tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68191781297004256642024-03-19T12:48:35.837-07:00Gooflein search of humor..amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-1447608760039577222020-05-01T22:30:00.000-07:002020-05-01T22:31:53.834-07:00Three dates<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>16<sup>th</sup> August 2010.</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sarvesh had insisted that we choose a KFC outlet nearby the
Borivilli railway station. It would be casual place to meet a girl without any
pressure to forge a relationship. This was my first time in Mumbai and I was
totally dependent on him to finalize the nitty gritty details of this not so
secret meeting with Lavanya-a girl whom I had officially seen at her home two
days ago as a marriage prospect. Thanks to those online marriage websites, I
was finally able to score an official date-I say official because the date had
met the acceptance criteria of both our parents. Without these websites I do
not think shy people like me would get any chance to score an actual date. The
official date was a standard procedure without any special mention worthy moments
except when we were given five minutes to talk one on one. I was bit nervous as
the only one on one I ever had with any woman was with the HR of my company
during the interview. She had smiled and just said one sentence-Can we meet
outside. I was looking at her face and before I could think anything I said
yes. She said thanks I have your number and will coordinate with Sarvesh.
Apparently she understood my handicap on dealing with a problem which was the
size of Mumbai. So two days later, Sarvesh and I were sitting in a KFC outlet
waiting for her as per the time and place they both agreed. As Sarvesh was
hogging on a chicken drumstick (his third), I heard a feminine voice from
behind my back, as if universe itself spoke-Guillotine the glutton!!! . I
turned my head and there stood Rashmi, Sarvesh’s girlfriend and arch nemesis if
I may say. They were an odd couple and observing their behavior with one
another I suspected they might be unofficially married. Sarvesh thought
bringing one more lady would not only help me in getting an interesting
perspective but it would also appear less threatening. She came about half hour
delay and after a round of introductions, she really started grilling me-about
my job, future plans and current liabilities. Sensing the intensity of the
situation Rashmi and Sarvesh just dashed out on the pretext of doing some
roadside shopping. I asked Lavanya what she would like to eat and she said the
special burger. I got the complete meal and we started eating. To our right
side there was a TV. She looked at the TV and said-Do you follow this show?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I turned my head and saw some kind of mockumentary being
shown. I said no, I own a basic cable connection as we (me and my room mates)
still use our PC to watch TV (which we seldom do). It’s used mostly to play
games. In those beautiful kohled eyes, I could see clouds of disappointment.
She said you know in this episode they introduce Timothy Olyphant. He is damn
handsome and charming. I kind of have crush on him. I looked at the screen.
Yeah they guy no doubt had some handsome features but I had never seen him
before. She hurriedly finished her burger and said she needed to dash out as
she had not informed about this meeting and it was late. It was hardly an hour
since she arrived and I felt she was really disappointed in me- I did not have
a very high paying job, I did not have my own apartment and most of all I did
not know about the Office and Timothy Olyphant. I said ok can I walk you to the
station. Reluctantly she said yes. The walk to the station was in complete
silence as neither of us spoke. At the station entrance she said-I can manage
from here on. I gathered all the courage I had and said- I know you are great
in managing. That’s why I need you. I know the stuff you talked about is really
important and I do not have any of those now. But of you are with me, I think I
can get them within two or three years. The fact is I like you a lot and would
like to settle down with you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
******************************************************************************</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>22<sup>nd</sup> Sept, 2014.</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hey look its Tim on TV. Looks like he landed a leading role
in a TV series, Lavanya exclaimed with the enthusiasm of a fifteen year old.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tim who? I said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You don’t remember Timothy Olyphant? I specifically remember
discussing with you on our first date. I told you I had a crush on him since
the days of the Office.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Women have the bargaining chip when it comes to situations
involving anniversaries or any special occasion. They remember it all. And
problem is after some point you stop probing because you are already in guilt
of not remembering that special date or event. After four years of marriage I
had learnt not to debate on things like that. And not specifically on our 4<sup>th</sup>
wedding anniversary<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I meekly said, Oh yeah. So this guy’s last name is Elephant?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
OLYPHANT. She stressed each alphabet in that word.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I gave a mocking smile and said, it’s just the French way of
saying elephant.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you even understand what you are saying?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I assumed a Mr. Know-it-all expression on my face and
said-In olden days what did you use to send letters.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Envelope.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yeah and you should know the actual pronunciation is
Onvelope. It’s a French thing. They always write things differently than they
speak. I guess it gives them an alibi in times of trouble.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could easily read the hopeless expression in her eyes.
Marriage changes you as a person. I was an average nobody in school that
anybody could make fun of and in office I was the average resource on whom
anybody could walk over. But no more after marriage. Within a couple of years
into marriage I had transformed from docile to belligerent. I always had at
least three layers of arguments ready with me to handle any situation. In fact
my yearly ratings soared after marriage as I was always two steps ahead of my
manager.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
******************************************************************************</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>June 16<sup>th</sup> 2017.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p>‘Do you love me honey’? My wife asked as I was about to
board the taxi to the airport.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘Off course I do’, I said and gave her a tight hug. The feel
of her embrace brought a smile to my face. She smiled. I sat in the taxi and
the taxi took off for the airport.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was almost two months and we did not have any fight. I
remember some wise guy saying on TV that the most definitive sign of trouble in
marriage is when the fighting stops. I am not sure if I should believe that guy
but I was missing the fights. Something was off since last two months. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I cleared the immigration and security check at the IGI and
looked for one of those chairs where you can spread your legs and lay back,
like a swimming pool chair, except that you are not facing a pool but the
hangars and instead of seeing scantily clad people walking you see aircrafts
taxing. Those seats are most coveted by the weary travelers and remain occupied
till your boarding call happens but today in a rarest of rare event the seat in
front of me was vacant. I quickly claimed it before anyone else could. I rested
my head and closed my eyes. My wandering mind wandered even more. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something was off between us but I could not
sense what it was? Could I joining the college batch mates group be the reason or
was the pregnancy failure the reason. We both wanted a child but somehow it was
not happening. Or did she spied on mobile and read the messages I sent to a
female batch mate of mine. I could definitely feel the stress build up inside
me. The strange thing with me is the more I am stressed, my head becomes heavy
and I tend to doze off. A familiar voice made my head turn. The voice was
coming from a cafe in the opposite direction. I followed the voice to the
restaurant. <span style="background: white; color: black;">There was a
couple sitting in the cafe when I walked in. As the light was low, I didn't
know who they were until the woman turned around, and I saw it was my
wife. </span> I ducked behind an artificial bougainvillea plant. She must
have seen me because after she said something to the man sitting in front of
her by pointing her finger to the location I was hiding, he tilted a bit and
looked at my direction. His face, which was previously covered by my wife’s
head was clearly visible now. He was none other than Timothy Olyphant. My
marriage was actually falling apart before and it had not even crossed the
seven year threshold as per the urban legend. I didn’t knew what to do. Should
I confront them or should I run away. I was sweating heavily and was in a
frozen state. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder-maybe it was a waiter or a
manager trying to apprehend me. The unexpected touch of the hand made my body
shudder and I woke up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I open my opened my eyes in a bewildered state, an old
lady said-There is a call for the passengers boarding the Pan Am flight. Are you
one of them?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She was the one sitting in the bench beside me. I must have
dozed off.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-11387891362875907262014-07-29T08:03:00.002-07:002014-07-29T19:16:19.738-07:00Amerikano<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfabCMj6p8MEsdnKhmleOL2075cjfGIK_ibUm2HosJzjpZlEQKa58FcYjaA1Z_OfyFIzz6qxg5JdpHIQD6xKHEUeMlTbX_I99AEACA61NJGuttVyBx1k2ncKTvdWYU2EpgquAPlCqCZ-I/s1600/1394240466272.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfabCMj6p8MEsdnKhmleOL2075cjfGIK_ibUm2HosJzjpZlEQKa58FcYjaA1Z_OfyFIzz6qxg5JdpHIQD6xKHEUeMlTbX_I99AEACA61NJGuttVyBx1k2ncKTvdWYU2EpgquAPlCqCZ-I/s1600/1394240466272.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
As soon as the Air India Boeing took off from the Narita Airport Terminal-2, i looked around for my co-passengers. In-spite of stressing for an aisle seat at the ticket counter, i was given a middle seat. My natural reflex to such a disappointment would have been the rising of the middle finger but i restrained myself from doing that. After all i was in a foreign country. Like all Indians who would not give two seconds before uttering an expletive or spitting while driving when in their home town but would behave like a well groomed school kid when visiting foreign country, i too did the 'Namaste' routine to the person doing his job at the other side of the ticket desk and moved on. Sometimes i feel we act so polite as if the success of diplomacy and external affairs ministry depended on our behavior.<br />
<br />
As i was unfastening my seat belt after the take off, i heard a deep drawl in my left ear-<br />
Do you like Amerikano-asked the gentleman sitting on my left in the flight from Tokyo to New Delhi.<br />
Hearing that accent, the stereotyping bug inside me was tripped and i instantly assumed that the person would be from Italy. But no , he said he was from Turkey.<br />
I was busy putting the earphone jack in its socket, when he repeated the question again-Do you like Americano?<br />
Do i like America?? Off course i do. Most of my countrymen and colleagues want to settle or work there to earn in dollars.<br />
He nodded his head as if this reason for loving America was not enough.<br />
He touched the tip of four fingers of this both hands with the thumb and asked very slowly-Amerikano-Do you liking Amerikano?<br />
I said excuse me..American? you mean like American food? Burger, Onion rings ? Yeah we Indians love to eat them and KFC and MCDonald is practically my residence during weekends.<br />
He nodded his head as if he was disgusted by my love for junk food.<br />
No No. You like Americano..Ameri..kano? This time he was pointing to the display screen in front of his seat.<br />
Aaah..I think you are asking about American movies like Hollywood? Yeah i like Hollywood movies and specifically watch only Hollywood movies while flying. The reason was most Indians i met in air would be watching Hollywood movies and i thought that was the accepted practice. Later one of my frequent flying colleague told me that he does not watch Bollywood or any other regional Indian movie while flying because he does not want to make his co-passengers air sick with those song-and-dance routines that are quintessential part of our movies.<br />
<br />
Still there was no change in the annoying look of the Turkish gentleman.<br />
No No..No Hollywood. Bollywood. Americano. Amer..Kano<br />
I was perplexed to the point that i wanted to get up and go to the toilet. It's my natural reflex when i get confused. But the occupied sign on the toilet door kept me fixed in my seat. I looked out of the window trying to find any connection between the Indian movie industry and America.<br />
There were some like the recent Life of Pi or two decades back the guilty pleasures of watching the Amritraj brother's produced B-Grade movies. Where do i start from?<br />
Meanwhile the Japanese lady to my right who was listening intently to this conversation ordered a beer. Maybe she got a headache. Unfortunately she wanted an Asahi but only got a Foster.She smiled back to us as if saying do not disturb me with your ruckus.<br />
I too was thinking to order a beer, but did not do so thinking what might happen if i get drunk. I would set a bad example of an Indian in air. So i ordered a coke instead. The Indian steward smiled as if he could read the thoughts in my mind.<br />
While i was sipping the coke, the Turkish gentleman turned on the display and with very swift moves selected Hindi movies. He scrolled through umpteenth options and as soon as he saw Ishq, his face glowed like the fake glow we see in the get-fairer-skin commercials. He selected it and it started playing. He did not put the headphone on. While i was still figuring out why on earth would a Turkish guy watch a Hindi movie, Aamir Khan made his on-screen entry and the Turkish gentleman almost jumped in his seat and exclaimed-Amerikano..Amerkano...see this Amerikano.<br />
<br />
