I was born and brought up in Mumbai, the most cosmopolitan, metropolitan (and many more litans) city in this country. There's no one single language or religion or race or caste that forms too large a majority here. It's a melting pot, an amalgamation of a brilliant array of socio-cultural people living in harmony (and occasional disharmony) with each other.

When I was growing up, I was this typical "Bong boy" - Oily side-parted hair, spectacles on the nose, a slight pot-belly and an inherent love for maach-bhaat (Fish and rice). Somewhere while going from a four-foot something to a six-foot something (stop sniggering will you!) I kind of lost touch with my inner bangali babu. It's only in recent years that I rediscovered the bengali inside me and come to terms with the fact that there's no escaping it.

Like all self-respecting Bongs, I love an intellectual conversation over coffee, endearingly called as adda by the Kolkata kakushona across the street. I have a penchant for numbers. Maths was my favourite subject in school. I'm kind of nerdy too, loving my daily dose of literature (from Crichton's technical details to Tolkien's intricate worlds to Rowling's divinations to Gardner's number games) I just can't do without a few pages a day at the very least! Right after lunch I shall feel the effects of bhaat-ghoom (The urge for an after-rice siesta). I totally reserve the right to say "Eeeesh!" at everything that disgusts, repels, excites, fascinates, shocks or even surprises me; and absolutely no one can do a drunk, "Paro!" like I do! 

But the one thing I absolutely and completely identify with as a Bengali stereotype is our love for food! I absolutely LOVE to eat. That's one trait I shall always thank the Bengali community for! I think the HIPPO chips ads were inspired from a Bengali! Hippo fight Hunger it seems! Being a foodie is what being bong is totally about to me. I mean, what can be better than a plateful of macher-jhol or a potful of mishti-doi when you sit to dine?
The single biggest thing that any Bengali event revolves around is FOOD! Be it a wedding or festival celebrations or just a simple family get-together, the first thing that your maashi (aunt) will ask when she enters the house will be, "Oooooooo! (in that pitch, tone and voice that you heard in your head right now), Great smell! What are you cooking??" And with that all the women of the house will make a beeline for the kitchen where my mother dearest will proceed to explain in detail how, what and how much of each dish she's cooking. Oh and also, offers of assisting and vigorous denials can be heard from the kitchen amidst the din that comes out of having a large congregation of Bengali mohila (ladies) at one confined place with food.

I've grown up loving food and watching food shows like Masterchef and Hell's Kitchen and even our own beloved Khaana Khazana, asking mother to cook something out of it. My mum's an amazing cook too! She can cook pretty much everything from plain daal-bhaat to a mean meat steak! Our family trips in my childhood and almost every other trip I've been on after that has always revolved around getting to the best places to eat, wherever I went. Nothing makes me happier than to dig into a delectable piece of cooked meal; I'm happier when someone else shows the same appreciation I do for the same food. The way to my heart goes right through my palate and there's no two ways about it!

So if you meet me on the street, or just for a casual snack, beware that the Bong in me will make sure you end up with a full stomach by the time we depart. Coz even though we might not be the best off-topic conversationalists, we sure do know how to cover that up with a good meal!

Cheers, and from our favourite new-gen Bengali anti-hero, Nomoshkar! ;)

And in all that ranting and sentimental writing, this came up and cheered me the hell up!

Watch and share!

The poem was inspired by this beautiful photo clicked by my friend and photographer extrodinaire Abhijeet Singh.

In the distance the giant awakens
fire in the belly, rising from slumber deep
red molten fury beneath a crust frozen over
rip the sky apart and make it weep.

He looks down and sees her dance

shiver, curl, swirl and crash

motion fluid yet every pulse of power

mould herself with every splash.

A worthy roar and a quiver of rage

a thrust of fire and boundaries break

Stallions of yellow and red gallop down the rocky breast

black soot of destruction in their wake.

She looks up at him with a loving gaze

her arms entwined to a cold embrace

white spray and rainbow hues aglow

forever nudging his rough surface.

And then the twine meet at long last

loud escape of hissing satisfaction

she holds him close, he pushes into her

now, as one, in neutral inaction.

