It was just another day in my corporate house. Strangers around me all day- exchanging glances, an occasional smile n biz talk smoothly done under bated breath, grind of the teeth, softened with resisted parting of the upper and lower lips interrupted by clinches of the photocopy machines, clatter of keyboards and the very uncontrollable tones beeping their way to calls and sms.

Worth mentioning, interludes would be captured by my blonde boss with her spray of “Velvet Rope” and directing us how to cope with situations. She’s alwaz had a clean table . The work of a manager as she would say would be to delegate. So she wipes off her table and “delegates” them to people. One brief interaction with her would be just enough to walk you back home with enough fret. Needless to say, I had quite a bit of her. I was busy debating within if I should just smash her nose or her head and then suddenly it was sunset time. Nah! Let not the sun set on an argument. Not worth it.

Then….picked up my satchel and pushed out. Called up a number, a someone to understand if we could call shots on the rocks that evening with Floyd, Bob and Lynrd. He quickly made himself available. We hadn’t spoken or met for a long time. With both of our time really running out, we would have a lot of space between us coming in, cupping for some communication which could not happen. Over Dylan and Savage Garden, words set a flowing. Some good “ilish maach” (hilsa) and bhaat (steamed rice) set in some fresh oxygen in our brains in a small shack and we loved our small talks, laughs at our limitations and whiling away time. As we drove back home, we figured a lot of things which had been in the locality but we could not have noticed all this awhile.

The grey clouds in my mind had cleared and as the streak of light penetrated, I twinkled at an idea, as I set a couple of Breaking Benjamin tracks for a mood buster. Wrote out the wonderfully interesting day I’d spent and then quickly took a print out. As the clock-a-doodle do woke me up in the morning, I grabbed a plump rose from the garden.

Its 10 in the morning next. The elevator doors pushed apart as my blonde boss stepped out of it in sizzling blue tunics. Her fragrance seemed loud enough to repel people to declare her a class apart. She moved in on her tick-toeing stilettos. Clinched the door of her chamber open and located a surprise on her table. Some quick screams followed thereafter.


Note for readers: The surprise consisted of a red rose and a printed sheet of paper.

I'm a Liar

Lyrics

Dreams come true...

It was a dreamy dusk... when the vermillion gave way to the dark purple of the skies behind the lush green mountains. As the purple haze reflected in the clear river, our Jack slouched at the river bank with a nebulae of flies above his head; against his fishing paraphernalia -forgetting his little strife with the Tenth Commandment (THE 10th COMMANDMENT-(coveting)Exodus 20:17 "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that [is] thy neighbour's."), for the evening;) .
Sang a boy, strolling down the valley, molesting his guitar, "Its a long long walk to dreamlands. Held and bound and tied and cast, to this painfully sadistic craft." As i looked at him intently, said his guitar to me, "This way, he strums and drums and humps all his problems far far away ;-) ".
In the old tavern, the greying bricks lined with dark soot sat the heavy drunkard at his usual seat beside the fire place. The bard's singing tickled his ears and he raised his glass to inquire of the brewer ,then caressing his notes (currencies) with care utmost, "Do dreams come true?", with an obvious sarcasm in his voice and face. Hearing this,the young lady dressed in lilac smiled. She was still in her early stage of romance. Had not seen the world fully through but posed to believe, "Dreams come true; without that possibility, nature would not incite us to have them".The drunkard seemed unwittingly unconconvinced. The brewer came to his rescue, lest the bastard left unfilled for the day (unfilling his pocket too), "Unfortunately, the balance of nature decrees that a superabundance of dreams is paid for by a growing potential for nightmares." Silence barged in the brewery again.
The words of our bard echoed in reassuringly with his flat pick and downstrokes on the guitar,"But they'll be back, give it a day. As time goes by and words let sigh, the dreams are still dreams and, the days are as ever, long. We take our place in the rat race all for its sake. It draws and it claws and it calls, us down, us back;-)".
It was then that the postman arrived with a tinkle on his cycle's bell, "Mail for you" , said he to the dreamer.Half amused and half surprised, the dreamer tore open the letter that said a relative bequeathed 6000 pounds for a flying lesson, he aspired. He leaped and skipped and whirled around the tables and people in the tavern.Then climbed the nearest cliff to finally get the feel of "Learning to fly". Felt I heard some distant murmurs, "The dreamer's loose on the head, it seems."
As he spread his arms,standing at the edge of the cliff to summon the winds for his wings, he could feel a force pushing him against the gravity and then whoooshh.....h! he was gone;-)

