And its here again......

This post should have come about a month ago , but owing partly to time constraints , and partly on account of my inherent apathy to work (something so typical of Bengalis ) , I have never really had the time . From Wikileaks to 2G scams ,2010 has been one of the most eventful years in recent history . But who is to say that 2011 will not go a step further , and turn out to be even more eventful . Here are the top four things to look forward to this year .

Back to the Eden – There rarely has been a more eventful place on the face of this planet than the Garden of Eden . From playing venue to Laxmans masterly 281 , to being Dada’s home ground , the Mecca of cricket has seen it all . But probably none is as significant of the first documented human consumption of the red fruit of lust ,The Apple , and the subsequent progenesis of an entire race . And come this IPL , with Dada no more a part of the Knight Riders , the empty Eden Stands might provide them one more chance to resume their erstwhile amorous acts of sexual innuendo , with my parochial brethren playing audience to the probable genesis of a whole new race of species , inspiring Chandrabindu to come up with a sequel to their famous song on modern day voyeurism , Brahma Janen .

Ei IPL a , sei prothom dine
Adam ar Eve ,Eden Gardeney ,
Daam berechhe ,inflationey
Tobu apple , Eve nilo kine
Adam darie , boundaryr dhare
Apple dekhe , angle mare
Adam apple , nilo kere
Gobgobie , khelo chhire ,
Erpor , Brahma janen………



Did Darwin just say ‘ long live Evolution , come the Evolution’!!!


And My Pants Come Off – Lol , ROFL , LMAO . And they are off . I had always know deep inside that this was going to happen , if I continued too long with my pop-culture ways of providing vent to my joyous outbursts , and had been fearing LMAO , ever since the time I had acquired the habit of Rolling On The Floor ( ROFL) instead of the usual and effervescently spontaneous ‘hahaha’ . And finally , I have laughed my Arse off , to become the one single bottomless oddity of this generation , the lone Tooshiless wonder of this world , doomed to the prospect of never wearing a pant again , for the very hinges they were designed to cling on to , have just come off . However , I may not be the last , for I foresee many more falling prey to same baneful antics that have robbed people of the chance of slandering me , using obscenities like A**hole . Oh , how I long to be called an A**hole once more. And while the sight of hoards of tooshyles beings marching about , trouserless , might bring some joy to the nudists , I can already envision Raj Thakaray delivering speeches like 'Jai Tooshy ,Jai Maratha ' , and 'what head is to the north , tooshy is to the south', to resounding applause of the tooshy fanatics.





Too many Legs - As if , robbing me of my bottoms wasn’t enough , to relegate the trousers to the realms of the redundant , now, the stars have started to play truant , to provide me with four legs instead of the usual two that I had always been content with . For I am no more the masculine muscular yet effeminate man emptying pots but rather some four legged hideous monster with the façade of a man , called Sagittarius . And whats worse , I am without a bottom and sporting a tail . And no self respecting four-legged human , with a tail would ever dare to sport a pair of trousers in public . The prospect of my beloved trousers , spending the rest of its days , sequestered in my closet looms large today , with me having to go trouser-less for the rest of my life .

More G – I can already sense friends at NIT going ecstatic . But who ever knew that G was not merely legal in India , that it was up for public tenders , and was sought after by some of the biggest multinational and national majors , that it was not worth a mere 30 rupees at Rajen , but rather billions.
Infact , it is the chief protagonist in one of the biggest scams of India , and the development of a better and improved version has been commissioned by the Government ,the 3G ,much to the joy of the Ganjawalas at my college. Something to rejoice , at last.

Wishing you all a Very Happy New Year …..

A Child's Fairytale.

In the dark dungeon , imprisoned , the princess waits
The prince rode up the tortuous fleet in hurried steps
Many a frightening dragon had he slayed
The monotonous drone read on ,as the child wept .

'Mother sing me the lullaby of the galloping men
And the thousand Spanish fleet who fought in vain
Of the old lady who died alone on the moon
Of how the generous king succumbed to his deleterious bane.

Forgotten be the cold white December and the scarlet may
Sing me a lore of the hundred dead men with no one to weep
Of the crimson silhouette of the bloodiest day
And the boring libretto playing again and again.





The zephyr rings the happy swansong of the nightingales no more
As weed grows around, and the arboretum is dead
As discombobulated , the dead men lay
With only the hovering hungry ravens to prey.