Somewhere at the airport, lost in time and with nothing to do is when I realize the words that have welled and swelled up inside me over the past few months. It's been ages since I wrote. Checked back at my blog today and realized the last post was in August. Yeah, then. Writing was...probably, yes probably still is my passion and my blog, my confidante. I doubt myself because I barely get time to write these days.
Come to think of it, why did I start writing in the first place? I daydreamed all day long. Two hour travelling time alone makes you do such things. Well, that and my mind was always an adventure to me. I close my eyes and I'm off to middle-earth, battling orcs and crazed dragons, firing up energy in the mere palms of my hands and blocking out immense balls of fire shot at me by wizards from lands unknown. Then there were the more real situations...not so real too probably because I like to put myself in movies that I love, be it the romantic Sound of Music, hilarious Home Alone, fist pumping fast paced Bruce Lee tourneys or a plain action packed guns-ablaze flick to entertain. Yeah, I'm my own hero. There's a thousand different worlds in my mind, all connected by a single soul - me. With the flick of an eyelid I can travel between worlds, stop time, lift off into space, save the earth, win the hearts of a hundred damsels in distress. Just the same, I would be the one protecting my loved ones, losing out all in the end. I don't know..It's all in my head and they keep popping up sometime or the other. And that's why I started writing in the first place. These worlds, these friends and foes come to me and disappear quite as quickly as they come. The world between the flickering blurs of my dreams and reality is what I want to record. Remember as and when I please. Sometimes I try to fly and I cannot. I try hard. Really hard, yet I cannot. That used to happen in my world of childhood days. Now, I fly. But this I can remember, the stories where I wanted to fly, I cannot. The blur you find when you start to forget, I want to erase. That's why I started writing.
Thoughts are your own. They're supposed to be private. Sometimes you cannot voice your thoughts for reasons galore. They may come out in the form of actions, when you talk about it with someone you trust completely, sometimes they may not manifest at all. But those stories in your head? Ones where you think you can relate to, the ones you tend to remember after you wake up, or long after you've stopped thinking about them? They're those thoughts surfacing. I prefer to let them surface whenever they want. That's one way of keeping a straight head. Thinking rational. Writing them down, blogging for that matter, let me talk to that unseen face that listened, did not react. And when it reacted, there were a hundred different voices, some agreeing to what I say, some that countered, some that appreciated how I put my words, some, again, criticized. I enjoy sharing my thoughts without making sense of them on my own.

Back to the stories. Sometimes, especially at the end of the day, when I'm walking alone, taking a walk or just plain loitering, I think of people..the people around me...my friends, my family, the ones close to me. Even some not-so-close to me. Having that bit of time to yourself is a luxury these days. And many a times, those stories in my head form around what I feel should have been..what actions he/she should have taken. What I would have done had I been in his/her place. Is that really necessary? Why should I be bothered with what someone else does? Because I think it's good to learn. Analyze. That's my forte. Probably might be my undoing as well.

Is this piece incomplete? I'm not sure. I hope not..it's my thoughts, I tend to trail away as I have often done in the most crucial of situations. But that's just the reel in my head starting to play time and again. And it knows no time, no situations...it just plays whenever it wants to.

Part 1: click here
Part 2: click here
Part 3: click here


 A quick word with his friends across the counter and some teasing remarks from them and he was back by her side. "Shall we?" he said, swaying his hand towards the door in one fluid motion. His casual demeanor surprised her. She probably wasn't used to hanging around men like him, he figured. As he held the door open for her, she got up smoothly and walked out, her firm posture affirming her confidence and style, and they walked out of the store to a few muffled hoots and comments from his friends behind the counter.
"This one's gonna be interesting for sure." he thought, walking into the coffee shop across the road. She had already walked ahead to the counter and asked for her drink. As he proceeded to do the same, Westlife's "Uptown Girl" started playing on the jukebox and he quietly smiled to himself at the irony of the situation. To his surprise, he saw her do the same and couldn't help but wink at her. She just smiled slyly at him and took her seat by a chessboard.
On the white side.
"She likes to be in control..." he noted.
Intrigued, he waited for her to make the first move.
"So, what's your name?" he asked. Standard pick-up line on a regular day, but this time, he really wanted to know.
"Why don't we keep it a secret for now?" she said, not looking up.
He remained silent as he watched her make the first move. Time usually slows down when you're playing something like a game of chess where each move has to be thought of slowly and carefully. And it did for the first couple of minutes. His careless attitude, the casual charm that had floored many a girl right from high-school faltered in front of this self-confident, haughty yet chic woman who had not only captured his attention but practically made him ask her out. Not the way things usually went in his life, and that had caught him by surprise. His conversation initially was that of a high-school boy on a first-time date, not knowing what to say.
"What's your name?",
"Where are you from?",
"So, what do you like?"...
He even thought of starting with a "Sup?" and held himself back in the nick of time.
But as all conversation happen, things started getting a bit smoother as he realized from her tiny smiles and raised eyebrows from time to time that she had been playing him all along, avoiding personal talk and making things difficult for him. Also, that he'd been losing miserably at the game that had been unfolding before his eyes. Time to buck up! he thought and started concentrating on the game, but soon he found that she was truly too good for him. Back and forth, back and forth they rallied their players, dancing to the tunes of their whims, battling invisible battles as he parried her moves with his, their each step revealing just a little bit about each other's thoughts. And beyond the chessboard, their conversation flowed with a rhythm that was just as surprising. He found that her personality was a lot like his own, but beyond that, she was an enigma. So secretive, a closed book to some extent. She revealed nothing about herself, wanting to talk about him instead, yet he sensed no bad intent in that. He himself had lost count of how many women he had tried the John Doe on so that they wouldn't be able to call him back the night after. But she didn't quite seem that type. Here was a woman who was so intriguing, in looks and in personality, and yet so secretive that he knew practically nothing about her. Maybe that's what attracted him to her even more. He didn't know, and that bothered him more than the prospect of winning or losing the game.