Ok ok cool down. So you were talking about Aamir Khan. I was astonished and humbled at the same time. The Turkish gentleman told me that he has watched every movie of Aamir Khan and he is is favorite actor. He also talked at length about his recent role in Dhoom 3. All this had woken up the Japanese lady and she kept switching her focus between the movie and our discussion. She smiled and said one word-cute.<br />
<br />
Our discussion now shifted to Ghajni and Andaz Apna Apna and the comic timing of the actor. He said now they even get the Bollywood movies dubbed in Turkish. He told me he ran a take-away Turkish restaurant in Asakusa, Tokyo and watching Bollywood movies (specially of Aamir Khan) was his favorite past time. We were so engaged in the discussion, that we did not notice that the stewards had started serving food. I was about to open my packed food when the Turkish gentleman offered some of his food. He had specially ordered Turkish food for himself instead of the usual airline food- Doner(compressed chicken meat) filled in Pide bread and some kind of mustard sauce. It looked tempting and a welcoming change-specially after two weeks of eating only Udon. But before i could get my hands to this gastronomical delight, the experiences of travelling in Indian railways stopped me.<br />
Do not accept food from strangers. They might drug you and take your belongings. But then i reckoned, it will be difficult for this Turkish gentleman to get off the plane mid air, even if he was able to drug me and take my belongings. So i rejected those negative thoughts, took the food and savored every bite of it.<br />
<br />
Oddly enough, for the the rest of the journey all three of us watched Ishq in our respective displays.<br />
<br />amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-62710824818158053302014-01-30T05:07:00.000-08:002014-01-30T05:07:18.500-08:00From womb to tomb - The story of an Indian girl<div>
This is a story of a girl who starts her life from the mother’s womb. From there itself her journey begins. She takes birth in this beautiful world where for her own sight it is clean, sober and amazing. But the girl never knows that her life will always be under control by her father, grandfather, elder brother and so on. When she started growing up she faces many challenges in her life since school days to college and higher studies. Whenever and wherever she gets any hurdle to face such challenges her family stands besides her like pillars. A girl is always her parents’ angel and every parent grooms their children with their best efforts. </div>
<div>
Every girl has a different point of view to live their life and settle themselves in its own way. But in an Indian society if a girl thinks beyond her family’s expectations she is always forced to pull down all her aspirations. Every coin has two sides. Here the question raises that if a boy has rights to think about his career and desires independently then why a girl should always accept what her parents say. This is the agony of an Indian girl which carries on from her mother’s womb to the tomb.</div>
<div>
The journey continues when the girl gets married. The same process repeats after marriage as well- only the characters change. Now she has to understand the new environment and love everyone in the new family and sometimes it is expected to love and care more than her own family. Perhaps she tries to tune herself in to the new environment and waits for her destiny to shine.</div>
<div>
She always wants to fly in her own way but her wings don’t support her to fly to her destination as from childhood there have been so many obstacles in her way that it won’t let her fly independently. Hence she is always waiting for a moment to smile with no worries, no terror, and no sorrows. All that she wants is total freedom from everything that entangles her since childhood.</div>
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<b>This article is written by a guest blogger Ms. Smita Chakraborty. She is a teacher by profession and likes to write blogs.</b></div>
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amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-29330879275453251472013-12-29T06:48:00.000-08:002013-12-29T08:01:21.509-08:00Naked Determination by Gisela Hausman: A reviewI have to confess i am not a great fan of non fiction. I am a story guy. I like good stories. All those self help or self improvement literature brings out the lethargic guy inside me. As if my mind builds up a security parameter in which none of the words or sentences of such a book would ever be able to jump and come in while i go to a deep slumber. When i came across Gisela's book Naked Determination, the same inertia had gripped me initially. But as i went page after page, it felt like an incredible story. It contained life and times of Gisela Hausman as told by Gisela herself. Each of the chapters are like a leaf from her life tree. She isn't preaching or lecturing. She leaves it to your prerogative to draw out any lesson from each of those leaves. She could have written about great people and all the analysis of what made them great. But she deliberately avoids those cliches. Her life is rich and varied and it is from her life and rich experiences we can choose to learn life lessons if we wish to. It takes immense courage to put out one's own life for scrutiny by others. But she is honest with that and shares both her successes and failures. It's not only about her strengths but like all of us we can see her vulnerable side too through the depiction of loss of the loved ones-whether its death of her husband or ending of a relationship. This definitely connects her to the readers. From the book it is also clear that she is well traveled. She traveled to Russia, Mongolia and China during the iron curtain days and the chapters about those are good to read. The reason being these days we have the TLC, Natgeo and online travel guides which help us to plan for a foreign locale. However during the cold war era flow of information was restricted and it must have taken enormous amount of courage and a bit of craziness to visit those countries.The lessons she learnt on those trips are invaluable and i think that made the person she is today. Her insight on email writing is also very helpful in our daily lives. The language of the book is simple and style of writing is fluid which makes it a very good read. But above all this book reveals what an incredibly beautiful human being the author is.amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-87705158301452599032013-08-06T23:17:00.000-07:002013-08-06T23:28:23.753-07:00Snackpack Jack<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Jaikishen Gupta aka Jack (mostly addressed as such by his
manager Tony Bhadraluchi in appreciative emails) always believed he learnt his
lessons the hard way because most of his textbooks during school time were
hardbound and not paperback. At this moment his desktop had a Visio document
opened. He had immersed himself in the technical design it represented like a
helpless pilgrim who had given all hopes of being rescued after realizing he
was drowning in the mighty Ganges while trying to take a holy dip. Except in
his world he had the outlook desktop email alert and the cell phone ringtone.
Needless to say his untrammeled concentration was broken when an email alert
popped up. It read- <span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">HR-Vending Machine in the cafeteria. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">His eyes veneered the system tray of his workstation. The
clock in it registered 4:17 in the PM. It was exactly 13 minutes to his tea
time/snack time. Although there was no such time as per HR policy but most of
his coworkers would take a snack break at this time. They would go out to the
roadside vendors, smoke, drink tea with deep fried snacks (samosa, pakora, bhel
etc) and gossip among themselves. Talking to the roadside vendors provided them
the much needed local information in this era of globalization. While Jack avoided
(or at least pretended to) eating outside due to his increasing weight and
restrictive dietary regimen imposed by his wife, devouring the forbidden stuff
was like a guilty pleasure. He would seldom eat during this unofficial break as
he would go home and have tea with his wife in the evening but he would
definitely take part in the discussions. In his monotonous world of meeting
deadlines and long working hours it was like a life line that injected a dose
of much needed change that recharged his life cells. But today something was
different-he had not received the customary call from Abhik Goswami (fondly
called Otirikto by friends as a tribute to the word 'overweight' in Bengali
language). Although Otirikto's workstation was just in the adjacent bay, he
would always call Jack's extension and in his husky voice remind Jack of his
obligation towards snack time. Jack held the arms of his chair and gave slight
push so that he could have just the right elevation to see what was happening
in the adjacent bay. He saw Otirikto was sitting in his chair (crushing the chair
would be more realistic description) and reading some article in Wikipedia. He
leaped out of the position he was in leaving the chair to a squeak a bit in
recoil. He patted Otirikto on the shoulder.</span><span style="line-height: 115%;">Without turning back Otirikto said-Do you have some soiled 10
Rupee bills.</span><span style="line-height: 115%;">Before Jack could sink in the information Otirikto swiveled
his chair and got out of it like an expert ballet dancer. Now Otirikto's
desktop was in line of sight of Jack and on it was a block diagram of a vending
machine. Both of them started checking their wallets as if they were getting
mugged. Out came a 10 Rupee bill from Jack's wallet which exactly met
Otirikto's specification.</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">On it Gandhi
had lost an arm of his iconic glasses and one of lions in the emblem had turned
red as it may have absorbed some red color. Jack sincerely felt he should have emptied
his pockets before the weekly washathon (yes he was the one doing weekend
laundry) or had he received it from the vegetable vendor last Friday. Anyways
they had got their candidate for testing and rushed to the cafeteria. Some of
his colleagues were already there inserting bills and punching the row and column
combination to their desired snack. The machine appeared like a transparent refrigerator
which had a number pad. The rows inside it were stacked with snack packs of
various makes. Jack and Otirikto had the same feel when they had seen the
Nintendo machine for the first time. They zeroed in on a snack and Otirikto
decoded its row column combination. Jack inserted the tip of his worn-out 10
Rupee bill so that the vending machine could swallow it. The machine swallowed
the bill but after making a churning sound coughed it back. It was not
accepting the bill. One of the colleagues said that the machine would only accept
good bills. They smiled. Like an expert magician showing his trick Jack caressed the bill again
inserted it. This time it accepted and he punched in the row and column
position of their desired snack-a Bombay bhel. The machine made a clunky sound
and from the matrix of products spitted out the Bombay bhel. Jack and Otirikto
ate that at the blink of an eye. Otirikto then brought out his worn out bill
which looked like coming straight out of a trauma center except it was cello
taped instead of stitched. This time they had Jhalmuri (a Kolkata version of
Bombay Bhel or is it the other way round?) They went back to their workstations
contended. Jack went back to his Visio document. He did not realize how much
time had passed until his cell phone rang a familiar ringtone. He picked up his
cell phone (a Smartphone) and saw the picture of his wife and a text right
below it that read-wife calling. With a swift motion he swiped his thumb first
over her picture and then on the telephone icon. Tony would always say that
apart from weekends the only time he is able to touch his girlfriend is on the touch
screen of his Smartphone. This brought a hint of smile to his face. He picked
up the call and his wife was sounding irate-</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Where are you honey?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Where else? In the office-Jack replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Still in office? Its eight and I had prepared tea. If you
were going to be late you could have called.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom: dotted windowtext 3.0pt; border: none; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: dotted windowtext 3.0pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Jack had not realized it was that
late. The ever eager enzymes of hunger had not interrupted his work as it would
do usually. He apologized and said he was held up due to an impending work that
needed to be finished on time. He sent an email to Tony and left for home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 18px;">*********************************************************************************</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Near about six months has passed since the introduction of the
vending machine. In a special HR meeting held in the Company’s headquarters in
Silicon Valley and presided over by the HR Director, Jack’s regional HR Manager
presented a report on increase of employee productivity since the incorporation
of the vending machine. Among various other things it said that <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; line-height: 115%;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="line-height: 115%;">The concept of on premise vending machine was taken
from a study conducted by a German university which stated that eating outside decreases work performance<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; line-height: 115%;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="line-height: 115%;">Time spent by employee in productive work has gone up
by x percentage as employees do not out
of the office premises frequently<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; line-height: 115%;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="line-height: 115%;">Time spent on unproductive work like snacking and
socializing has almost diminished as snacks are available inside office
premises <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; line-height: 115%;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="line-height: 115%;">Tasks are completed on time and before time because
employees are going home late<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">The regional HR manager was
congratulated by the HR director in presence of all other regional HR managers.
The HR director said that this experiment would be considered a Kaizen and
gradually implemented across all regional offices.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">*********************************************************************************</span><span style="line-height: 115%;">Jack has completely stopped going outside the office
premises. He also does not go home early now for snacking with his wife.
