Our country is still battling for free sexual choice. High Courts and Supreme Court are severely paranoid, trying to overcome the dilemma of prejudice and humanity. Gay, Lesbians, Transsexuals and the very existence of a third gender have finally been salvaged from the closet and are burning quite strongly in front of our eyes. We, the Heterosexual beings, who rigidly defining ourselves as “straight”, seldom fail to realize that “homosexuality” is not a crime, not a disease it’s just “different”. Our minds are so very conditioned by social binaries that the concept of “difference” is about to extinct from our society. Complexity of a human mind can never be theorized. It’s a failed attempt of categorizing human minds into “male” and “female” that has led our whole existence into a big confusion. Some Ramdev or the other has always been there to suffocate social emancipation for some vast unknown reason. There is a fear that the “queer” people when liberated would wear their sexuality in their sleeves. This fear itself shows that how crooked our “straightness” has made us! Time has arrived for us to respect the individuality of every social being. We need to understand that not everything in this brave new world abides by binaries and norms. There is more to life than petty stereotypes. A note of appreciation for My Brother Nikhil and a comic interlude of “kantaben” or Dostana show but little of our awareness. True awareness can only be achieved when we will learn to discard voyeurism and to respect personal privacy. Let us break free and wake up into a morning that is more “humane” than “normative”.
(published in Telegraph Young Metro)
Friday, May 21, 2010
KESHTOPUR MASSACRE
All quiet in bagjolakhal!!!!
The bus that breathed its last in the obnoxious lower bagjola khal claimed several lives. Among them was one a kid of class 9...who belonged to my alma mater.
We can call it destiny. We can wipe the incessant tears from the eyes of the childless parents! But whom will we blame for the money hogging overtakers???.Whom will we blame for the 2 and a half hour delay to send the rescuers?????
Irene Ishika Jaiswal wanted to visit N.A.S.A. A topper of her class...died struggling to breathe ...her mother is still unready to accept her death. She disobediently is waiting for her return...!
The driver escaped unhurt! Arrested but is under the blanket of Power!
50,000 for compensation.50, 000 is the auctioned price for each Irene who died trying to live!
her eyes emitting the helpless shadow of life- which fleeted from her 14 year old body, turning the burning energy into swelled up fetter!-no one to blame!
Parents living dead, childless in one stroke of so called destiny!-no one to blame!
delayed rescue...unsure of duty...cranes that do not work...
fire brigade who can extinguish flames therefore cannot allow the flame of life to glow!-no one to blame!
There is force to save Power. There is Force to save backs of branded criminals. Alas! no humane force to dive into emergency crisis-no one to blame!
"Dream! Children"...but do not blame anyone if your dreams are shattered and all the vibrancy of your salad days are turned into cold morgue meat.
. Just forget who cares. Let them race for money! LET THEM PLAY THE DEADLY GAME...AND MAKE KOLKATA BLOODIER! Do not blame because you are safe!!
ARE YOU???
Swagata Basu
Ex-student,
Loreto Day School, Sealdah
(published Telegraph Young metro)
The bus that breathed its last in the obnoxious lower bagjola khal claimed several lives. Among them was one a kid of class 9...who belonged to my alma mater.
We can call it destiny. We can wipe the incessant tears from the eyes of the childless parents! But whom will we blame for the money hogging overtakers???.Whom will we blame for the 2 and a half hour delay to send the rescuers?????
Irene Ishika Jaiswal wanted to visit N.A.S.A. A topper of her class...died struggling to breathe ...her mother is still unready to accept her death. She disobediently is waiting for her return...!
The driver escaped unhurt! Arrested but is under the blanket of Power!
50,000 for compensation.50, 000 is the auctioned price for each Irene who died trying to live!
her eyes emitting the helpless shadow of life- which fleeted from her 14 year old body, turning the burning energy into swelled up fetter!-no one to blame!
Parents living dead, childless in one stroke of so called destiny!-no one to blame!
delayed rescue...unsure of duty...cranes that do not work...
fire brigade who can extinguish flames therefore cannot allow the flame of life to glow!-no one to blame!
There is force to save Power. There is Force to save backs of branded criminals. Alas! no humane force to dive into emergency crisis-no one to blame!
"Dream! Children"...but do not blame anyone if your dreams are shattered and all the vibrancy of your salad days are turned into cold morgue meat.