Dark are the days of the thousand splendid suns,
Of the Ugly Duckling and the Hunchback of Notre Dame,
So sing me the song of the renegade damsel,
And prurient lust craving men , sybaritic and lame.


Sing no more of how the Messiah gave
Tell me the story of when Judas betrayed
Tell me a story of what is true
Of what transpires in men’s world ,of me and you.'

India - of cliches and more

I have been falling short on subjects to blog on recently, but as an avid blogger ,blog I must,blog I will,and in my search for inspiration ,I made a journey closer home. I decided to write on India. But writing an article on a land as diverse as India presents in itself it own fair share of problems ,the first of the many being it’s a democracy .Yes ,it does give us the right to express our own opinion but so does it give others ,some ,who are not as peaceful when it comes to voicing theirs objections .And so , I,having neither the desire ,nor the inclination to see my puppets being used as a source of alternative fuel by the insolently baneful extremists of our country ,decided to resort to every sort of cliché there exists in the book (not Mahabharat ,that’s not a documentation of history of India ,though it does have its fair share of cliches).

1. Must have land.

2. Must fight over that land.

3.Nothing can be built over that land ,unless something already has been ,in which case ,it has to be razed to the ground , dictated by directions from ancient Mythological texts.

4.You can leave a piece of arid land unused for ages , but cannot possibly have factories sprouting up on it.

5.We have to quote Tagore regarding the exploitation of the rightful owners of the land (dui bigh jami).

6. finally ,the great Indian rivalry , my land is bigger than your land.(land is an English word and not Hindi ,its Hindi translation would amount to ‘zameen’.) .

7.On days of strike (which is everyday),when theres nothing much to be done in the way of work ,play cricket on that land.




By now ,if you are sick of my mindless rambling on land ,and don’t want anything to do with it,be considerate to give it to one Mr Ratan Tata ,he is in dire need of non-cultivable land .However ,if your land is nowhere close to being as arid as the cold desert , and in its long history ,has nurtured even a single flailing cactus sapling ,it would be worldly unwise to use such land for industrial purposes .Of course , you can first give the land away , and then go on hunger strike to have it back , for you have been robbed of your food by the bloody capitalist society (cause of course , thorny shrubs and cactus is what you live on).

**************************************

When I had first expressed my desire to write a post on India, a friend adviced me to sprinkle my writing with a fair dose of Mahabharata , Ramayana , G.D.P , Mahatma Gandhi, G.D.P ,Pakistani terrosts ,British Imperialism and brutality (and how Mohun Bagan defeated them in a football match once) , G.D.P , Tagore ,Pakistani terrorists,Chinese infiltrators,Bangladeshi immigrants, G.D.P , Tansen ,Bollywood and the Gandhi family (don’t even dare to leave the last one out ,that would be sacrilege).Also mine characters might include naked sadhus , normal sadhus , modern sadhus , saffron sadhus , mainly sadhus. Ofcourse , one is free to make that passing mention of the stupid Sardar ,the nerdy suthie,the pretentiously intellectual Bengali (and he must love the rasugulla),the rowdy Delhiite , the uncouth Bihari,the artsy and Racist Marathi ,the gluttonously greedy Marwari , the avariciously parsimonious Gujrati. I was warned not to get bogged down with precise descriptions. India is big: 28 states, 150 million people who are too busy starving and dying and warring and emigrating to read my post.




He went on to add

‘Also remember , when you are writing about India ,you are not so much writing as promoting a brand .You are the custodian of that brand ,brand India , and its beneficiary. You should be aware what that brand stands for . India is a mythological land , infact people in the west ,atleast a fair population of them (well ,they are always fair ) ,hardly believe in its existence ,Pakistan is where the world ends ,and then comes Japan .You have to cater to that belief ,make it look as implausible as the Middle Earth of Tolkien . They don’t want to know about Ratan Tata ,they don’t want to read about the Ambanis .Brand India is almost like a neorealism movie ,just that its more mythological ,so what you need to depict are characters like Gollum from LOTR ,searching for bicycles a la Bicycle Thieves . They don’t want to hear about an affluent and growing middle class ,nor could they care less about IITs , so remember ,Indian population is a vastly destitute , impoverished ,poverty-stricken illiterate society .