Initially his wife nagged about it but now she has stopped complaining. He has
received numerous appreciation emails from Tony and most probably would be
promoted. He could not even make it to hospital when his wife went for her
first ultrasound. After that incident they do not talk much. Sometimes Jack
would stand in front of the vending machine and stare it for minutes and in a
fit of rage he would consider sabotaging the machine but the next minute he
would calm down. How he can do such a thing when the only goal in his life(as with other Indians) was to keep himself employable-so that he could keep paying his bills, repay his home
loan and try to secure a good future for the yet-to-arrive newest addition to his
household.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Otirikto has gained few more pounds. In the current appraisal cycle he asked for a
salary hike to the amount of 22 percent as he found most of his earned income
was being spent on food. This was done after he conducted an independent
investigation about his mounting food expense and found that he was being
charged Rs 100 per Kilo for potato(the main ingredient of his home diet) by the
grocery store as he had no knowledge about the actual market prices. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">Tony broke up with his girlfriend. He came to India for an
official visit and went for a team dinner (drinks included). After a few pegs of
his favorite whisky he said that he finds the vending machine very mysterious. He
thinks it’s not about the snacks it stores but the way it is operated and snacks delivered that makes people keep coming back to it-even when the hunger has
subsided. He even thinks it can control mind.</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;">As of now, HR has successfully installed the vending machine
in all locations.<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-22649345323836104592013-05-18T00:09:00.002-07:002013-05-25T23:22:31.436-07:00Friends with trees on heads<span style="color: #404040;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Some people say if you have belief, you can do things which are beyond the wildest imagination of human mind. However in my experience I found that if you have belief in your friendship you can even grow a tree on your head. Don't believe me..check out this snap:</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #404040;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7b-eRYAbZv7RC_7zZ40Gmo9dxKHvZS3IAP-qfM5BStLge22en7gvMcd9lp-7uvAxsijBRdY_4OqsdiHecLnJPz500kpWRRPmECB3wSoZSICldMp8fVN5t-_vFLwPanLO17pFrIhdCPjA/s1600/KL11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7b-eRYAbZv7RC_7zZ40Gmo9dxKHvZS3IAP-qfM5BStLge22en7gvMcd9lp-7uvAxsijBRdY_4OqsdiHecLnJPz500kpWRRPmECB3wSoZSICldMp8fVN5t-_vFLwPanLO17pFrIhdCPjA/s1600/KL11.jpg" height="210" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #404040; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #404040; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="color: #404040;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">I took this pic way back in monsoon of 2005 when we went to the backwaters of Kerela. On the left is Prem and right is Jayanto(for those who don't know). In a way i am also an innate part of this picture. Not because i clicked it but because Jayanto is wearing my T-Shirt. I think that's the way friendship is. It's so full of life that it grows on you without your realization. Just like that tree on Jayanto's head.</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #404040; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-40984704799998008712013-05-11T19:06:00.002-07:002013-05-11T19:22:45.605-07:00Finding Love | Epilogue | A dreamI am a dream. A recurring dream that Ragini experiences. Ever since she met Luv's friends, i have been part of her sleeping experience-if not everyday but certainly periodic enough to qualify as recurring. Even on that Sunday when Luv went missing and she fell asleep holding their photo album in her arms, i moved into her sleep unannounced. Did i arrive on my own due to her agony or was i invited exclusively by the sedative effect of the curd rice she consumed. I am not a psychoanalyst and certainly as a dream i do not have the luxury of humans to read the most incisive book written on me ever-Interpretation of dreams- by Freud.<br />
I open with the outdoors of a school. There is a reunion that is taking place. Guys in their mid thirties- some with their spouses and some with their kids and spouses are sitting inside a classroom. A teacher comes and everyone stands up to wish her. There is laughter and humor in the air. Some are bragging about their achievements in life. Ragini is sitting with Luv and next to them are sitting Ank, his wife and kid and Amir and his wife. She can also recognize Prabir the class topper and his family sitting ahead of them. Suddenly Luv stands up and excuses himself for going out of the class. Ragini looks towards people around her. Age has put a time stamp on these once young and restless people. They have put on weight and most have puffed eyes and receding hairlines. However its peculiar that most of them are looking outside the window. She turns to her left to see what others are so eagerly seeing. She sees Luv talking to a girl- a teenage girl wearing a school uniform. They are not aware that a class full of middle aged people are staring at them. She sees that Luv doesn't quite appear the same as he was just a few minutes ago when sitting next to her. He looks as if he came straight out of his school farewell photograph-a restless teenager who gives a damn about the world. She felt she is witnessing two people in a time warp-as if time had stopped for both of them.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*********************************************************************************<br />
I would like to thank Ankur for being the inspiration and source behind this story.<br />
*********************************************************************************amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-28180284589893625042013-04-27T02:38:00.005-07:002013-05-11T19:14:00.013-07:00Finding Love | Chapter-5 | The invoice of love<br />
Love is a strange thing. More i think about the events that unfolded on that Sunday, the more i am convinced about the strangeness of love. Luv always said that love is around us- we just need to see it. He would be holding my hand and talking to me while walking across the crowded Brigade road but still he would be looking around. He would usually speak in metaphors and i was a women of literals.It was difficult for me to relate to what he said. But then i was in love.<br />
<br />
I had planned for a beautiful Sunday afternoon in Luv's company. First a two course meal-lemon rice followed by lots of curd rice and then watching the most successful movie ever in my vernacular language. Although till that time he was not completely conversant in my native language but for him language was a non determinant in a relationship. On the day he proposed me sitting on a drop vehicle at the end of a night shift, he said that love only understands one language and that language is the language of heart. I thought he was talking about the acoustical patterns we hear while using a stethoscope on a person's chest but he made it clear that he meant emotional connection. So with my expectations soaring high i called him a day before that fateful Sunday. But my hopes were shattered when he told me his schedule was already set for the next day. He was invited by his friends Ank and Amir for a lunch. If ever anything annoyed me more than non vegetarian food was Luv's friend circle. He along with his friends were part of the great human migration from north India to Bangalore that took place during the early stages of the IT bubble. Before Luv introduced me to them my understanding of north Indians was that geographically they lived north of Vindhya mountain ranges and spoke Punjabi. However to my utter amazement it turned out that his friends were from various parts of India like West Bengal, Assam and even Kerala . Their parents had emigrated to central India during the socialist era to get into government jobs as there was a scarcity of skilled labor in those parts. And like past repeating itself, these immigrant population was again migrating to Bangalore to overcrowd our streets. They would make lewd jokes and swear openly with utter disregard of the neighbourhood. But what annoyed me most that they would make fun of Luv. Specially the two cousin brothers -Deepu and Jeetu who would spare no expenses in ridiculing him. I do not why Luv S Chauhan who belonged to a respected Rajput family would take crap from such people. Each time we went to meet his friends, he would do a lot of explaining later to make me understand that they don not mean anything seriously. Also in his circle was JJ who due to no particular reason always competed with Luv. Then there was Amir who was obnoxious and tried hard to appear smart. Ank was the one who was most intelligent among the pack and i conversed with him more often than others. Every time these guys would get together they would indulge in drinking and smoking and making fun of each other.<br />
Due to all these reasons I was enraged at the idea of Luv spending an entire Sunday with this company instead of being with me. This resulted in a heated altercation over the phone followed by heinous name calling and stereotyping . I told him i would never call him again and ended the call. I thought he would call me in the evening or at night but he did not. Next morning i could not take it anymore and decided to call him. His phone was unreachable. I redialed his number repeatedly in the hope that it would connect once but it did not. I called up Ank thinking maybe Luv was with them as he was supposed to be according to his schedule. But when Ank said he was not there yet, i was alarmed. Did he went somewhere due to the fight we had yesterday? Did something bad happened to him on the way? Is he purposely doing this to make me feel miserable. I wanted to find Luv but did not want to tell these guys about our fight yesterday as it would make our pair a constant source of amusement for them for the next two months. In an emotional voice i said that i feared something bad could have happened to Luv. My appeal worked and Ank and Amir launched a manhunt. I was being updated timely regarding the pursuit by the duo. I opened the photo album and kept looking at pictures of us and thinking how could i have avoided the fight. The curd rice that i had prepared for consumption by both of us was entirely consumed by me and due to its soothing effects i do not remember when i fell asleep, still holding the album in my hands. My slumber was broken by the monotonic ringtone of my Nokia phone. It was Luv. I grabbed it and instantly broke into tears.<br />
<br />
Where were you?<br />
What happened? Why are you crying?<br />
Where were you? I was so frightened. I am sorry and i promise not to fight with you again.<br />
Well honey i was coming to meet you for breakfast-to sort out our differences.But my bike broke down midway and i had to go to a mechanic where the carrier signal was not available.<br />
Please dont ever do that again. I was so terrified at the prospect of loosing you. We kept searching for you everywhere.<br />
Dont worry dear. I love you and i forgive you for the fight we had. Why were you looking for me all over the city? I am always with you. Love is always inside us. We just need to look within.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-28474746866052585692013-04-07T03:11:00.000-07:002013-05-11T19:12:49.807-07:00Finding Love | Chapter-4 | The testimony of a second chancer<br />
The Whitefield police station was about five kilometers from Prem's rented residence. We debated on waiting for a bus or taking an auto rickshaw to reach there. We went for the auto rickshaw as time was slipping from our hands. Although the auto rickshaw driver complained of his broken meter and charged us ten times the bus fare, still it was not the thing that preoccupied our minds. Each and every neuron in our brains was only consumed in figuring the possible reasons of Luv's sudden disappearance from our lives.None of us spoke for sometime. Suddenly the uncomfortable silence was broken when my cell phone rang. On the screen an unknown number flashed. I did not wanted to be reminded of a missed credit card payment or enlightened about a new(and better) connection plan at this crucial moment. The uncomfortable fact of the moment was our dear friend Luv Singh Chauhan was missing since morning and as the time went from AM to PM the chances of seeing him again appeared bleaker to us. So i cut the incoming call. It rang again and i repeated the action i did last time. En route we decided to file a missing persons report although i knew Ank would have loved to report an alien abduction.My casual mention of a facility for the mentally insane in the vicinity of the police station might have acted as a deterrent and hence he never spoke of such a possibility. Still there were lot of questions on which we could not reach a common conclusion-like:<br />
Should we mention about the old monk to the police?<br />
What if the policed surmised us as possible suspects in his disappearance?<br />
Should we tell Ragini about the police report and police about Ragini?<br />
What do we eat for lunch and where once the reporting was over?<br />
<br />
Although i was with Ank on our decision to report this to the police but my heart kept telling me that nothing had happened to Luv, that he was around us somewhere just waiting to be found. I always believed in second chances and wanted to give ourselves a another chance to find Luv or Luv to find us.<br />
<br />
As the wheels of auto rickshaw kept spinning and my stomach kept churning from the after effects of the Dosa and Sambhar we consumed at Majestic Bus Depot i reckoned life for me was always about second chances. The reason probably was that i was never able to accomplish something in the first chance itself-be it matters of materialism or matters of the heart. Also in most situations those second chances were more painful than having no chances at all.I still remember clearly the day Ank made me propose a girl from my graduation days whom i admired mostly due to her peculiar way of talking. We hardly met after graduation and i would only talk to her sometimes on telephone. But Ank thought otherwise. He believed that like our friend Luv who although being an avid philanderer, would never give up on a girl once he had his heart fixed, i too should give this girl a second chance. He was in the city due to summer break and offered to help me in all possible ways in doing so. He had recently unearthed that i was the one who had emailed the girl of his affection as i was the creator of his email id. It was his heart wrapped up in the form of my text in the body of that email. I thought maybe he wanted to return this favor as a friend and succumbed to his coercion. Those days cell phone technology was not widespread and i did not want to use my home corded landline- a Beetel B11 due to reasons of privacy. Most people used a calling booth to communicate. Due to some reason beyond my comprehension they were popularly known as STD booths although you could also make a local call too. Ank decided to use the calling booth in a particular neighborhood whose call rates were standard and more importantly it had a parallel line. He said he would stand beside me through all this and listen and provide immediate feedback should i be slipping. The booth was smaller than what i expected and when we both stood inside we could feel each others breath. As i punched the numbers and the call connected, Ank picked up the receiver of the parallel connected line. Maybe it was the heat or the suffocation caused due to the booth door being closed for privacy, i could not utter anything for half a minute, all the while the girl kept saying hello. Ank gestured me to say something and whatever came out of my mouth did not collude either in form or intent to what i had been rehearsing with Ank for the last week or so. Her replies were monosyllabic-yes,no, OK,hmm. As drops of sweat as big as hail in a hailstorm kept falling into the receiver from my face, she said the only sentence which comprised more than one word-<br />
I am kinda busy now.<br />
And then she disconnected the call. We looked at each other and both kept the receiver on the cradle at the same time. I paid the bill quickly without discussing anything with Ank as the booth owner was getting suspicious. Outside Ank kept a hand on by shoulder and said-<br />
I know it did not work out as we had planned but you should give another chance to this second chance.<br />
<br />
My string of thoughts were broken by Ank's voice. The auto rickshaw had stopped at the police station and it was my turn to pay the fare. As i was paying the fare, my cell phone rang again. Ank said me to cut the call and walk towards the police station. But i wanted to give this persistent caller a second chance. As soon as the call connected, to my amazement it was Luv's voice on the other side. He sounded angry.<br />
<br />
Where are you guys? I kept calling you but you never picked.<br />
But you didn't turn up on time and neither were you reachable on cell phone. We thought something might have happened to you.<br />
I could not muster up the courage to say we were at the police station and were on our way to report his disappearance.<br />
Are you guys drunk already? The handle of my motorcycle went bad and kept pointing to wrong directions. I thought i should get it fixed and then join you guys.<br />
Really. But don't you think it took a long time for you to get it fixed. And on top of that you never called to inform us.<br />
Man i forgot to recharge my cell phone and the cheap motor cycle mechanic shop was in a place where i did not get the service providers signal.<br />
But Ragini said...<br />
Just forget all that and tell me where are you guys now? Coz i am at Ank's place and there is no trace of you guys. I am very hungry and thirsty.<br />
We are at your place. We thought you might have fallen ill and hence came to your place.<br />
After a few seconds of dead air Luv said-<br />
Man you guys are crazy. Ok lets do one thing. Since we do not have the time for cooking now lets meet at Biju's place. It's midway for both of us and more importantly those guys have a cooking maid and usually there are leftovers. But you have to bring the old monk with you as i am not going to pay for that. If you have forgotten, i was the one who was invited.<br />
amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-62465845025919637542013-02-17T06:01:00.001-08:002013-05-11T19:11:36.179-07:00Finding Love | Chapter-3 | The voice of love<i><b>If you love me you will regret,</b></i><br />
<i><b>If you can't be a crow, be an egret.</b></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Never take counsel from a person in matters of heart whose journal's introductory page starts with the aforementioned couplet. I made that mistake once and paid a heavy price. Ank and Amir had called me for lunch in the December of 03. And where there is lunch in a bachelor accommodation, booze is sure to be accompanied. Imagining the prospects of surrendering my sanity to the wisdom of an old monk made me delightful. But on the other side of this arc there was a girl-my girlfriend. The rules of love made it mandatory to keep your partner updated about your coordinates. In this state of dilemma i decided to call up Ank and discuss the matter. Although he had no prior experience in matters of heart except that he was proposed by the most gorgeous girl in his college days, he was one of the wise guys. In a discrete manner i asked him about his opinion on sharing-it-all with girl friend topic. He said we should be open in sharing information with girl friend. But he also said he will take a second opinion from Amir. Ank had opted for the conference call facility from his service provider and this would be a good time to test it. He brought Amir in conference. Amir's view was that all information to a girl friend should be provided on a need to know basis. I decided to go with Ank's opinion considering Amir had no prior experience with girl friends. The closest he came to be friends with a girl was when he returned a lost basic language program sheet to a girl during the first year in college.<br />
I called up Ragini and told her i would be busy the coming weekend due to a lunch at Ank's place. She said she had planned for a movie date this weekend-a movie in her vernacular language. Although i had no bias against her vernacular language but watching a movie in her language was altogether a different ballgame. The reason was the vernacular movie industry was going through a lean patch at that time-particularly in terms of content and production value. All you got to see was mindless violence, gravity defying action sequences and song and dance sequences involving pelvic gyrations. In no time we started to snipe each other with arguments and counter arguments about the greatness of our language, culture and cinema. Seeing that love was loosing to regionalism i decided to back off and told her i would talk to her later. Due to increased work pressure i was not able to call her back through out the week. Instead i was busy talking to unknown people in the US using a fake New York accent and referring myself as Patrick. So were Amir and Ank. They were busy fixing some ones printer or fax machine in US by being Jim or Harry. Maybe we all had become different people who were indifferent to people around us.<br />
On that Sunday morning when i woke up, i was still undecided. However sitting in the toilet for an hour not only cleared my bowels but head too. I made up my mind to give a surprise visit to Ragini and have our differences sorted out over a cup of coffee and a bowl of upma. I was sure if i had breakfast with her she would allow me to have lunch with my buddies. As soon as i fired up my bike's engine i heard someone calling my name from the first floor. It was my landlord reminding me of missed rent payment. If anything i hated more than my landlord's face was my landlord calling me from behind while embarking on my journey. Bad omen i thought. I dissembled not hearing anything and drove on. Hardly i had reached the next signal, my cell phone started buzzing. I picked up the call. It was from a colleague of mine who said he had got new kinda weed and wanted me to try some. Although one part of me wanted to say him no and proceed to meet my love but another part of me wanted to puff the magic dragon. I thought a slight detour to reinvigorate myself would cause no harm. Instead it could make me more accommodating of Ragini's whims.In the end, before the traffic cop could give me ticket for talking on cell phone while driving, the mysticism of dragons reigned over yearning of love and as if a magical force turned my bike towards the home of my colleague and in no time i was seeing people walking over buildings and hear distant birds singing Bollywood tunes.<br />
I don't know how much time passed, but when i came to my senses i saw my cell phone had no network coverage and the clock on the cell phone showed 1:57 PM. I removed the battery and put it back again on the cell phone. Still no network I went out and looked for the nearest one rupee coin payphone box. I wanted to dial Ragini's number but i feared a heavy backlash. So i put the coin in the slot and punched Amir's number. Each ring made me anxious and my ears just wanted to hear the beautiful sound of the coin being released.<br />
<br />
<br />amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-27953669081216047802012-11-17T05:11:00.001-08:002013-08-02T22:21:13.774-07:00Finding Love | Chapter-2 | Ank's predicament<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br />
The year was 03 or maybe 04 . I can’t say for sure. Can i say anything for
sure? Maybe not. On that Sunday morning
all i wanted was to wake up late and eat a sumptuous breakfast of butter dosa.
