticise about something that we know we aren't able to get? I remember when I was at London, I used to discuss with my partner how cool life would be in India. Our India, our Kolkata. The sights, the sounds, the aroma: so alien here, but so intimate there. The "padar kaku" who would always ask about you the moment he sees you. The corner shop owner who would reach out to you asking whether you need something. The tugs of the army of destitutes and beggars in the streets pulling at your clothes and your heart strings, looking up to you for salvation. It was this great mist of emotion which choked us while we were sitting at our drawing room in London.
And indeed it felt as if it was the return of the prodigal son. But within 24 hours of landing in Kolkata, the romanticism disappeared in thin air. All that remained was the cacophony of cars honking, hawkers shouting, children crying, men bawling and above the din, the huge sound of disappointment. Kolkata which seemed to be that bewitching lady under the ghoonghat turned out to be an ugly lady with bettle-stained teeth. And my mind immediately longed for my home in London. How peaceful it would be there, how lovely the daffodils and the bluebells look in the verdant grass outside, how good it feels to sit at the bench in Regent's park. And since I cannot go to London now, it made my stay at India all the more unbearable.

And three months later I am at Dubai. And I have started missing both Kolkata and London again. But then I think that's how life is with everyone. When I was with her, I found her presence overwhelming at times and I longed for freedom. Now that I am no longer with her, all I think of is how life was wonderful with her.

Till death do us part?

Yesterday didi said something very interesting which got me thinking. She read in the Q&A section of a Bengali popular magazine a quite common question. A lady had posted a query regarding her marital discord. She married someone whom she loved, but after a couple of years boredom set in. At this juncture she met someone with whom she felt the old excitement and charm of being in love. So, she's in a dilemma: whether to continue with her lack-lustre marriage or to walk into the promise of her new life. The agony-aunt of the magazine responded saying that give your marriage a try and if that also doesn't help, come out of it. My didi, being a bit of a puritan, got very agitated at this advice. Then she made the comment: should the marriage vow be changed from ".....Till death do us part" to "...Till I find someone better".

She has her point. She believes that marriage is not just a relation between two people. Two families are involved. So many people are intricately linked with the couple on both sides of the family. Can "lack of fire" be a sole reason to break up a marriage?

My perspective is a bit different from didi. We live in an age of instant gratification. We really didn't have to struggle that hard to get a decent life, unlike our parents. My dad spent his entire life struggling to manage his family amidst a constant threat of lockouts and labour turmoil. I doubt whether he ever thought of love in marriage. On the contrary, our generation do not have the constant financial struggle. We are always seeking out new avenues of happiness. Fancy gadgets, fancy cars, fancy dresses, holidays in foreign shores. But what if by the age of 30-32, you have everything. What if you already own a car, have designer watches & suits, have been to foreign countries more than once and have been married for 4 years? What do you then look forward to? Do we actually hit the mid-life crisis in our late 20s, early 30s?

That's actually where the story goes wrong. At this juncture, an innocuous flirt with a co-worker or a co-traveller can act as a catalyst in magnifying the cracks in your marriage. The temporary high that one can get from the admiring eyes of an unknown person seems more precious than the unflinching love and support one gets from one's partner. Reminds me of one episode from "How I met your mother". Ted brings home a girl whom he had met the day earlier in a wedding and they are getting intimate. Hearing that, Lilly expresses to Marshall that their relationship has lot the charm after 9 years. Now if they want to get intimate, Marshall asks "Shall we do it" to which Lilly responds "OK".
It's essential to keep the fire of love burning. Otherwise, even doing simple things for each other can seem tedious.

So, didi, unfortunately the vow might need to be changed in today's context.

"Shikast apne naam kar lunga"? My foot!

Kaifi Azmi wrote:

"Jahan-e-dil pe hukoomat tumhe mubaarak ho

Rahee shikast toh woh apne naam kar lunga"

I am sorry, Kaifi saab. I cannot agree to that. I am not able to do that. I am not able to accept "shikast" at the cruel hands of fate.

It's been so long since I have heard your voice, felt your touch, seen your smile, smelled your breath. Everyday morning I open up those memorabilia and feel like reaching out to you; to break this wall of silence. When I cut my finger last year, you made such a fuss over it. Now I am bleeding profusely and you are still taking no heed of it. Since when have you become so cruel, me-amour?

I want to forget you. I want to erase all your memories from my mind. Wish I could have woken up tomorrow morning and never be reminded of you....

Rainy memoirs

It's been a long long time since I had posted anything: partly because I had been trying to keep busy and partly because I was overcome with a sense of ennui. Then one fine day one particular lady's blog caught my attention. In one of her many exquisite entries, she mentioned something which is very close to my heart - lying down and listening to the song of rain. Ahh! The magical sound of the rain's pitter-patter on the old neglected aluminium bucket . The intoxicating smell of the freshly drenched earth, the lichen, the jasmine. The sight of the solitary crow on the telegraph line defeated by the downpour; every now and then whirring its neck to unsuccessfully shake off the water. The ribbit calls of frogs in the evening. The puddle below the cornice of the window. The anticipation of love in the air. And the yearning...

Rain used to bring joy and gaiety when I was growing up.

Then one day the definition of pleasure changed. As life became engulfed in the maelstrom of hedonistic pleasures, the nuisance of rain became a medium to vent frustration. Till that one day...

I know you would remember the day as well . It was a cold, blustery night with an incessant torrent. We were walking, along with our entourage, towards Trafalgar Square. You weren't carrying your "brolly". Like the knight in shining armour brandishing his sword, I pulled out my weather-worn umbrella from the bag and seemed to contemplate the next move. We both knew what we wanted, but you still chose to walk out alone in the rain. I moved in quickly beside you and held it over you. I still remember the moment your hand brushed against my hand. I apologised, but was there a faint line of smile on those lips? Oh how I praised the good lord for the rain that day! And then when we stood at the traffic lights and I stole a quick glance at you, I saw a drop of water caressing those lovely locks. How I wished to gently collect that drop and let it slide over my face!

I fell in love with rain all over again.

And now the same rain taunts me, teases my lone solitary self. Why does the rain water taste salty?

Love is a bad habit!

Aadatein bhi ajeeb hoti hain...

Saans lena bhi kaisi aadat hain
Jeeya jaana bhi kya rawayaat hain
Koi aahat nahi badan mein kahin
Koi saaya nahi hain aankhon mein
Paaon be-his hain chalte jaate hain
Ik safar hain jo behta rehta hain
Kitne barsoon se kitni sadiyon se
Saans lete hain jeete rehte hain

AADATEIN BHI AJEEB HOTI HAIN!!!


Sometimes I wonder when you are with someone for a long long time, does loving that person become more of a habit? A habit so firmly entrenched in the psyche that we don't often realise it. Just like breathing. How often do we consciously think about the fact that we are breathing?

Triumph of the indomitable human spirit

I thought that I have given too much importance to my own mean self. So here's a story that would definitely bright up anyone's day and confirm the infallibility of the human spirit:

http://www.telegraphindia.com/1100512/jsp/nation/story_12437272.jsp