. Just forget who cares. Let them race for money! LET THEM PLAY THE DEADLY GAME...AND MAKE KOLKATA BLOODIER! Do not blame because you are safe!!
ARE YOU???
Swagata Basu
Ex-student,
Loreto Day School, Sealdah
(published Telegraph Young metro)
When Maharaj decided to hang his boot!
An era is about to embrace its conclusion. It is stumps forever for the DADA of Indian cricket. Sourav has always been the ‘Damocles’ of Indian Cricket. Time and again he braved the sword hanging over his head. The sword scarred him but he never succumbed. He redefined Indian Team as “Team India”. He showed the world that Indians are here to rule. At Lord’s he laid the stepping stone of his career. Some said he is the Maharaja, some said he is “The Prince of Calcutta”; some endeared him as “chheleta”-the next door boy! Bengal Tiger became India’s most successful test captain. He took an underdog team to the grand finale of cricket world cup in 2003.
He could spontaneously take off his shirt with the signature “No Coward Soul is Mine”!
No amount of pressure could ever make him sigh! Whether its controversy; whether it is condescension, Sourav endured all. He integrated a fragmented team. Yet it is he who had forever been the ‘odd man out’ for the selectors.
From Lord’s to Mohali it has been a lifetime. Dada has sizzled with triumph, groaned in injustice; but never mourned for pity! The ‘man with the golden arm’ had to pass the acid test more than desired to prove the truth of his mettle! Sourav ‘Damocles’ Ganguly is a kind of his own. Whether it is smashing the spin legend Muralidharan at Taunton to score a mighty 183 or to put up a tough double century just when cynics began to rule him out, he had always been a Samaritan!
The list will go on and his achievements would usher in like filtered sunrays. The holy truth is that it is curtains for this legend of world cricket. He is hanging up his boots with glory. Let all pensive thoughts fly way. Let his overreaching contribution be the bliss of his solitude.
I wish luck to my hero! He is the man who infused the spirit of cricket in me. I will never be able to accept his farewell. But I believe he is the best judge of himself as he is of the game. Sourav you are the sailor who befriended the tempest and won over it. The game of Cricket is proud of you!
Cheers to life!
He could spontaneously take off his shirt with the signature “No Coward Soul is Mine”!
No amount of pressure could ever make him sigh! Whether its controversy; whether it is condescension, Sourav endured all. He integrated a fragmented team. Yet it is he who had forever been the ‘odd man out’ for the selectors.
From Lord’s to Mohali it has been a lifetime. Dada has sizzled with triumph, groaned in injustice; but never mourned for pity! The ‘man with the golden arm’ had to pass the acid test more than desired to prove the truth of his mettle! Sourav ‘Damocles’ Ganguly is a kind of his own. Whether it is smashing the spin legend Muralidharan at Taunton to score a mighty 183 or to put up a tough double century just when cynics began to rule him out, he had always been a Samaritan!
The list will go on and his achievements would usher in like filtered sunrays. The holy truth is that it is curtains for this legend of world cricket. He is hanging up his boots with glory. Let all pensive thoughts fly way. Let his overreaching contribution be the bliss of his solitude.
I wish luck to my hero! He is the man who infused the spirit of cricket in me. I will never be able to accept his farewell. But I believe he is the best judge of himself as he is of the game. Sourav you are the sailor who befriended the tempest and won over it. The game of Cricket is proud of you!
Cheers to life!
First Language-A sin?
The schools under West Bengal Board of Secondary Education offering English as t first language are potential scapegoats in every year's Madhyamik Examnination. They are completely unknown entities who face the toughest questions on the age old Victorian novel Silas Marner by George Eliot. The board has never felt it necessary to update the syllabus or to the change the curriculum. From time immemorial the first language syllabus has remained the same. No contemporizing has ever taken place in the syllabus of Madhyamik First Language English. And it is even harder to make people believe that something called "first Language English" exists in West Bengal Board .There is a huge disparity in the marking system. The students writing second language English get marks as high as 90% where as the first language candidates struggle to manage a 70%. This is a disgrace in today’s competitive world. Students of West Bengal board are severely weak in their English and those who take up the "brave" job of sticking to the First language English are whipped for the "sin". I do pray to all our great political 'lords' to pay heed to this matter. Instead of digging up roads they should bury their Ancient Fossilised ideas and think afresh about some serious transformation in the way English is treated in the state. Its time to realise that no matter how dear our 'matribhasha' is to us, the world communicates in English. I SERIOUSLY "hope" the 'feudal lords' in our Government would hear our cry and save First Language English from perishing!