Amir had pledged to finance the breakfast and later during the day we had
planned to cook lunch and also invited Luv for it. Amir would do the cooking
and I would provide the supplies. However the call from Luv's girlfriend had
unnerved us and what looked like inevitability was the change in itinerary. In
an outburst of uncontrolled action I had called a dozen or so common friends
just to locate Luv. In an age of missed call flashes and high call rates I had
done an unthinkable act. At a time when people mostly flashed in order to get
their friends call them back I had called a dozen or so people. However I did
not regret it then as I was immersed in thoughts of Luv's well being.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Instead of thinking about where Luv could
be or what could have possibly befallen him, Amir was talking about cell phone
mannerisms and his vast knowledge of dosa types. I had to bring him back on
track. He immediately announced that we have to launch a manhunt. We have to
find Luv. He was like this since the time i knew him- willing to help
immediately-even though the outcome most of the times were
disastrous-particularly not to him but certainly for the person whom he
intended to help. For instance, while I was in college I was smitten by a
fellow batch mate. I did a terrible mistake of telling Amir about what i felt
about her precisely and openly. At that time internet was just picking up and
Amir being a student of computers introduced me to the amazing world of
internet chatting and emailing. Although the girl sat just next to me in class,
we barely spoke. Amir helped me create a yahoo id and hooked me up to chatting
with her. He would sit with me and tell the chatting lingo. The only
connection I had with her was the internet connection. We became chat friends
and she would occasionally tell me her schedule and when she would send the
smiley and flower emoticons in the chat window I would be so happy that I would
pay for my roommates cigarettes. Amir helped me write my first ever email and
that too addressed to the girl of my dreams. It was about a project about
micro-controllers which I had perceived and wanted her to be part of. When I
clicked the send button, it felt like the first kiss. However things did not
move any further than that and Amir would always ask me to take the
relationship to the next level.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
After a few days she stopped talking to me
and would avoid me in college. I felt disturbed and discussed the situation
with Amir. His clunky and uptight response on this issue made me even more
paranoid. Only when i made him swear on his bootlegged copy of Let Us C, he
divulged that feeling empathy for me he took the liberty of writing to the
girl, off course using my email address. He opened his heart or shall I say my
heart in his words to her. And the result was showing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Anyways now was not the time to crib about
past failures. Now was the time to find Luv. First we wanted to go to his house
which was a rented accommodation as quickly as possible. We had no wheels with
us. The only wheels we had seen until that time was the Wheeler book stall in
railway stations. We took two daily bus passes and boarded a bus to reach Luv's
house. Mid way I started feeling hungry and hence we had to get down at the Majestic
station and we ate Masala Dosa. Then we boarded another bus and after one and
half hours of journey reached his home. We rang the door bell. No one answered.
I started feeling uneasy and so was Amir. But his uneasiness was because of a
nauseating cocktail of Masala Dosa and a long bus commute. He puked his guts out.
We rang again and still there was no answer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Wiping his mouth Amir said- Maybe Luv is
asleep. Let’s go to the rear window and shout.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Ok. Yeah maybe he got drunk or something
last night. What if he suffered some kinda attack. Shall we call an ambulance?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
Man let’s see him first and then based on
his appearance decide the next step.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
We went to the rear window. It was opened.
It was the kitchen and offered limited view to his bed room. We tried all kinds
of positions to get a glimpse of his bedroom. But there was not a trace of Luv.
Suddenly we heard a voice from the first floor and we both looked up like birds
looking for a hint of rain in a distant cloud in summer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-21727839217734381432012-09-29T00:54:00.000-07:002013-08-02T21:33:52.467-07:00Finding Love | Chapter -1 | The search begins..<div style="margin-bottom: 13.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The year was 03. Amir was new to this
bustling metropolis named Bangalore. He came here from a nondescript town in
central India to realize the Indian IT dream and also to find true love. A few
months later and a dozen walk-ins old he realized it was hard to get any of
those. Standing in a never ending serpentine queue at a walkin interview in
which nobody was actually walking, he reckoned that it was not just him but a
million souls like him precisely looking for those two things in life. He lived
with Ank on the fringes of the city and civilization. Ank worked in a renowned
support center for a major international printer manufacturer and he had
realized one of those dreams. He lived nearby his office in electronic city due
to the low rentals and preferred finishing his majority of daily chores in
office, even during weekends. However on the subject of love, Ank was still
struggling and sometimes under the tutelage of old monk * he would pour his
heart out about the horrendous experiences in his search for love. Both were
unawares about the series of events that were about to unfold in the near
future which would have them change their views about finding love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Some days later, a typical lazy Sunday
morning slumber was broken by the monotonic ring tone of Ank's mobile. Ank picked
up the call and the person on the other side was Ragini. She was
girlfriend/future wife of their common friend Luv Singh Chauhan who
incidentally was an early Bangalore migrator. She sounded concerned .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Has Luv come to your room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">No-said Ank.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But wasn't he supposed to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There was a dead air from Ank's side for a
few seconds as he tried to reconstruct the events of previous night. Exposure
to old monk can result in haziness in thought process but surely there are no
hangovers. He looked at Amir and keeping his palm over the mic area of his
mobile said in a muffled voice-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She is asking about Luv.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Before Amir could think about Luv, he was
thinking that although mobile phones had a mute button, people were so much
used to handling landline phones that they still used the palm gesture in order
to mute the line. This brought a strange smile to his face much to the
annoyance of Ank. They both had invited Luv to have lunch with them and it was
possible he was on his way. He carried himself on a motorcycle which was
credited by his friends and colleagues as the reason for his success with
finding love so soon and so often. Ank unmuted the phone and said-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We had planned for a lunch. Maybe he is on
his way to my place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ragini said-I knew about the lunch. We
spoke about it last night<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ok. Let me call him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I am trying since morning but it's out of
coverage area.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Hmmm... Let me try from my phone. He might
be travelling through such places which had no network coverage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Although it did not make much sense to
Amir as to why Luv would deliberately travel through such places which had no
network coverage and moreover the technical feasibility to selectively travel
through such places was next to zero, still he nodded in congruence to what Ank
said out of his respect for Ank's degree in telecommunications engineering. Now
Ank dialed Luv. He got the switched off message from the other side. There was
definitely some issue. Why would Ragini get an out of coverage area message and
Ank get a switched off one. The phones were not smart enough at that time to
give messages based on whom you wanted to keep in touch. Ank called back Ragini
and said-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His phone is switched off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In a deeply concerned voice she said-Is it
possible he left for your place and something unfortunate happened to him mid
way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">By this time she was almost sobbing. Ank
said-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Calm down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I can’t calm down. Can you guys look for him?
I fear something untoward has happened to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Untoward? OK let me think towards what can
be done.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A gloom had covered their faces. In a
flurry Ank and Amir dialed in all the people in Bangalore who were common
friends with Luv along with them. None of them knew about his whereabouts. Out
of their obligation to friendship and their empathy for a suffering woman they
took a conscientious decision to find Luv no matter what it takes in terms of
effort.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
* Old Monk is a cheap rum.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-13171079958810430772012-07-29T06:50:00.001-07:002013-03-17T20:54:20.070-07:00Drone Acharya<br />
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landscape of the Himalayas nor does he wear scant clothing and live the life of
an ascetic. He is not the cool guru (Kul Guru) of the Pandavas and Kauravas who
shaped their destiny nor does he bear the stigma of unfairness to Karna and
Eklavya. On the contrary he has a degree in aviation engineering from a
renowned Indian technical university and weighs a little over 80 kilos and uses
his i phone only to call his mom (for those of you people who are clueless- ‘i ‘
is mother in Marathi). He was in the team who developed the first predator
drones. Although his real name is Sid Acharya, his colleagues call him Drone
Acharya.<br />
Some say he was part of the brain drain from India but he insists that he came
to the US for making his country proud and as a natural byproduct of that noble
work, earn in dollars and buy real estate in rupees back home. Moreover he
valued his individual freedom and this was a land that guaranteed it. When he
was headhunted, he was told that the flying machines they were building were
for the sole purpose of unmanned reconnaissance. He gladly took the offer
believing that his work is going to prevent wars. Later as the war on terror
expanded, he got the orders to see the possibility of attaching some kind of
payload for targets. By that time he was already famous as Drone Acharya among
his colleagues and he took as a matter of respect to look into such
possibility. When the initial trials were successful, his friends in Pentagon
and White house appreciated him for the work he had done to save countless
American lives. The drones were killing terrorists without having to risk the
lives of fellow Americans in combat.<br />
Later when the new President assumed office, the number of missions per year
also increased. Some douche bag journalist published a report of civilian
casualties in drone attacks. Droneacharya was concerned but his mentors quickly
provided an antidote for this sudden rise in conscience. It was a word called
collateral. It was a beautiful word that had the ability to absolve anyone of
anything. Those civilians-men, women, children were collateral for the war on terror.
Droneacharya and his team had no personal animosity with them and slowly the
drones would be upgraded for precise attacks. These dead civilians provided
vital test data that would help in precisioning of this weapon system. Sometimes
he thought he owed a lot to these dead people. They died an unsuspecting and
impersonal death. One moment you are doing your daily chore, the next moment
you are struck by a missile without any warning. All because your next door
neighbor had featured up in somebody's most wanted list. It was
like the wrath of the biblical God striking the immoral in Sodom and Gomorrah.