We met again

Long, long ago there lived two cousins, one would come from an affluent convent and the other would come from a vernacular school. Both would hold the forefingers of their once Naxalite uncle and head towards a book-store in the vicinity.
The book store was not one of those flashy, glitsy ones where the walls and the accessories are more lucrative than the pages of the books. Here at "Bipin babur boiyer dokaan" (book store of Bipin babu), the walls would be sooty and the stained glass almirahs would be accomodating far more books than they were meant to be. So, naturally we would have to tell Bipin babu (the bearded middle-aged man with a pug and on it carefully balanced would be his glasses), what we wanted. He spoke impeccable English and his bangla was just as good.
The moment he would see us, he would ask me, "What would My Lady fancy?". Then he would look at me for a while and bring out a book almost magically and his choice could never go wrong. He exactly knew what I wanted all the time ;-)
Next would be my cousin's turn. By then, he would have fidgeted his way out to a book already. I somehow loved his books' cover pictures of skulls dripping with blood and delicate princesses on flying horses and hungry leopards...and he admired mine with ship sailing and the little Prince waiting for his extra terrestrial friend on the Earth.
After lunch, we would both go out on Dinu kaka's Koli, his black cow and come back with a dreaming head, as the light of the sun danced in our heads. Then would we sit down with our books, our backs against the wall of the "Chilekotha" (the attic). The stories would soon transport us to different locations untill "Mani Ma" (aunt) would call us for "Luchi" and "cholar dal" that would be ready by then. That would be our favorite meal of the day. At the end of it she would serve us "Aam kheer".
Mani Ma had an unusual charm about herself. Not that she would hug us and kiss us any time but she would tear the hot "luchis" into pieces for us, take the bones of our fish, and many more such amazingly thoughtful things that wove a strange mesh of affection around her.
My cousin and I, both grew up and realised it was time to look beyond our restricted charms. So we moved on different paths. He on technical and I on humanities. We met again some days ago in his child's study. This time sharing the same book. Our backs against the same wall and our fingers on the same line of the same page.We met again...

This is for my pal Siddhartha ;-)

Ode To A Bengali Paunch
In response to a friend’s comment on Facebook that Bengali paunches are holy, I offer you this little rhyme:
Ode to a Bengali Paunch by Amit Varma

A Bengali paunch may be roly-poly,

But I deny rumours that it’s holy.

It is the center of base desire,

The origin of a Bong’s carnal fire.

We get turned on by mastaard feesh,

By paabda, rohu and illeesh.

Porn for you is chingri for me,

It’s divine, but not holy, you see.

Would you like a Lobongolotika?
*

The New Erection by Subrata Majumdar

Would you like a lobongolotika?

Or some other form of aphro-desi-ka?

The holy paunch faces serious threats

From Gold’s Gym and such bourgeois outlets

Preserve our bhuri, we Bengalis must

A symbol of our glory, about to bite the dust

Let the paunch be the new erection

To show young bongs the right direction

I propose a paunchy statue as public art

To grace the crossing at Gariahat.

Used to...

Thought is a difficult strike in our Mc Donaldized society now. The other day, I looked at the apparel store across Rashbehari Avenue still shut at 9 in the morning, I was slightly surprised. Thats the time, am busy on the phone with someone or the other. Just at 9, when my bus passes that store, an employee brings out a mannequin and puts it outside the glass door.

As usual, I was on the phone but my eyes were looking for the everyday scene its so used to. My conversation on the phone did not stop but my eyes kept nudging my mind. Possibly something's wrong somewhere. In the evening, I dropped into the store and found the store space available for lease.

I came back with a hint of disturbance on my mind. It was then that occurred to me how there were countless things which never penetrate beyond the eyes untill the time it goes a missing. Tick tick 1, fresh flowers of my choice on my table all the time at my desk in my cabin at work. Just because I mentioned to Gada da how I adored them some day when he had planted them in our garden months ago. Infact most of the time , they go unnoticed.

Thereafter, its mom neatly organising my bath robe and towels before I am off to shower. I noticed effort and thought behind it on the dayshe fell ill and could not do it for me. My consistently irritating frenz who forcefully call me up at night and morn ;-) just to irritate me and speak a whole deal of nonsense. Somehow, watever they saystarted making sense to me the day I had a bad time at work and made a wrong decision to stay shut about it and build frustrations within. Obviously I failed to do all that coz my frenz would not leave me untill the time I spoke to them.

Instances kept pouring unto me gradually and since yesterday life seems more organised without taking things for granted. It began with the food habit. Why do I need to have that same breakfast of cornflakes and milk or sandwiches for lunch? So I started with a lamb and cheese salad and a roti-dal lunch. Kicked off office on Monday just to be out on a tour of the city, adda with anebody I would come across and so on.

The brain seems in control now.... quite unlike a couple of days ago ;-)

When two like minded individuals meet, it is but natural to come close and feel, "Wish this moment stayed further!" but what a lot of us miss out on is would we actually love it the same way had the moment stayed on and on.

I remember the "kesar matka kulfi" I would die for when in school and sooner or later I had grown out of it. I revived my tastes only when i came back from my hostel on my first summer vaccation.

Then it was a schoolmate, later turned to a crush and finally would seem too much to bear with, so we would part our ways but remembered the amout of conversation we would make at one point of time....Somehow that helped me to grow a lot beyond my years.

My search to the answer for the query we began with; is still on...