"And that's check, and mate." she said, leaning back and taking the final sip of her decaf latte, now lukewarm from the long game.


.

For part 1, click here.


There was nothing he didn't know how to handle. Street smart, reckless and suave, things came easily to him. With a natural charm and rugged looks, life was easy. He cared less about where life took him and liked to go with the flow. That morning, like any other, he hopped into his Mustang and revved up the engine. Nothing soothed him more and nothing pumped more adrenaline into his blood than the sound of her engine. He headed towards the Macy's outlet where he worked to start his morning shift. Money wasn't a concern for him. As long as it paid rent and got him a square meal, he was fine. That morning, though, he was late. So he pressed on the gas and let the Mustang dominate the road as she often did.

He sped through the signals, not missing a beat as each turned red just as he crossed them. He drove by this road enough each day to know how long each signal held. A few blocks away from the store, he pulled over at a signal. A chic Datsun caught his eye. Looking left, he saw a gorgeous woman behind the wheel, hair tied back and held together with a scarf, sunglasses donned over her eyes and a strand of stray hair wafting back and forth in the light wind blowing through her hair. Intrigued, he waited for her to move first as the signal turned green. The woman seemed to enjoy the casual ride, yet seemed lost in thought. She accelerated gracefully and raced past him in one smooth motion. He trailed his eyes after her and raced to catch up. She was going his way anyway after all. Two blocks down, she turned right and into the parking lot of the very store he worked at.

He couldn't believe it!

Pulling up next to her car and peeking into the Datsun, he knew there was something about her. Something mysterious...an air of detatched solitude that made her all the more attractive. He knew she was probably way beyond his league, yet he did not care. He never did anyway. Changing into his work clothes, he rushed into the store to find her browsing through a few clothes at the far end. This was the first time he got a good glimpse of her. With the sunglasses off, he saw that she had hazel brown almond eyes, almost oriental, wavy shoulder length hair tied back with a white silk scarf with maroon checks. She wore denim trousers and a stunning red top with a navy blue shrug. She was looking out the window, lost in thought and in the music plugged into her ears from her ipod, a red bag clutched in her slender hands and lips pursed in a lost look of concentration.

"Ah, what the heck!" he thought and handing over his shift to a colleague, took off his work apron, smoothed out his hair, straightened his clothes and with a confident stride, approached her.


"Hi." he held out his hand, and waited.




And waited.




She looked up at him with a gaze that was a mix of indifference and interest. An irony to say the least.








Then she finally let her lips part into a slight smile.

"Hi."; and held out her hand.




.

Been a long time! MICA's a blast and there's a lot to do. But in the midst of it all, classroom capers are commonplace. So, presenting a few of what I like to call Classroom Shayaris, courtesy yours truly being bored to death from four hours of sleep and a droning professor:


Tere pyaar ne kar diya pagal,
Tere pyaar ne kar diya pagal,
Shareholder's equity is called share capital!
Wah wah wah!
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Dum maaro dum, mit jaaye gum,
Dum maaro dum, mit jaaye gum,
A share's issue price can be at a premium!

(I think this deserves an applause :P )

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Dikhne mein toh tu lagti hai badi sweet,
Dikhne mein toh tu lagti hai badi sweet,
Liabilities and assets come in Balance Sheet!

(sadly jis ladki ko yeh shayari maari, she ran away disgusted. I haven't been able to figure out why :| )

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Kabhi khushi kabhi gum,
Tara pum pum pum,
Chai mein cheeni kum,
Piyo whiskey, piyo rum!
Waaah! waaah!

(this one actually received temporary appreciation)

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Tum mile, dil khile,
tum mile, dil khile,
I'm dying for some steak,
And loads of fish fillet!

(No breakfast, what to do :(

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Main shayar toh nahi,
Magar aye hasin,
Tu likh rahi hai secret mein,
maine share kiya toh sahi!

(after she told me she's blogging at her desk too :D )

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And of course....

Aye Shibani!
Pee le thodi paani,
Yeh lecture chalta raha toh
Khatam meri kahaani!

(We both agreed to that!)

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I'll be back with more after a few more lectures! Till then you guys can plan on ways to kill me.
Until next time!
Ciao!