Sometimes he would get nightmarish dreams. He would see dead people-their limbs
splattered and blood spewing out of their exit wounds. Probably this
was because of too much CNN. He would then turn online to Facebook for
seeking a way out of this melancholy. Once he went to a nearby Dunkin Donuts
and met his old friend Ankur. He discussed about his condition and his desire
to move to some other project or go back to India to his family and start some new
business there. Next day when he reached office he was surprised to see a
bottle of champagne and a letter from the director of his department stating
that he was a valuable resource and that they cared about him. They would also
increase his paycheck. <br />
He was moved by this warm gesture and had already started feeding numbers to the
currency converter software to measure his increase in wealth. However
something felt amiss. This expediency of his department in understanding his
expectations was unnerving. It took him few hours of grueling interdepartmental
phone calls and accessing some restricted documents to unearth the information
that drones were now also being used for doing civilian surveillance for
homeland security. This was a being beta tested by another unit of his
department. He went to the nearby window and looked up at the sky, as if he can
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<![endif]-->amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-8612522450660835722012-06-02T09:04:00.001-07:002012-06-10T07:13:16.346-07:00The Garuda Paradox<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
This was his first week in Dallas. Prem Daha had come on a L1 Visa to US. He was a Bengali of Nepalese origin or the other way round. No one knew his origin with certainty and he too was never keen on divulging it. He liked himself to be known as citizen of the world instead of being associated with any particular place or culture. So much so that his friends and colleagues believed he was one of those rare creatures who could not be divided back to its origins.<br />
In order to keep his expenditure low and create a sizeable saving for investment in real estate back home Prem Daha had brought in his own assortment of food items-lintels, rice and the five necessary spices.He planned to eat rice and lintels on weekdays and prepare some fresh vegetable during the weekends.It was the first saturday and he had to find a local vegetable store.<br />
<br />
He walks through the broad streets. The evening wind outside has a rawness in it and so are the people.On the 66th street he sees a vegetable mart-Fresh veg. He walks briskly to the entrance.It has a revolving door. He gently presses the fibre glass with his palm-the action reminiscient of a plaintiff taking oath in the name of God in a court of law.While he is entring the revolving door there passes a man diametrically opposite to him for exit.For a brief moment their eyes make contact. The man smiles at him. He holds a carry bag containing snake gourd.Prem passes to the security section only to be stopped and frisked. Indian-asks the security guard.<br />
Yes<br />
<br />
The guard smiled and let him proceed. Inside there were rows and sections for different kinds of vegetables.Seemingly all farm fresh, organic and high priced. Even after ten minutes of digging into various rows and almost bringing down the tomato section, he was not able to locate the object of his desire-the snake gourd. Now he had to do what he did not want to do-ask the location from the supermarket staff. He was very aversed to asking directions from the supermarket staff in any supermarket. He felt that made him look less knowledgeable, a person who has not subsumed the details of his environment.Still he mustered the courage and approached the black lady staff standing nearest to him. He was barely able to say Mam when he lost his speech-as if some adhesive had hadrened in his vocal chords. The lady thought he had some speech impediment and brought in speaking kit for the vocally challenged. He nodded in such a way that it was difficult to say either it was a yes or a no. After a few seconds of inertia he pulled out his cell phone and said excuse me for a sec. He hurriedly keyed in his screen unlock code and called up Ank-his childhood friend and currently studying physics in a neaby college.<br />
Hello Ank.<br />
Hi, how are you? How is you fist weekend in US coming up?<br />
Fine, its fine. I have in Fresh Veg and am in a problem.<br />
Cash?<br />
No not cash. I wanted to buy snake gourd but couldnt find it. Now i have to ask the staff for direction.<br />
So whats the problem. Last i knew you had A plus in English.<br />
No its not about the language. My folks back in India used to say that we should not utter the word snake in the evening. Otherwise we might encounter it. And you know i dont want to schedule a meeting with those spineless creatures.<br />
Really? And what if somebody had uttered the word snake. Is there a counter utterance. Some kinda antidote.<br />
Yes i think there is. But i cant remember. Can you google it for me?<br />
Offcourse i can. Give me two minutes.<br />
<br />
Even after twenty minutes his cell phone did not ring. Prem grew restless. He could sense that security personell were watching him and it could be anytime they called homeland security. He had almost dropped the idea to buy snake gourd and started walking towards the exit, when he heard a familiar voice.It was Ank. He darted inside almost pushing the entrance security person.<br />
<br />
I tried to google it. But could not find any references. So i called up my granny in India. She said that people living in the western part of bengal belive in this snaky thing. The antidote is to chant the name of Garuda thrice as he is the arch enemy of the snake.<br />
Dude, that you could have told me over the phone.<br />
Yeah, but you forgot that speaking over the phone also counts as an utterance and you have already utterd the word snake many times. So in order to avoid all this confusion i boarded the bus to speak in person.<br />
Good.So now all we have to do is utter Garuda for all the instances when we mentioned snake.<br />
Yeah. Including this one.<br />
They both cacluated and uttered the word Garuda Garuda requisite number of times.The black lady staff was looking at them all the while like some audience watching a magic trick in amazement.<br />
<br />
Both had the look of calmness in their face as we find in a person who has just finished his first crossword puzzle.<br />
<br />
So Prem all i need to do now is ask for the snake gourd section and utter Garuda after it.<br />
Man i have been thinking all this while and maybe you dont need to do that.<br />
Why?<br />
See the word snake gourd itself is a paradox as it contains both words snake and garuda.Its both-the dote and the antidote. So i think as soon as you utter sanke gourd you are already neutralising the effects of the bad one. I wont utter the word now in order to avoid counting.<br />
Ok. I will do as you say.<br />
<br />
They both came back to Prems appartment. Prem cooked dinner which included snake gourd. After drinking beer and watching some episodes of Parks and Recreation they decide to hit the bed.Completely drunk and half asleep they talked about the years bygone and laughed and were contended that they had managed to ward of a potential danger.<br />
<br />
He dreams. He sees his grandmother sitting by his side on a moonless night and telling stories about snake bites. He sees the monumental snake statues like the Easter island monuments, extant even after centuries. He finds himself wearing a lab coat and reading a dozen or so X-Ray reports of a person. Each of those reports were of spinal cord section of human body and had the name Ank written on it and distinctly visible was the missing spinal cord.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-49598152751367082772012-02-11T06:20:00.000-08:002012-02-11T08:02:36.442-08:00Dont shoot strangers on a picnic<b>K Ray always had a passion to see the unknown and if possible to capture it in his camcorder. Sometimes that amounted to transgressing private space. On a cold December day he went to a picnic on a lake with a group of people. He had taken his cannon camcorder to do some sight shooting. But instead in no time he was shooting people that were not from his party. This was the result:</b><br /><br /><p><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwP7Jrv6ivtafTdZPcNjV-VMcpI_0DS9o3fxc7cGNEFNIrdSsDHe2vnbrCBue85a3Lz2Q32nqYqTKF6dEX1Cg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></p><p><b>Even after that eventful experience K Ray's passion for the unknown was undeterred and analysing the whole situation, he reckoned that the only thing that could have caused that incident was the lake. Stagnant waters are resemblance of a stagnant culture. Maybe the strangers hitting him would have acted differently if it was another location-a vibrant location-resembling an open and vibrant culture. Armed with this eye opener and off course his camcorder he headed to a nearby waterfall. And this was the event that unfolded:</b></p><p><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxzH_GyfljQTH3ska_CfnF-KUrsgxPuwdjt-07YJcHq8l6qLfuaX9Jnxw7_GM7gdSgxGjDBZfgOdDKccj6bEw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></p><p><b>He felt at least his reflexes have certainly improved.</b></p>amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-28618998410832541042011-12-11T03:34:00.000-08:002012-02-11T05:52:30.947-08:00Dum DidaOne Saturday morning as Bokreshor(aka Boka da) was immersed in watching reruns of his favourite TV shows which he had missed the entire week, he received a call from his uncle. His uncle said in a sombre voice that his grandmother was no more. Boka da was stunned and few seconds passed before he could use his vocal chords to make some sound.<br /><br /><div>How did this happen.<br /></div><br /><div>Well as you know she was not keeping well for quite some time. For past few days she stopped eating as well. The doctor said there was no hope. Every morning she would ask for me. Today when that didnt happen i went to her bed and found she wasnt breathing.<br /></div><br /><div>Ok. Did you call the doctor?<br />Boka da just wanted to make sure she had indeed died. There had been previous instances when she had suffered fits and most people thought she was dead-but she would rise up again and give that lost look.<br /></div><br /><div>Yes, he pronounced her dead.<br /></div><br /><div>Boka da wanted to be there for the last rites but his uncle said it would be impossible to wait that long. She was already a thin and whatever was left in that bare bone structure had to be immediately cremated.<br /></div><br /><div>Boka da had to let go.<br /></div><br /><div>As he kept his cell phone his mind wandered to the memories of his grand mother. He was not sure whether she actually knew he was her grandson. She had lost touch with reality quite some time ago. She belonged to a well to do family in erstwhile east Bengal. One night she had to leave everything behind in a mass exodus. Then started the endless journeys from one refugee camp to another. Her sons and daughters adjusted with relatives where they were barely able to sustain a living. Somewhere in between she lost her husband, and also her connection to reality. Her mind refused to believe all that had happened. Gradually her schozophernia reached high levels and she lived in her own utopia where everything was as before.People called her dumb.<br /></div><br /><div>Its not that she wasnt taken for medical consultation. Shock therapy was also used. But it got worse. She completely went out of sync with the present. For people taking care of her, it was good in way. She didnt complain.Ate a meager meal and kept talking to invisible neighbours and people. Every cry of child was one of her own. Her sons and daughters didnt age.<br /></div><br /><div>But sometimes she would be in a fit of rage and go out of control. and start abusing some people of betrayal. This could be triggered by a simple thing like a wheat bread or a dark skinned person.<br /></div><br /><div>However Boka da's memories of his grandmother were rather fond. She would call her by a different name and sometimes would say he was her son . Other times it could be grandson. She would recite some poems to him and would caress his face with those wrinkled hands. When Boka da was a kid, he would be very eager to visit her during summer holidays. She was his best playmate as she would always relent to whatever he said. Later in his life when things would go wrong with him, he would wish he could develop the same kind of world his granny created for herself in which difference between the real and unreal ceased to exist.<br /></div><br /><div>*****************************************************************************************************************</div>The brahmin was chanting the mantras. Words that said the departed soul of his granny to go to God, and live in holy places and the holy rivers.As the brahmin in the ghats chanted those mantras to Boka da, the mantras that ask the soul of the departed to relinquish any attachments with the loved ones and be with God forever instead of coming back to earth in new incarnations. Boka da didnt want to do it. He didnt want the soul of his beloved granny to be lost like that, to be part of God or live in holy places and holy rivers. He didnt want to sever the attachments. He wanted his granny to come back to him-to live the life she rightfully deserved- the life that was changed when few people decided the fate of an entire generation-the life that she made believe in her distorted reality. He wanted her to live a fulfilling life and not in deprivation...<br /><br /><div>He didnt repeat those mantras completely. When the rituals got over he switched on his cell phone. There was a message from his wife. She had tested positive for the pregnancy test.<br /></div><div>******************************************************************************************************************************</div>amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-55784660234178075652011-08-27T06:30:00.000-07:002011-08-27T08:00:08.435-07:00Remembering Mr BoseA song from a new movie-Delhi Belly has been occupying continuous bandwidth-be it FM or television. The producers of the album claim it to be the next youth anthem. On a closer look or shall i say hearing, i heard that phrase wrapped in a punk rockish music. Bhaag DK Bose..bhaag. <div>