(Published in Telegraph Young Metro)
(Published in Telegraph Young Metro)
Don’t Pollute, Don’t Commute!
Kolkata wakes up to a less polluted morning everyday. No old vehicles to stain the sacred air. It seems to be an excellent progress! However it is only one side of the coin. And when we flip the coin we find that after all it is not so excellent a development. Office goers, Students, worker and every individual who commutes in public vehicle are the new series of scapegoats! They keep waiting for buses that suddenly have become endangered species! Time passes by and “Godot” does not come. Yes! Buses have become like some indefinite Godot who may or may not come. And common people suffer in the daily agony of hoping against hope. If by sheer luck a bus or two arrive there is maximum chance of not being able to board it, as it already is in a tilted state with human beings hanging like flags near the entrance. A chunk of students have taken to miss their college lectures everyday as they do not get the bus for their route. Office goers are penalized for being late to work. Children are more worried of reaching school in time than exams! The lucky few who manage to squeeze themselves into an overloaded bus later prove to be in a rather critical juncture because the constant battle of finding a bit of ground for the feet and then they find themselves getting choked while attempting to get out of the bus!
We all crave for a green Kolkata. But is this the only means by which our government can provide us a better environment? People are staking their lives in order to board a bus in time. Commuters are waiting impatiently for a bus in the peak hour of the day! Does this show any sign of improvement? This notice of removing 15year old vehicles is not a recent affair. It was known from beforehand. Then why did not our “providers” arrange for new vehicles; why did not they supply new buses. Why? Is the question that remains unanswered in this state! And I know this “why” too would never find an answer. In the mighty city of Kolkata you have to lose in order to gain. Nothing comes free; its recession period after all! “You want freedom from pollution? Then you have to bear with the scarcity of vehicles! Take it or leave it!”- says the holy Oracle! Amen!
(published in The Telegraph Young Metro)
We all crave for a green Kolkata. But is this the only means by which our government can provide us a better environment? People are staking their lives in order to board a bus in time. Commuters are waiting impatiently for a bus in the peak hour of the day! Does this show any sign of improvement? This notice of removing 15year old vehicles is not a recent affair. It was known from beforehand. Then why did not our “providers” arrange for new vehicles; why did not they supply new buses. Why? Is the question that remains unanswered in this state! And I know this “why” too would never find an answer. In the mighty city of Kolkata you have to lose in order to gain. Nothing comes free; its recession period after all! “You want freedom from pollution? Then you have to bear with the scarcity of vehicles! Take it or leave it!”- says the holy Oracle! Amen!
(published in The Telegraph Young Metro)
“APSARA THEATRE-ER MAMLA
“APSARA THEATRE-ER MAMLA” PRESENTED BY CHARBAK
VENUE: GIRISH MANCHA
DATE: 31ST MAY 2008
Satyajit Ray has been the undisputed pioneer of Bengali thriller stories on the basis of his undying creation of Feluda series. “Apsara Theatre-er mamla” is one of the celebrated Feluda stories based on the disappearance of Mohitosh, a minor actor in a professional theatre.
Charbak’s stage adaptation of “Apsara Theatre-er Mamla” revives the characteristic charm of Ray’s Feluda successfully. The script has been deftly developed by Arindam Ganguly and the play unfolds under the expert direction of Sabyasachi Chakrabarty.
The characters are convincingly portrayed. Sabyasachi, through his effortless acting brings out the indomitable investigator Feluda in full regalia. Subir Roychoudhury does an appreciable job in the role of Jatayu. Kheyali Dastidar does the role of a snob, rebellious and aged actress Bidisha with the expected expertise. But Sujit Ghosh deserves a special mention in his role of a lustful producer Bhikharimal. Sujit Ghosh’s fluent non Bengali accent and comical gestures evoke unprompted laughter among the spectators.
Though the play has kept its theme to the original story, there has been some necessary contemporizing. Ray’s original mentions the struggle of professional theatres of the times and the main focus is on the disappearance of Mohitosh and the murder associated with it. But in Charbak’s adaptation, the survival of professional theatre has been the primary focus. The awareness for the restoration of theatrical glory is communicated in the emotionally charged outburst of the murderer Mohitosh after being unmasked by Feluda.