Also do remember ,as Gautam Buddha was born in Nepal , and went on to enjoy a rockstar like status in his day and age ,Nepal is a part of India .Also , the Harappa-Mohenjodaro ,inspite of being well outside the realms of Indian jurisdiction and administration ,is more a part of India than it is of Pakistan , for Pakistanis are almost like Indians ,unless they are religious extremists and terrorists ,or like Afgans (which is almost all of them ) and so ,we have equel rights to their land (fair though ,if they can claim Kashmir to be theirs ) . However , Srilanka is not a part of India , as Ravana was born there , and pugnacious multi-headed kidnappers are not born in India . Also , remember ,India does not have a huge population , Indians are neither irresponsible , ignorant or horny .What it has is a huge ,undiminishing ,infact steeply growing manpower . Anyway, the point is that people from all over the world have come to know and love brand India for its ability to starve the shit out of its population. Whatever you write, please respect this legacy. Bear in mind that India is a market-leader. Most populated place on the face of this planet.



Also remember ,first thing we do in the morning when we wake up is not rush for the bathroom door , we do Yoga.When faced with the prospect of certain death by being mowed down by a rushing train heading headlong in our direction ,we don't run to save our damned lives , we do yoga . Actually ,apart from staying poor and going hungry ,the only other thing Indians are good at is Yoga.’

So armed with his advice , and my key board , I embarked upon writing my first detailed account of India.



So stay tuned in for my next post, The Great Indian History. Until then,goodbye.

paranoid minds.avi

a short movie by the students of NIT Durgapur on the paranoia of death....the movie essentially has three interpretations,which i leave for the audience to figure out.the first nightmare sequence itself is full of symbolism,with the car representing death,the ghosts representing paranoia and the door representing a route for escape from death.thats why,the door reopens after he exchages his right to live.

Anuva's sky

Marvelled she long at the unmoving mass
Relentlessly steady and resolutely free
Even as it changed through the varied seasons
Through arderous time,through day and night,
Decked in shades of the brightest blue,black and white.

Under the unmoving blue she strolled
The tunes harmony reaching a crescendo
Her black curls rippled down in a bristling platter of cascading sheets
And the monsoons adorned her in a vial of glistening drops
As they dripped delightfully on the perched tamarisks around her
Unaware of a greater world outside
She gazed at the bright blue sky
Her age old friend fading into the distance afar.

And then one day he came,riding on his horse pitch black
The resonating wedding bells sounded hollow today
Even as they danced in mirthful joy
And as the sun rose again,they took her away.

Carelessness of everyday replaced by wrested chores
Saw she not the blue azure anymore
Imprisoned by the fetters of the urban life
Danced she no more as the monsoons roared.

And then one day she broke free
Running up those winding fleet in tepid steps,
Limbered up into the open in palpitating beats,
As the red saree flapped behind in gyrating grates
And Anuva searched for familiarity in the unending blue
For traces of recognition in her childhood friend,
Until she felt numb and wounded,a sour rancour,
As the black chimney belched out in thick rings.
Silhouetted in that smog of distasteful grey,
Robbed of its blue splendour,childhood friend was no more.

THE STRANDED BOAT....

Of fringed decks and embroidered sails
Every drop of sweat spent so true
An everfloating dream,carved of wood
Placed on the waterfront, it stood,
Forever,Resolute and astute.

A dwindling stream of fuddled mud,
Scouring the horizons for a single floating piece of greying mass,
Anxious with wait to quench its arid thirst
Sauntering dry through the pebbles and sand.

Cries and prayers had wafted through
Falling ever so slightly on Providence’s disdainful ears
Unrelentingly merciless,hope rendered imbecile
For the peasants sweat could no more bedew the parched yards,
As i waited through times rough detour,those torrid days,
For my sculpted beauty to sail away.

And so it happened on one such mundane day of sweat and shine,
Hope pinned on a single sign,it floated it in one night,
Mad with wafting,and grief,ready to lapidate its withheld vertigo,
Roaring ,shrieking,coiling up to meet the heaven upward
In a rampant celebration of an unholy coition
Ravaging in a fury of abominable cruelty,
Their long tarried dream fulfilled,left were they now to pine.

The villagers stood,dumbfounded,terror stricken
Dilapidated ruins of their once home,entire cattle herds swept away
As the river had finally quenched its prurient thirst,
My carved dream of sails and wood had sailed away.