<br /></div><div>This immediately set me back to seventh standard. Being a convent school run by the strict disciplinarians-The Brothers as they liked to be called, we the students were not allowed to utter an iota of expletives. But as the old adage goes-you can take out the boy from the country but cannot take out the country from the boy-so were we so much influenced by the society around us, it was impossible not to have an urge to bring out the unspoken from the mouth. But in school, any swearing was treated like blasphemy in the dark ages-if the teachers or brothers came to knew about it you would be made to face the Khandwa friend-which was akin to burning on stake of the dark ages. And no matter how hard you tried to be conspicuous you would get snitched. But as they say necessary is the mother of invention so we did develop some unique phrases to bring out what was forbidden. This particular expletive we are taking about, referred to female genitalia and was on a common usage. On reversing the expletive it became a common bengali name DK Bose.So the guys who at best could say idiot and stupid and same to you inside the school walls now would say- Shut up you DK Bose or Whats up DK Bose. This started a revolution of sorts and people came up with more innovative phrases to disguise the expletives. These are few of them that i can recollect now:</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Jha saab Tu Saab-Disguised as calling someone with respect this actually referred to pubic hair. Other variations of this included jhandu balm and jhand muraina.</div><div>Kaun dam de raha hai- Although translated from Hindi this would mean who is threatening you but a closer look will reveal this referred to condom.</div><div>You cant do-although plain looking this referred to sodomy.</div><div>BC-A historical distortion of Before Christ to refer to someones sister.</div><div>As we learnt biology we came up with a peculiar way to pronounce Mitochondria that sounded like an expletive referring to someones mother.</div><div>Then as information technology took over we hashed Mother board to sound like the worst of expletives.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>So when i heard this new youth anthem i figured this is not new after all. My generation has already grown up on it. If this is the measure of the creative ability of our movie industry, i must say we were more creative than this in seventh standard. Back then we thought this was all useless stuff but it seems people are minting money out of it. There are so many more creative things we did but now we have no track of it in our memory. If only we could have documented them...</div><div>
<br /></div><div>A last word of caution to Prem-Going by what Bollywood is serving us, next you may hear a song about Ganpat Rai- a character created by you and etched in our memories forever.</div><div>
<br /></div>amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-71714751603207944372011-02-27T05:59:00.001-08:002013-08-15T08:16:31.693-07:00Deikha Lomu Toray a.k.a Revenge is mine<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Yj2wMWOQphm2iIHC6FsDtGX-QOZqiPwHuSMvPwGvX6XvvlZGD70oTJKpAurkogLpceN1KKmpGvcA4-Y5ovSe5yL8kw0HHOiFXiynX-8aFo_OK2B0gBeEURYTx2M2VdNt_fEtimiPSjc/s1600/Movie_Poster.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Yj2wMWOQphm2iIHC6FsDtGX-QOZqiPwHuSMvPwGvX6XvvlZGD70oTJKpAurkogLpceN1KKmpGvcA4-Y5ovSe5yL8kw0HHOiFXiynX-8aFo_OK2B0gBeEURYTx2M2VdNt_fEtimiPSjc/s200/Movie_Poster.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578600466554020242" style="height: 150px; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
<br />
Modna as he liked to be called himself, was absorbed in the latest video gone viral in the internet. The explicitness of the acts performed in the video made Modna less and less aware of the environment around him. He felt he was very much part of the video-as if he was in it. He was so engrossed that his senses had numbed. All of a sudden a pinching sensation in his ankle brought him back to the world he was living in. A mosquito bite. Although he had been bitten by mosquitoes in the past but this time he felt a surge of anger. As if an ancient hermit had been disturbed in his penance. He wanted apt retribution. Kill ..Kill ...Kill that was all that was coming in his mind.<br />
<br />
The seething built up of anger was overwhelming. Modna was an open admirer of Donald Rumsfeld and believed in Rumsfeldian doctrine of proactive homeland security and wanted a hot pursuit for the perpetrator of such a dastardly act. He did a visual reconnaissance of his room to find trail of the blood sucking creature. The trail led him to the north west periphery of the room. A dark coagulation was visible there. A closer look confirmed it to be a herd of mosquitoes. Although Modna had taken every protection against these creatures. But it appeared there was a big security lapse. A window was left half open and it was enough to invite these malarial beings. Modna closed the window. He came back to the north west corner of the room. It was apparent that one among them was responsible for committing the crime. He wanted to bring the perpetrator to justice but had no idea how to single out the one who had committed the act from the rest of the herd. He took out his cell phone and punched the number of his good friend Prhaem . The call was picked up in exactly three rings . Modna narrated the incidence to him. Prhaem said that it was inevitable that justice be met to the creature who had done the act. His religion and years of being a member of the anti death penalty lobby forbid him from coming to such a conclusion but he believed that the case was rarest of the rare and had to be seen in that light. However the toughest question for both of them was the identification of the perpetrator. Was there a scientific method available that would conclusively single out the perpetrator from the innocent. A blood test perhaps that could tell whether there were traces of Modna's blood in those blood suckers.<br />
Unable to decide they decided to bring another of their friend into the conference. He was Chuck. Hearing the gravity of the situation he abandoned the 'tadka'(an ancient method of adding additives to pulses) he was about to perform. He articulated the following points post discussion:<br />
<br />
Obstruction in the flow of information was a serious offence in itself and the mosquito had committed it when it bit Modna as he was helplessly surfing the internet.<br />
Taking blood from a person involuntary was an unpardonable crime and the mosquito had committed it.<br />
The culprit lies hidden among a group and there was no precise way of identifying who committed the crime and even if they could google the process, the time and cost factors would be roadblocks in application of such a process.<br />
<br />
Chuck said that the only way justice could be met was by liquidating the entire group. This would also set an example for the creatures who could be potential perpetrators in future. This also went well with Rumsfeld's policy of proactive homeland security. Phraem still felt that punishing an entire race for the act committed by one was genocide but he had to take his wife to the mall and hence didn't wanted to discuss further.<br />
<br />
Modna brought the flit gun from downstairs. He made sure he was wearing the correct gear before he proceeded to do the cleansing. He tiptoed to that corner and in one large push sprayed the entire area with pesticide. There was nascent hushing sound and as the droplets spread, the mosquitoes fell to the ground, dead, like the dead leaves in autumn. As Modna stood beside the area where the mosquitoes had fallen, he felt content in his heart for he was able to avenge the wrong done to him but at the same time he felt remorse for the slayed creatures .<br />
<br />
He suddenly remembered that it was quite some time now since he had kept the chicken marinated in his kitchen. He aimed to prepare yogurt chicken today.<br />
<br />
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Photography: Ankuramit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-77007478138748855062010-11-05T23:37:00.000-07:002010-11-06T00:34:15.112-07:00CWG Mess-ageAlthough the CWG have ended quite sometime back, still we hear its echoes. Like a counterfiet coin it keeps coming back. Still many people, native and foreign,in the political circle and sports circle are crying foul about it. Me and my distinguished friend Ankur( who is an expert in current affairs) once got the opportunity to jam up on this issue. Here are the list of things we came up with:<br /><br />1. CWG stands for common wealth games. So if it has increased the common wealth of the organizing commitee members its nothing unusual. The fact is all the people from top to bottom involved in the organizing commitee had their fortunes turned.<br /><br />2. Some high profile CWG officials were worried about the slow pace of the infrastructure development. We think they are unaware how things are done in India. We like to do everything in the last minute. Gives a kind of adernaline rush. Ask any Indian IT professional about the buffer phase in the project plan and he/she will tell you gladly that most of the work related to the project is dne during this phase.<br /><br />4. Some officials and players from other countries cribbed about the poor living conditions in the games village. We think they have never travelled to an Indian village, let alone living there. They should not forget that they agreed to live in the games village, an Indian games village, and not in some swanky hotel. So if some furnitures wre broken or there was a slack in cleanliness or an accidental cobra loitering in the vicinity, thats nothing compared to the living condition in a village. Ask any Indian farmer and he would happily trade places with any of the atheletes in the games village. Those foreign atheletes and officals totally missed the village part of it.<br /><br />5. Some people said CWG was a discmfort to general public due to the closure of certain routes and the diversions in traffic. Thats a complete lie. Every one in Delhi, from children to adults enjoyed the games. Children got their holidays and adults got a reprive from travel to office by working from home.<br /><br />All in all the the CWG message was if you are in India, expect things to happen the Indian way. That way and no other way...amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-66799009781556521092010-09-20T04:41:00.000-07:002010-11-05T23:36:40.867-07:00Tools-A Picture Story<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHSJsjKVUDt9tCURVsms8sMtD3PP7S6bjSLooimaMU20Z_kl3xaVsgfDy0dnQY5fzzeWRCTeQVUwOim-rvBAPEjum0r65rNynuz2UNjFGaRuFewJtId-Y7QPWKxRX7z3-cbxt572Pzd8/s1600/image001.jpg"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518965453057530626" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFHSJsjKVUDt9tCURVsms8sMtD3PP7S6bjSLooimaMU20Z_kl3xaVsgfDy0dnQY5fzzeWRCTeQVUwOim-rvBAPEjum0r65rNynuz2UNjFGaRuFewJtId-Y7QPWKxRX7z3-cbxt572Pzd8/s200/image001.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"> A broken toilet flush is the next most annoying thing after a nagging wife. And Makardhwaj’s toilet flush was dead broke. </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNs8UoM14IT6P_Jy9_xmu4M5kmIYHxaK5ZdPNzXktapWoDb_eO0z_cLDyGIbcE-8cBEH__nyZP0zoF4CFd40ZmOujUh06VdALjUqRq8uKfih5Figm5ZameT6Ro1TFWLeOgRC-xhU7wpgs/s1600/image007.jpg"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518964777467231138" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNs8UoM14IT6P_Jy9_xmu4M5kmIYHxaK5ZdPNzXktapWoDb_eO0z_cLDyGIbcE-8cBEH__nyZP0zoF4CFd40ZmOujUh06VdALjUqRq8uKfih5Figm5ZameT6Ro1TFWLeOgRC-xhU7wpgs/s200/image007.jpg" border="0" /></span></a> He was using a tumbler and a mug as a substitute for meeting his flushing needs. </span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><br /><br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-7iQR31WWu-G-zYFNcodOIM_DjkYF7MloHjKt_PSWHu8YnWVbk6wYfIK3wuN7GHtz_t8jMPxYN-j63UQISfqoud4XGESnPsiIY0qMOl02L15SYt4-l6igZxA2nRLL8iBQilH8fLpU4Tc/s1600/image003.jpg"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518964786723440482" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-7iQR31WWu-G-zYFNcodOIM_DjkYF7MloHjKt_PSWHu8YnWVbk6wYfIK3wuN7GHtz_t8jMPxYN-j63UQISfqoud4XGESnPsiIY0qMOl02L15SYt4-l6igZxA2nRLL8iBQilH8fLpU4Tc/s200/image003.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;">Being a self made man that he was, he decided to fix this anomaly all by himself. This decision locomoted him to a local hardware superstore. It had the shape and size of almost any super stores that are around these days except that this one housed all imaginable and unimaginable hardware items on display.<br /><br />Sometimes supply can create its own demand –so said Says. And going by the amount of shopping people do in the superstores these days it can be said that this mantra is the cornerstone of their business. Makardhwaj was no exception to this rule and the huge congregation of materials on the racks awoke the dormant creator in him. He thought if a tool exists, there must be some use for it. He may not have the knowledge of its usability but the very existence of such a tool demanded that it have some use and Makardhwaj abhorred the idea of existence of anything in the material world without his cognition. Suddenly articles that never registered in his mind as being of any use in the past started appearing as inevitable.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCKHzj-HmUE8Jpx66LAJEWPan6NHgidMc4s2eprnU647l6K4RN_whxouCNQn5xGU1Bn-CPyZwU3UGQB2MNRrd2LfX8zv73dRJEjEXgKEVsJXU_LwVB_0fE52gbJ5spqBJKQrFQcdxlBiA/s1600/image002.jpg"></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;">Rabidly he shopcarted the following products:<br /><br /></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLVfTGz3VmSqauQPLWQ-QzQKBzlc4i1_hZ-TgqB4QDgEVt3Fz7pbDKBhfyOONS7CANMGnU7r_OjIrj7fxvJLe0kRyT-ntQcpCfimeA8SL8M80Wtx8dXABkbClc8TYC8CMtvvQc5TU_Yuo/s1600/image039.jpg"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518964774250227794" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLVfTGz3VmSqauQPLWQ-QzQKBzlc4i1_hZ-TgqB4QDgEVt3Fz7pbDKBhfyOONS7CANMGnU7r_OjIrj7fxvJLe0kRyT-ntQcpCfimeA8SL8M80Wtx8dXABkbClc8TYC8CMtvvQc5TU_Yuo/s200/image039.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"> A tape.<br /><br /><br /></span><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixI-rD5gQNanfQgEwk4-2ooa5VjFZPcosK9kmUjYvHR0oCF4Tk_BDHvqGcjUFB1rkR2igeBrudzC4_yp46zN36rKK_hb3RDOTIXK2doId2yKwT-v_QHng3fKwLSuYnOyaxflnCXkaxXKk/s1600/image044.jpg"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518963786022439138" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixI-rD5gQNanfQgEwk4-2ooa5VjFZPcosK9kmUjYvHR0oCF4Tk_BDHvqGcjUFB1rkR2igeBrudzC4_yp46zN36rKK_hb3RDOTIXK2doId2yKwT-v_QHng3fKwLSuYnOyaxflnCXkaxXKk/s200/image044.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"> A swiss knife.<br /><br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixgPqeQ8nN3MzboUV_-jHzwmk37Alp4KX71UJVXQsBsKaGxDH-6BRweP8DWODtiskajqsOtispmdTOhi22yP007KQMagzSEbe-9frQXg3Yiy_VqVfrHf4mNPYfdu9zuQw3JrX1uihjA-A/s1600/image048.jpg"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518963776683777234" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixgPqeQ8nN3MzboUV_-jHzwmk37Alp4KX71UJVXQsBsKaGxDH-6BRweP8DWODtiskajqsOtispmdTOhi22yP007KQMagzSEbe-9frQXg3Yiy_VqVfrHf4mNPYfdu9zuQw3JrX1uihjA-A/s200/image048.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"> A carry bag.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtmL4idQBkWJQgb7Ewfp-9PHP65dUATQyDQ4oboONnp0_x4ti6NN_G_lGj5DC0XHLn12YXtnYcWea4faE2kqZYOASt9MpN-sQpe23oCH8_GUyhNGG-LpOEaxw6xyqY5sjxhnYIdt08gNM/s1600/IMG_1294.JPG"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518965461281163858" style="WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtmL4idQBkWJQgb7Ewfp-9PHP65dUATQyDQ4oboONnp0_x4ti6NN_G_lGj5DC0XHLn12YXtnYcWea4faE2kqZYOASt9MpN-sQpe23oCH8_GUyhNGG-LpOEaxw6xyqY5sjxhnYIdt08gNM/s200/IMG_1294.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"> A tumbler of grease.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTTDDSbdQ5S2Tbdn9EKBm6FNOhjj_XrZBqMN5iI059XyPdqtcFezTkEqY6nbPkzFWce0Fdh94uR461HHDIa1IksaVTMQq_yI-1x814AV8o7IDX5pjfBrrjNJRpAsxorABaltHmt_73wo/s1600/image043.jpg"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518964471198722402" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTTDDSbdQ5S2Tbdn9EKBm6FNOhjj_XrZBqMN5iI059XyPdqtcFezTkEqY6nbPkzFWce0Fdh94uR461HHDIa1IksaVTMQq_yI-1x814AV8o7IDX5pjfBrrjNJRpAsxorABaltHmt_73wo/s200/image043.