The use of stage props has been innovative and appropriate. The depiction of a car with the aid of sound and light is laudable. The music stimulates the ray-aura in the play.
The play has undoubtedly justified Ray’s brilliance in contemporary attire.
Swagata Basu
3rd Year, English (honours)
Scottish Church College
(published in Telegraph Young Metro)
VENUE: GIRISH MANCHA
DATE: 31ST MAY 2008
Satyajit Ray has been the undisputed pioneer of Bengali thriller stories on the basis of his undying creation of Feluda series. “Apsara Theatre-er mamla” is one of the celebrated Feluda stories based on the disappearance of Mohitosh, a minor actor in a professional theatre.
Charbak’s stage adaptation of “Apsara Theatre-er Mamla” revives the characteristic charm of Ray’s Feluda successfully. The script has been deftly developed by Arindam Ganguly and the play unfolds under the expert direction of Sabyasachi Chakrabarty.
The characters are convincingly portrayed. Sabyasachi, through his effortless acting brings out the indomitable investigator Feluda in full regalia. Subir Roychoudhury does an appreciable job in the role of Jatayu. Kheyali Dastidar does the role of a snob, rebellious and aged actress Bidisha with the expected expertise. But Sujit Ghosh deserves a special mention in his role of a lustful producer Bhikharimal. Sujit Ghosh’s fluent non Bengali accent and comical gestures evoke unprompted laughter among the spectators.
Though the play has kept its theme to the original story, there has been some necessary contemporizing. Ray’s original mentions the struggle of professional theatres of the times and the main focus is on the disappearance of Mohitosh and the murder associated with it. But in Charbak’s adaptation, the survival of professional theatre has been the primary focus. The awareness for the restoration of theatrical glory is communicated in the emotionally charged outburst of the murderer Mohitosh after being unmasked by Feluda.
The use of stage props has been innovative and appropriate. The depiction of a car with the aid of sound and light is laudable. The music stimulates the ray-aura in the play.
The play has undoubtedly justified Ray’s brilliance in contemporary attire.
Swagata Basu
3rd Year, English (honours)
Scottish Church College
(published in Telegraph Young Metro)
Birthday Eve
It is drizzling outside…a nagging depressing drizzle. It is making me feel so empty. The void is disturbing me so much that I think I could even make use of a vacuum cleaner! It is my birthday eve but I feel no butterflies in my belly! Why is it so? I really do not know! Perhaps it is age!! Am growing older...! Does excitement fade as you delve deeper into the monotony of adulthood!
I have no idea why an old Bengali song is buzzing in my ears- “proti bochhor jonmodine ekti kore boyesh baare/ tobu moner boyish baarte dio na!!
O amar chhotto bondhura shono..Amar ekta kotha shono…tomra jano buro hoyona!”
It means- “Every year the birthday comes and makes us old by another year! But o my dear little friends do not let your age decide the span of your youthful days…” I feel alarmed…am I approaching an untimely senility?
Why does not the rain seem as beautiful as it used to?
Why don’t the greener-pastures look as fresh as they used to?
I no more feel as juvenile as I used too!
Yet that song turns me on and on and on… “o amar chhotto bondhuraa…..”
Perhaps that is the only sap still living in me…growing in me...nurturing me...And reminding me of the innocent suns I lived!
Well no matter what, the 00hr today will no doubt fill me with a sense of undefined pleasure…I know it will!...I hope it will!
I have grown through more suns and less storms…yet I feel ripe! And ready to face the world!
…Come beloved birthday…give me another rare opportunity to reminisce all that I have grown with…in this imperfect journey of becoming this not so ladylike Me.
Come …smear me with droplets of childhood!
Come, come, come ye one more time…I know not how many I will get to live…so even if I feel less excited even if I feel like a suppressed adult…you break the barrier and sweep me away…one more grand time…
The chiming of the bell I hear!
And, here I prepare to grow into another blessed year!
I have no idea why an old Bengali song is buzzing in my ears- “proti bochhor jonmodine ekti kore boyesh baare/ tobu moner boyish baarte dio na!!
O amar chhotto bondhura shono..Amar ekta kotha shono…tomra jano buro hoyona!”