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;">A multi tool pack consisting of screw drivers and spanners of various shapes and sizes.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></span></div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWT3rs9rSkGHrtK4q2NK1cm3dtsH_H-4OTaEiXwum_kKaN4LDCidXSwAEWbMW7Tgf1UTadPvpLnOwktslmSJAbQS7t2dBqU3ciYMURsUFbS9VaVNh6iYPW0wxXVzXAYq2D1HDac3l9SLU/s1600/image049.jpg"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518963771527288194" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWT3rs9rSkGHrtK4q2NK1cm3dtsH_H-4OTaEiXwum_kKaN4LDCidXSwAEWbMW7Tgf1UTadPvpLnOwktslmSJAbQS7t2dBqU3ciYMURsUFbS9VaVNh6iYPW0wxXVzXAYq2D1HDac3l9SLU/s200/image049.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"> A hammer.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;">Makardhwaj came home contended and post lunch he decided to look at the spoils of his shopping. He laid them on a table and looked at them as a child would look at a Christmas gift after getting up in the morning.<br /><br /></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggXJZLpzCgOAzho_Nm7cqRq_JBlqMBFqmB7JPF-hW2DJp717u6kVTi8U0Z-T-ujKgJEHrFrjLAvmP0gdgSfwY0bt8lu9mBrGFivwk2HVgoxl7F_fZnjc_7xNkci1Gk5Rb68ejJF-_Zyb8/s1600/image050.jpg"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518963767865015938" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggXJZLpzCgOAzho_Nm7cqRq_JBlqMBFqmB7JPF-hW2DJp717u6kVTi8U0Z-T-ujKgJEHrFrjLAvmP0gdgSfwY0bt8lu9mBrGFivwk2HVgoxl7F_fZnjc_7xNkci1Gk5Rb68ejJF-_Zyb8/s200/image050.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"> The hammer in particular attracted his attention. It was small and handy and looked elegant yet efficient. It had a nice rubber grip with which he held it and gently began to tap the blunt end on the table and listened to the sound it produced. At the other end of the hammer there was a claw that could easily extract nails. It was strange that the very instrument that could pound a nail deep into a material could also extract it from there. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiat9Te_PnyjvyO6zH07NAQlBfQgybZljtrCDFrU0c_REqT3O9N2OVASSfZY0mkBVfQy0AMFco4CGRAbo0FWwkie7dHLsD5IJeI4lSaRo8BN_XeP6BpZFdD86Yo5WFZQmhW5EkNRqQjVM8/s1600/IMG_1279.JPG"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518963288173417330" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiat9Te_PnyjvyO6zH07NAQlBfQgybZljtrCDFrU0c_REqT3O9N2OVASSfZY0mkBVfQy0AMFco4CGRAbo0FWwkie7dHLsD5IJeI4lSaRo8BN_XeP6BpZFdD86Yo5WFZQmhW5EkNRqQjVM8/s200/IMG_1279.JPG" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"> Makardhwaj thought that the same tool could be used for doing multiple things, not necessarily what the tool is commonly known to be used for . At that very moment the prospects of transforming himself into a hammerhead shark appeared to be feasible with this instrument at his disposal. Since the time Nat Geo had happened to him, he had always wanted to be one of these rare and powerful creatures of the deep sea. </span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;">Next day he had made it to the headlines of all the newspapaers.<br /><br />Well...most of the times we never know what is at stake in the use of a tool unless the tool has been used.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"></span></div><div>***********************************************************************************************<br />Photography: Ankur<br />Story: Amit<br />***********************************************************************************************</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-59695414703634103482010-08-18T01:11:00.000-07:002013-08-23T22:30:12.795-07:00Poppy Love<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ1XUT1UwerzcPueLm1h9Nh2PLHY14ra2YTics5fvYIeL4uNl0JsgQDBj_4YrzVW2nRbC073zt80WYIl93mJO0FViF6eyhjiEjoyqS5EKv6CrMpcDj-WwnYLLAhnG6UuMZBV8aHunD4B0/s1600/webb+cam+020.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ1XUT1UwerzcPueLm1h9Nh2PLHY14ra2YTics5fvYIeL4uNl0JsgQDBj_4YrzVW2nRbC073zt80WYIl93mJO0FViF6eyhjiEjoyqS5EKv6CrMpcDj-WwnYLLAhnG6UuMZBV8aHunD4B0/s200/webb+cam+020.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506674147808629794" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 150px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
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Each Independence day for me brings back memories-not of political speeches from the Red Fort or frivolous Doordarshan (Indian state run TV) commentary or the Independence day offers in Big Bazar. It brings back memories of lazy afternoon lunches whose principal delicacy would be posto. The affinity of Bengali's for poppy seeds or posto, as it is christened in Bengali, is all too well known. Mostly this expensive ingredient is grounded along with sesame seeds or white mustard seeds and the paste, posto bata, is used in every imaginable kind of delicacy. Be it vegetarian dishes like Jhinge posto (Ridge Gourd in poppy seed paste) or non vegetarian dishes like Chingri posto (Prawns in poppy seed paste). Also it doesn't take an association algorithm to figure out the fact that it is cooked together with the most popular vegetable in the Bengali cuisine, the potato, as in Aloo posto (Poptato in poppy seed paste). Some of my friends are inquisitive about the reasons behind Bengali fondness for posto. Some might think it would take an entire research team funded by the Rockefeller foundation to find the answer to this but that wont be necessary. The answer lies in the Bengali addiction for lethargic lifestyle. Posto actually adds to that laidbackness that we are so fond of. Consume any dish of posto along with rice in the afternoon and a two hour nap is guaranteed. It takes you to such a high that not even a rock concert by the most metallic of any rock bands will be able to as much caress your ear drums. You will be completely cut off from the rest of the world for the next two hours. What a wonderful way to spend an afternoon. When we were toddlers we were told by our moms(overbearing) that we shouldn't venture into the world outside in the afternoon. Some kind of demons are in hunt for unfortunate souls during this time of the day. And so we were made to sleep. And what better way to make someone asleep than a stomach full of morphine emanating poppy seed paste. Till this day we honor this tradition by making it a point to doze off in our workplace for at least 10 minutes everyday after lunch break. Off course we make sure that the screensaver is properly timed. </div>
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On a certain independence day as we were returning from school, Ankur uttered this famous quote to a gathering of friends. A quote that meticulously imbibed the spirit of unity with his undaunting love for the poppy seeds. He said and i quote-<span style="font-family: lucida grande;"><strong><em>' Ae mere humwatan dosto, mere ghar aana khilaunga posto ' </em></strong></span>(Oh my friends and countrymen, come to my home and i will serve you posto). What better way to celebrate an independence day.<br />
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Photograph: Ankur</div>
amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-3997791689469770602010-08-11T05:10:00.000-07:002010-08-18T00:05:11.504-07:00Gem Stones: A picture storyDo we all follow a prewritten course in our life or we can alter our fate. These questions took me to an Enlightened One. The Enlightened One asked me to have stones if i wished to be lucky. My previous experience suggested that there could be merit in this perception. Some time back i had stones in my kidney and they were lucky for me as i got to drink more beer. However the Enlightened One clarified that he meant wearing a gem stone. According to this Enlightened One, a gem stone captures the sun rays and according to the type of stone they are, reflect back a certain kind of rays and absorb others.<br /><br /><div><div><div></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcYTH5Tk71bcCYDm8hwvy88dnI755fxKE4uh1Ts0ehKfen0Uk7-0izTY0e_x3fB66yJ6wb6iLv_AmfXI3JhX6lFqGLqidR3BSLY_oGD4iLd2xqXYwd-uo6GN0Igf2iQMHRU2AodvHZ_hk/s1600/gem_stone+016.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504141857808980050" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcYTH5Tk71bcCYDm8hwvy88dnI755fxKE4uh1Ts0ehKfen0Uk7-0izTY0e_x3fB66yJ6wb6iLv_AmfXI3JhX6lFqGLqidR3BSLY_oGD4iLd2xqXYwd-uo6GN0Igf2iQMHRU2AodvHZ_hk/s200/gem_stone+016.jpg" border="0" /></a> After much calculations and deliberations we decided on a coral. It was huge and appeared looking straight at me as if asking me to wear it.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div></div><div></div><div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504142826828325442" style="WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFmZjGxYpNtVIAsl6QUcrfcsJyKFdkbsBi7rYD1vTTIod5e78Anb0F6Sk06JWJCbphJPLXg1tX-Ap2qDd8Xfyj_UBmmZZjhqqu6Aup8RXnnvXPjtVdtnnWjQDg7v9KxHct5c8FuLZ_PM/s200/gem_stone+018.jpg" border="0" /> I wore the coral in my middle finger. I wanted to show it to everyone but thought they might find it offensive. The effects were immediately visiible as I felt like scratching the fabric and tearing it apart.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4iJAGOY8HHKUIb6XFM9s4lCthVnXuF70gWE5P9CVdP7DrjT58iJ5j3T8CELmiVFAkD7VDmOlPZt1OJXcosPpVb-9xg-NYVGJjnKHEw8fb8wadDmPmb2spOobdzIkM1VnHmX8ZU07Y1jY/s1600/gem_stone+019.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504144603772053282" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4iJAGOY8HHKUIb6XFM9s4lCthVnXuF70gWE5P9CVdP7DrjT58iJ5j3T8CELmiVFAkD7VDmOlPZt1OJXcosPpVb-9xg-NYVGJjnKHEw8fb8wadDmPmb2spOobdzIkM1VnHmX8ZU07Y1jY/s200/gem_stone+019.jpg" border="0" /></a> Seeing this, the Enlightened One said i needed a hessonite(gomedh) to control the coral's starnge effects. This metaphoric outburst translated into spending some more cash. But i didnt mind as i was determined to change my fate.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6r_-_9wfWSvra75Rx4naAn_e5d4AJ-nj-1-Vg4XgBeJTQltmeYKmg-hR2UjAYHQTVArTld2trxvC1aGDdvfWkEiY-uaAkDIpVXMzgOkE5pp5Hh_VnAL9_5VFR0lzrwd2B1qcTIQpgOlc/s1600/gem_stone+023.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504148011932318338" style="WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6r_-_9wfWSvra75Rx4naAn_e5d4AJ-nj-1-Vg4XgBeJTQltmeYKmg-hR2UjAYHQTVArTld2trxvC1aGDdvfWkEiY-uaAkDIpVXMzgOkE5pp5Hh_VnAL9_5VFR0lzrwd2B1qcTIQpgOlc/s200/gem_stone+023.jpg" border="0" /></a> I got the hessonite and made sure it was huge. After all its no mean feat to control a coral. I wore it just next to the coral to keep it under constant vigil. Like a big brother it made sure the coral finger didnt end up in places it shouldnt be.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpxLM0Ecf6-uQYCbqLa4omk9SnggbyizfxqIfyviRo7uQCTWYRHbI9xSOx8RLHTx7J2eJ0D-erLYOz47HaAXKx2_9LrfTExn_nG0Z9rUy7chW3fbpprMc3Lcf8Fxc_a9NxpoEbiC-lCWI/s1600/webb+cam+002.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504148738495464626" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpxLM0Ecf6-uQYCbqLa4omk9SnggbyizfxqIfyviRo7uQCTWYRHbI9xSOx8RLHTx7J2eJ0D-erLYOz47HaAXKx2_9LrfTExn_nG0Z9rUy7chW3fbpprMc3Lcf8Fxc_a9NxpoEbiC-lCWI/s200/webb+cam+002.jpg" border="0" /></a> In order to mail my gem laden hand snaps to my friends i bought in a new web cam. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqALn_5bv1O8cqmoHUF8xdXXfbpSdurQvEzKWv7XfDGnGN-8OeaH7A40NrKGX-jAjfsAq776RQ_Euq084JrdaWBZtYHc-MfsBQOg42KVyA43H0Nt1Cl1xCm1Zz_ESHG7dsfbm3pvTbto8/s1600/gem_stone+027.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504147024007562194" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqALn_5bv1O8cqmoHUF8xdXXfbpSdurQvEzKWv7XfDGnGN-8OeaH7A40NrKGX-jAjfsAq776RQ_Euq084JrdaWBZtYHc-MfsBQOg42KVyA43H0Nt1Cl1xCm1Zz_ESHG7dsfbm3pvTbto8/s200/gem_stone+027.jpg" border="0" /></a> When i took the pic, the combined effect of the gem stones could be seen mainfested in it. The color of my skin around the hand looked paler when compared to the pic when i was only wearing the coral. The rays were surely getting absorbed. Maybe in few months i would become racially superior. </div><div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj9lo-Dbp9rtpysYv2EsfjcUdXLpqY2k__iRnnJuOxz9bFdpBKQ1ZUYJDfVHvIS_KBKRebYnc_j_soxWTcVx1_Ik9vMVi4MChC8s_ZeloyRO1VYRKTa65RCwyQL2lTOiafTfA8FeeAfoI/s1600/webb+cam+001.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504150854795974690" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj9lo-Dbp9rtpysYv2EsfjcUdXLpqY2k__iRnnJuOxz9bFdpBKQ1ZUYJDfVHvIS_KBKRebYnc_j_soxWTcVx1_Ik9vMVi4MChC8s_ZeloyRO1VYRKTa65RCwyQL2lTOiafTfA8FeeAfoI/s200/webb+cam+001.jpg" border="0" /></a> I was absorbed in these thoughts when a strong wind blew. It tilted the web cam and scattered the help manual of the new web cam.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0unJdTkVZT5XqLrf9UczP7jNjYu3-P52UFbGiYyxuqjgJGUoUw1ViS_xO9P3xXEsnxCEyWcrX_QHFIIZfeEkAimAN9GVFW_y3oIic9hRFoPz3QA6D9DhzeAzw1If4oKdBHgMC7E_7ESc/s1600/webb+cam+008.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504151431386035810" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0unJdTkVZT5XqLrf9UczP7jNjYu3-P52UFbGiYyxuqjgJGUoUw1ViS_xO9P3xXEsnxCEyWcrX_QHFIIZfeEkAimAN9GVFW_y3oIic9hRFoPz3QA6D9DhzeAzw1If4oKdBHgMC7E_7ESc/s200/webb+cam+008.jpg" border="0" /></a> As i ran to contain the scatter, the page of the manual that lay opened in front of me had some thing written about this camera being having a greater resolution and producing a better picture in the dark than any camera.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>***********************************************************************************************</div><div>Photography: Ankur </div><div>Story: Amit</div><div>***********************************************************************************************</div></div></div>amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-19447687153931155382010-07-30T08:33:00.000-07:002013-05-02T20:03:11.889-07:00The Legend of the Condemned Cat<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The events I am going to narrate
have become some kind of a legend in my part of the world. And like all legends
few things get added to it and few are obliterated from it forever.<br />
<br />
Felix had two very close friends: Ankur and Rana. They studied in the same
school and sat next to each other in the same classroom and shared their
lunchboxes too. During Christmas time, the school would close for holidays and
Ankur and Rana would visit Felix to savor some homemade ginger wine and plum
cake. But their association with Felix was not limited to the Christmas
delicacies. Felix had a pack of home bred animals: a pair of rabbits, a rooster
and a hen and a very fat cat which coincidentally was also named Felix. He
liked all his pets but was particularly close to Felix, the cat. Rana liked to
chase the rooster all over the barn and Ankur could not help but caress the
rabbits. If there was one thing in common that was between the trio, it was
this: They would put the plum cake pieces in their pockets and carry the
rabbits to a relatively unknown corner of the barn which was not in the
immediate vicinity of Felix's Mom. They liked to watch them get playful.<br />
Now in the Christmas of nineteen hundred and eighty nine an unfortunate event changed
the course of things forever. Customarily Ankur and Rana came to Felix's house
but instead of Felix, it was his mom who greeted them and presented the eagerly
awaited ginger wine and plum cake. She called Felix and he came. He looked
shaken and sleep deprived. There was a round of silence only broken
intermittently by the sound of the cake getting crushed by Ankur’s molars.