It means- “Every year the birthday comes and makes us old by another year! But o my dear little friends do not let your age decide the span of your youthful days…” I feel alarmed…am I approaching an untimely senility?
Why does not the rain seem as beautiful as it used to?
Why don’t the greener-pastures look as fresh as they used to?
I no more feel as juvenile as I used too!
Yet that song turns me on and on and on… “o amar chhotto bondhuraa…..”
Perhaps that is the only sap still living in me…growing in me...nurturing me...And reminding me of the innocent suns I lived!
Well no matter what, the 00hr today will no doubt fill me with a sense of undefined pleasure…I know it will!...I hope it will!
I have grown through more suns and less storms…yet I feel ripe! And ready to face the world!
…Come beloved birthday…give me another rare opportunity to reminisce all that I have grown with…in this imperfect journey of becoming this not so ladylike Me.
Come …smear me with droplets of childhood!
Come, come, come ye one more time…I know not how many I will get to live…so even if I feel less excited even if I feel like a suppressed adult…you break the barrier and sweep me away…one more grand time…
The chiming of the bell I hear!
And, here I prepare to grow into another blessed year!
They Die Our Deaths
A burning stink filled the room…
A burning smell engulfed the roads…
A burning smell overwhelmed our existence!
I, me and myself escaped unhurt…
You, yourself and scores of others left the room!
But they could not!
They were not thinking death
They were not talking politics
They were not wearing their religions!
They were living…
They were dreaming…
They were drinking the coffee of life!
And so the coffee was spilled
And so the cups were shattered
And so they were cremated …
In fragments of decomposed fetter!
I, Me and myself sat and passed a sigh!
You, Yourself and scores of others turned the T.V on
They died my death again! They died your death again!
The killer is not singular
The killer doesn’t have a name
The killer is the one residing…
Just between you and me!
The killer is the division
The killer is border herself
The killer is that single truth…
That breaks US into You and ME!
A burning smell engulfed the roads…
A burning smell overwhelmed our existence!
I, me and myself escaped unhurt…
You, yourself and scores of others left the room!
But they could not!
They were not thinking death
They were not talking politics
They were not wearing their religions!
They were living…
They were dreaming…
They were drinking the coffee of life!
And so the coffee was spilled
And so the cups were shattered
And so they were cremated …
In fragments of decomposed fetter!
I, Me and myself sat and passed a sigh!
You, Yourself and scores of others turned the T.V on
They died my death again! They died your death again!
The killer is not singular
The killer doesn’t have a name
The killer is the one residing…
Just between you and me!
The killer is the division
The killer is border herself
The killer is that single truth…
That breaks US into You and ME!
Down Memory Lane
School…it was not a place which meant mere academics…it meant a home outside the home!
I had spent 14 years of my life in Loreto Day School, Sealdah…and it has been the most beautiful slice of life. School was the place where I grew up, physically and mentally. It was my world. Even today I miss my school as fiercely as ever…and I know I will continue to do so the entire lifetime. I owe my existence to my school…to the friends I made there…to the teachers who educated us…to our dear sister who shaped us…and last but not the least to the building, to the terrace, to the staircase, to the playground, to the science lab…to every brick of Loreto Sealdah!
It was my school which for the first time gave me the excitement of winning a competition…it was my school that taught me to accept a defeat, it was my school that helped me learn team-spirit…Yes it was my school that gave me the joy of being a winner! It was my school that gave me the confidence that I too can make a difference! I too can take a decision and feel proud about it. It was my Alma Mater that accentuated the feeling of “US” in me.
There were moments of tension…failure…success…! The first red mark on my report card…the first and only full mark in mathematics…the first singing of…”To east and west of that fair isle where first Loreto stands…” each moment carved the human being in me. It has been 5 years now that I have left my school. Yet it feels just the other day. I am not so prejudiced to say that my school has the best facility or best faculty…it does have its limitations. We do not have sophisticated laboratories, we do not have a plush auditorium! yes! there are many "have-nots" that the world can point out! We lack…yes we lack in many a way. But all these wants sink into oblivion when I recall the memories of the green days! The lack of an auditorium causes no disgrace as we happily cuddle on the floor of the assembly hall attending our daily assembly, enjoying a teachers’ day program; attending the first Friday mass or the Ash Wednesday assembly. I never felt ashamed of anything…never. How many schools in Kolkata spend a day celebrating the efforts of the domestic staffs? My school does. How many students of India can say that-“I have reached out to those in need?”-We can. How many people cry even after 10 years of leaving their schools…some of us did…and some of us will do! That’s the magic of this small and humble world of Loreto day school Sealdah. It may lack the luster but my school is a diamond in every way. The heart of our school spreads beyond the walls. It stretches to the deprived; to the forlorn; to the homeless; to the world…trying hard to bring about a wave of humane feeling. The ripple is created…and I know someday my school will succeed in generating the wave.
You may call me an emotional fool, writing heart breaking, sentimental saga of some bygone days. But to tell you the truth this is what I feel not just today, not just someday but each day, every hour! When I was in my school these details did not sink in…as I was too busy taking part in them…but now in the busy rat-race of a severe competent world I scarcely get a breather…I wish…I so wish I could get back to my school, inside the green gates…within that cozy world which taught a lesson entirely different from the conceited competition of today!
I know I cannot go back. Time is too cruel to allow that. But I cannot help feeling a part of it even today! Sister said on the last day of our school-“You Cannot Tear the Umbilical Cord…” The bunch of Class XII students who leave the premises of our school every year can truly never tear off that cord which has become a part of them. I cry recalling the nostalgia, I laugh exploring the fun, I smile remembering the moments…and I sigh, sensing the void! To all who are still in their schools…and especially to those in Loreto Sealdah- I quote: Smile on the days “you” are passing by. Smile on the years to come...” Keep smiling and basking as you are passing through the most pleasant phase of your life…once gone, these days will never visit you again.
To all my friends of Loreto Sealdah…To My Teachers…: “I believe in angels…something good in everything I do…I cross the stream…I have a dream!”
I hope we all live the dream that we dreamt together…and I hope never to part with my friends…and with the umbilical cord, which ties me to my School!
“When our school days ended are…and our varied paths divide…O may the ideals of our youth still ever be our guide…”
Cheers to life! ~
I had spent 14 years of my life in Loreto Day School, Sealdah…and it has been the most beautiful slice of life. School was the place where I grew up, physically and mentally. It was my world. Even today I miss my school as fiercely as ever…and I know I will continue to do so the entire lifetime. I owe my existence to my school…to the friends I made there…to the teachers who educated us…to our dear sister who shaped us…and last but not the least to the building, to the terrace, to the staircase, to the playground, to the science lab…to every brick of Loreto Sealdah!
It was my school which for the first time gave me the excitement of winning a competition…it was my school that taught me to accept a defeat, it was my school that helped me learn team-spirit…Yes it was my school that gave me the joy of being a winner! It was my school that gave me the confidence that I too can make a difference! I too can take a decision and feel proud about it. It was my Alma Mater that accentuated the feeling of “US” in me.
There were moments of tension…failure…success…! The first red mark on my report card…the first and only full mark in mathematics…the first singing of…”To east and west of that fair isle where first Loreto stands…” each moment carved the human being in me. It has been 5 years now that I have left my school. Yet it feels just the other day. I am not so prejudiced to say that my school has the best facility or best faculty…it does have its limitations. We do not have sophisticated laboratories, we do not have a plush auditorium! yes! there are many "have-nots" that the world can point out! We lack…yes we lack in many a way. But all these wants sink into oblivion when I recall the memories of the green days! The lack of an auditorium causes no disgrace as we happily cuddle on the floor of the assembly hall attending our daily assembly, enjoying a teachers’ day program; attending the first Friday mass or the Ash Wednesday assembly. I never felt ashamed of anything…never. How many schools in Kolkata spend a day celebrating the efforts of the domestic staffs? My school does. How many students of India can say that-“I have reached out to those in need?”-We can. How many people cry even after 10 years of leaving their schools…some of us did…and some of us will do! That’s the magic of this small and humble world of Loreto day school Sealdah. It may lack the luster but my school is a diamond in every way. The heart of our school spreads beyond the walls. It stretches to the deprived; to the forlorn; to the homeless; to the world…trying hard to bring about a wave of humane feeling. The ripple is created…and I know someday my school will succeed in generating the wave.
You may call me an emotional fool, writing heart breaking, sentimental saga of some bygone days. But to tell you the truth this is what I feel not just today, not just someday but each day, every hour! When I was in my school these details did not sink in…as I was too busy taking part in them…but now in the busy rat-race of a severe competent world I scarcely get a breather…I wish…I so wish I could get back to my school, inside the green gates…within that cozy world which taught a lesson entirely different from the conceited competition of today!
I know I cannot go back. Time is too cruel to allow that. But I cannot help feeling a part of it even today! Sister said on the last day of our school-“You Cannot Tear the Umbilical Cord…” The bunch of Class XII students who leave the premises of our school every year can truly never tear off that cord which has become a part of them. I cry recalling the nostalgia, I laugh exploring the fun, I smile remembering the moments…and I sigh, sensing the void! To all who are still in their schools…and especially to those in Loreto Sealdah- I quote: Smile on the days “you” are passing by. Smile on the years to come...” Keep smiling and basking as you are passing through the most pleasant phase of your life…once gone, these days will never visit you again.
To all my friends of Loreto Sealdah…To My Teachers…: “I believe in angels…something good in everything I do…I cross the stream…I have a dream!”
I hope we all live the dream that we dreamt together…and I hope never to part with my friends…and with the umbilical cord, which ties me to my School!
“When our school days ended are…and our varied paths divide…O may the ideals of our youth still ever be our guide…”
Cheers to life! ~
A Dilettante's Desire
Never ever did I think of dying alone...!
Never again shall my breath be borne
Glimpsing into the deserted chamber
Not me but remnants soaked in amber
Perhaps a sigh your breath will spill
Perhaps you'll trample some restaurant bill
Amid the ashes yet again
A restive dilettante dying in pain.
Time-equipped with sickle and blade
Hastily mends the heart that bled!
In forgetful remembrance-lees of past
Rusted passion makes love with dust!
Never again shall my breath be borne
Glimpsing into the deserted chamber
Not me but remnants soaked in amber
Perhaps a sigh your breath will spill
Perhaps you'll trample some restaurant bill
Amid the ashes yet again
A restive dilettante dying in pain.
Time-equipped with sickle and blade
Hastily mends the heart that bled!
In forgetful remembrance-lees of past
Rusted passion makes love with dust!
She-Ness
The Road she treads is there.
Her road begins nowhere.
The speck of sweat she spares…
With earnest guilt she dares!
Nothing tells a tale…
Nothing breeds female.
Empty pages stare…
Words untold…unfair!
Her silent body bends
A sigh that never ends…
The pen is set to lead
The pregnant pauses bleed
She sleeps with madness bare
She raped the motherly care!
Her she-ness thrives like fever…
She is today, tomorrow and never!
Her road begins nowhere.
The speck of sweat she spares…
With earnest guilt she dares!
Nothing tells a tale…
Nothing breeds female.
Empty pages stare…
Words untold…unfair!
Her silent body bends
A sigh that never ends…
The pen is set to lead
The pregnant pauses bleed
She sleeps with madness bare
She raped the motherly care!
Her she-ness thrives like fever…
She is today, tomorrow and never!
KITE RUNNER RUNNETH NOT!
17th day of September was overcast from morning. It was depressing to accept that it would be all rain and no “bhno-katta” kite flying! But God planned it otherwise. At afternoon it was good news! The grey patches in the sky made way for some pale blue! A whimsical wind was blowing. Perfect weather for soaring high with kites! I rushed after lunch to the terrace. Though not a great flier, I love to glue my eyes at the colourful kites battling with each other and scaring away the crows. As I looked up, my heart sank! I saw an almost empty sky. The crows were flying without threat. The familiar sound made by the kite and the wind was hardly audible. Kids were busy in the streets, not to hunt for fallen kites but to hurry for their evening tuitions! I knew I would witness this. Yet I deluded myself with a hope of miracle! Perhaps the gloomy sky was not as depressing as the solitary one!
Give Me Some Sunshine,Give Me Some Pain
If little labour, little are our gains:
Man's fortunes are according to his pains. - Robert Herrick (Hesperedis)
It is a natural tendency of parents to protect their children from potential danger and pain. There is no harm in safeguarding one’s child. But the problem becomes grave when parents treat their children as fragile entities and attempt to preserve them with cotton wool. This kind of treatment is bound to be transitory. Once the child steps into the hostility of the big bad world he begins to quiver. The obsessive parental protection, the smooth life and the bed of roses, that he has been accustomed to, turn out to be one huge illusion. It then truly becomes difficult for the child to cope and adjust with the thorns of life. Without experience and without proper understanding the child remains a dilettante forever in the uphill journey of life.
It is important to struggle. It is important fall. It is essential to confront obstacles. Life is the best tutor. A child can never learn to walk unless he falls and hurts himself. Similarly a kid will never understand the intricacies of practical life unless he counters a certain amount of difficulty on his own. Assistance from parents is always welcome, but dictation and direction damages the child’s self confidence. The period of “growing up” is analogous to the internship. As an intern learns his work, facing adversities, failures, obstacles and even humiliation in order to become a foolproof professional, so must a child learn to accept pains, odds, impediments and even a bit of danger in order to become an independent individual who is ready for the race called “life”.
Parents should not enchain their kids with shackles of extravagant care. Care, concern, protection and security are essential, but equally important ingredients of growing up are scraped knees, bruised elbows and the taste of defeat. If a man does not know how firm the ground is he will never be able to walk. And the firmness of the ground can only be discerned when a person tumbles and falls on it. Pain is intrinsic to human being. And experiencing the pain is the best way of overcoming it. It is not possible to learn how to adapt with adversities in a later stage of life, it is best learnt when one is young and impressionable. Maturity of a human being is like the growth of a tree. A tree, which counters all the onslaughts of weather, is the one which has the deepest roots. A man becomes stable, unprejudiced, and enduring when he is instilled with the awareness of pain from the very childhood.
Oscar Wilde Says- “Who wants a Cynic who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing?” A child who had a hassle-free childhood full of redundant care and superfluous protection ultimately grows up into a cynic, who stumbles against every step of his existence. He never learns to adapt, never learns to forgive, and never learns to compete. In every challenging situation he waits with an imbecile air of helplessness in order to be salvaged by some stroke of miracle. Therefore growing pains are not only important but they are necessary for a child to develop into a beautiful flower blooming with the fragrances of intellect, independence and determination.
Man's fortunes are according to his pains. - Robert Herrick (Hesperedis)
It is a natural tendency of parents to protect their children from potential danger and pain. There is no harm in safeguarding one’s child. But the problem becomes grave when parents treat their children as fragile entities and attempt to preserve them with cotton wool. This kind of treatment is bound to be transitory. Once the child steps into the hostility of the big bad world he begins to quiver. The obsessive parental protection, the smooth life and the bed of roses, that he has been accustomed to, turn out to be one huge illusion. It then truly becomes difficult for the child to cope and adjust with the thorns of life. Without experience and without proper understanding the child remains a dilettante forever in the uphill journey of life.
It is important to struggle. It is important fall. It is essential to confront obstacles. Life is the best tutor. A child can never learn to walk unless he falls and hurts himself. Similarly a kid will never understand the intricacies of practical life unless he counters a certain amount of difficulty on his own. Assistance from parents is always welcome, but dictation and direction damages the child’s self confidence. The period of “growing up” is analogous to the internship. As an intern learns his work, facing adversities, failures, obstacles and even humiliation in order to become a foolproof professional, so must a child learn to accept pains, odds, impediments and even a bit of danger in order to become an independent individual who is ready for the race called “life”.
Parents should not enchain their kids with shackles of extravagant care. Care, concern, protection and security are essential, but equally important ingredients of growing up are scraped knees, bruised elbows and the taste of defeat. If a man does not know how firm the ground is he will never be able to walk. And the firmness of the ground can only be discerned when a person tumbles and falls on it. Pain is intrinsic to human being. And experiencing the pain is the best way of overcoming it. It is not possible to learn how to adapt with adversities in a later stage of life, it is best learnt when one is young and impressionable. Maturity of a human being is like the growth of a tree. A tree, which counters all the onslaughts of weather, is the one which has the deepest roots. A man becomes stable, unprejudiced, and enduring when he is instilled with the awareness of pain from the very childhood.
Oscar Wilde Says- “Who wants a Cynic who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing?” A child who had a hassle-free childhood full of redundant care and superfluous protection ultimately grows up into a cynic, who stumbles against every step of his existence. He never learns to adapt, never learns to forgive, and never learns to compete. In every challenging situation he waits with an imbecile air of helplessness in order to be salvaged by some stroke of miracle. Therefore growing pains are not only important but they are necessary for a child to develop into a beautiful flower blooming with the fragrances of intellect, independence and determination.
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