Seeing the deadlock his mom spoke.<br />
Felix killed one of them hares.<br />
The gulp of wine that Rana was just going to devour to his ever parched throat
just came off his mouth.<br />
Why Felix. Why did u do that? It just ain’t Christian to kill a rabbit <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in Christmas.<br />
It wasn’t me. It was Felix, the cat-said Felix.<br />
<br />
Then Felix went on to describe how they had left the pets to attend the
midnight prayer at the community church and when they returned he saw Felix
busy tearing the hairy skin out of one of the rabbits in the barn. After
cursing the cat and calling it names unthinkable, Felix was of the view that
cat be served severest of the punishments. Ankur seconded his views. However Rana
wanted a full fledged investigation. The trio agreed to give the cat a fair
trial. Luckily Felix had not allowed his mom to clean any part of the crime
scene. First they examined the dead body of the hare. There were tooth marks on
its neck suggesting strangulation. Apart from that most of its abdomen was
gone. A close look of the cats mouth revealed minor scratch marks, presumably that
of the rabbit. But why was the body found in the barn when the rabbits never
left the house by themselves. They looked every nook and corner of the house,
in all probable places for clues. At last in the living room rug they found
remnants of some soaked up liquid. Ankur immediately cordoned off the area and
after sniffing and taking the rug part between his fingers asked Felix to give
him the magnifying glass. He then pronounced that he found traces of rabbit
pee, rabbit semen and rabbit blood in that coagulated matter. Drag marks were
faintly visible at some distances between the living room and the barn.<br />
The trio gave a complete Christian burial to the dead rabbit or whatever
remained of him. Felix read few lines from the Good Book. Ankur read an eulogy
to the rabbit . His voice was mournful and it felt he would break into tears
anytime. Rana recited some excerpts from the Gita that he had picked up from a
television show. It talked about karma and reincarnation. Then they decided to
go for the hearing. The barn was to be the makeshift court room. Ankur would be
the prosecutor attorney and Rana would be the defendant attorney. Felix the guy
would preside as the judge. But before that, they had a hefty lunch prepared by
Felix's mom as they apprehended that the proceedings might continue for longer
than expected duration. The main course for lunch was the chicken from the
barn. Nobody among the three spoke during the lunch. Whether it was because of
the deliciously tasting chicken or the pondering on the points to be brought up
during the trail, is hard to tell.<br />
<br />
When the old wall clock chimed two, the hearing started. Prosecutor spoke
first. He alleged that this was no ordinary crime. It was preplanned and the
defendant’s violent nature was manifested through this crime. That he had
killed the harmless rabbits that were in no position to retaliate made this
case rarest of the rare. He demanded severe punishment for the defendant to set
an example-the capital punishment. The Judge said if the defendant needs to be
severely punished in the capital city to set an example, it would cost them
some amount of money for the itinerary and also it would require approvals from
their parents. The prosecutor went silent for few moments. After munching the
leftover cake and taking a sip of water he explained that he wanted death
penalty for the accused.<br />
Hearing this demand, the defendant attorney raised an objection. He said the
evidences against his client were circumstantial and none could prove
conclusively that he committed the crime. When Felix, the guy saw Felix the cat
that fateful night, eating the rabbit’s abdomen, by all accounts the rabbit
could have been already dead. Felix, the cat, was a carnivorous feline creature
and it’s his right to eat dead rabbits. There was no concrete evidence that the
murder was committed by his client.<br />
He presented the following arguments in favor of his client:<br />
1. Isn’t it a possibility that the other rabbit, the mate, could have already
killed the victim when Felix, the cat, found him.<br />
2. The victim could have been already been killed by any of the nocturnal
creatures that prey on rabbits when the defendant found him.<br />
3. Isn’t it a possibility that Felix, the guy, could have sneaked out of the
prayer, come back to the house, killed the rabbit and went back. He knew that
the cat would act according to his nature and try to eat the dead rabbit and
thus it would be easy to pin the charges on the accused.<br />
<br />
The third argument enraged the Judge. He asked the defendant attorney to
immediately take the argument off the records else the court would be
adjourned. The attorney complied. But he said, the only witness to this crime
was the rabbit mate and it was necessary to examine and cross examine this
witness to reach a verdict. The Judge said although this was correct but no one
among the trio possessed the ability to understand and speak the rabbit
language. Although the prosecutor attorney, Ankur, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>has been known to experiment with the language
of the frogs, but it could be a while before he can master the rabbit language.
The prosecutor said that this was all a delaying tactic by the defendant
attorney and the Judge should not prolong the trial. Judge agreed.<br />
<br />
After debilitating for fifteen minutes, the Judge pronounced the verdict. Considering
all the arguments and evidences, it was clear that Felix, the cat, had
committed this heinous crime. His crime was unpardonable and hence he is being
awarded the death penalty. When the verdict was pronounced, Felix the cat was
busy licking his paw. Now appeared the most difficult question- How how this death
penalty would be executed. Hanging was out of question. So was death by a
firing squad. Ankur said he could prepare a guillotine kind of ensemble, but
would take at least three days. So that option was struck off too. Whatever had
to be done had to be done in complete secrecy so that their parents didn’t get
involved. Rana then came up with an ingenious plan. At quite some distance from
their place, but not a place too far, ran a small stream-a tributary of some mountainous
river. Few miles downstream was a secluded spot not frequented by picnickers,
as was customary during this time of the year. That spot had a small bridge
over the stream. It was called the red bridge. It had no connection to the Red
Army and neither it was in a leftist constituency. No one knows why it was
called so. Before Rana could finish his proposition Felix, the guy, was already
excited.<br />
So you are saying is that we take this infernal being to that bridge, smash his
head with a rock and drown him from the bridge.<br />
Well that could be done but I was thinking of something cleaner. If we could
drop him in the stream and let the water do its job, it would be less painful.<br />
<br />
Then Ankur spoke.<br />
We can do that. We put him in an enclosed sack. Tie the sack to a rock, heavy
enough to take the package to the bottom of the stream.<br />
<br />
Everyone agreed to this plan. Felix told his mom they were cycling to the town
and would be back after an hour or two. He grabbed the cat and put him in his
school bag. The trio took off in their cycles. En route they stopped at Ankur’s
house. Ankur got the sack according to the needed specifications and told his
mom exactly the same words as spoken by Felix to his mom. Now after cycling for
about forty minutes the stream was visible. Due to the terrain, it was not
possible to continue cycling. They got down from their seats and dragged their
bicycles further upstream when the small bridge became visible. Two banyan
trees growing on its banks had almost shrouded it completely and it was visible
only in parts. The place sure did have an<br />
eerie feeling. Ankur was assigned the task of finding a rock of correct
proportion. He searched a while and got it. Then Felix the guy took out Felix
the cat from his school bag. The creature was completely still. He did no
meowing nor showed his usual lazy reflexes or any resistance. Rana held the
sack with its mouth opened. As Felix was putting the cat in the sack, their
eyes met. All three could feel that Felix, the cat, was aware of what was
coming his way. But he had resigned himself to that fate as he found himself
not in a position to alter it.<br />
That freeze in time was broken by Rana's voice.<br />
Felix, if you want to reconsider...<br />
No, let’s do what we have decided-replied Felix the guy with a determined
voice.<br />
<br />
The cat was inside the sack and Ankur fastened the string on its mouth. Then he
carefully fastened the heavy rock and made sure that it won’t come off when
inside water. Now everything was set but there was a problem. Who would be the executioner?
Ankur and Rana said they couldn’t do it because of their religious obligations.
As practicing Hindus, if they kill a cat, they need to make one gold replica of
it. Considering their parents annual income, this was a remote possibility.
Hence the job was entrusted to Felix. Ankur and Rana were to guard the two
entry points to the bridge so that in the event of anyone coming that way they
can alert Felix. The sun was almost setting now and a faint hint of redness was
visible among the December clouds in the western sky. Felix positioned himself
to a place in the bridge which according to Ankur should have the greatest
depth. Then as instructed by Ankur , he first dropped the rock and after a time
lag of thirty seconds he released the sack. Down went the rock and it took the
sack along with it. There was no agitation of the water except ripples caused
by the rock drop. Ankur and Rana joined Felix in the middle of that bridge.
They watched the point of rock drop for a few minutes expecting the cat to come
out of the water anytime. After all they had heard a cat is supposed to have
nine lives. Nothing came out. It was getting dark and chilly.<br />
Let’s leave guys-said Felix.<br />
Nobody spoke as they silently dragged their cycles out of the dirt track.
Sensing the heaviness Rana decided to break the silence.<br />
Hey you guys come to my home tomorrow. My cousin got a VHS of a cartoon show
that he says is a hit in US. It’s called Tom and Jerry. Let’s get together and
watch it tomorrow afternoon.<br />
Then they left.<br />
Years have passed since that fateful day but no one till date knows for sure
whether the cat died or survived. Like the water of that stream the details are
murky. Although the trio had made a covenant among themselves of not speaking
about this to anyone, but the fact that I am narrating<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>it must have made clear to you that the story
got passed from one person to another. Each one told it according to own interpretation.
One of the legend variations says that the cat got out of the stream and went
to another town and lived happily for quite some . I would surely like to
believe this variation. It gives a kind of happy feeling. But I know it is not
true. For some weeks later the fire department did a cleanup operation of the stream
in search of a missing person who had allegedly committed suicide at the very
spot. Among other things that they came upon apart from the unfortunate dead
body, was a sack containing a decaying feline creature. </span></div>
amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-21704327216488025062010-07-05T19:51:00.000-07:002013-06-30T21:28:44.480-07:00The no fly list<div class="MsoNormal">
When Ank came to my residence that evening, he was visibly
distraught. It looked like he had been through a train wreck. I persuaded him
to watch two back to back episodes of Big Bang Theory (season 5 episodes 11 and
12 to be precise), hoping he would cheer up. After watching the episodes and
eating two large hamburgers with french fries in that duration he appeared to loosen
up a bit. But it wasn't so. He asked for sprite to wash down the junk. After a
large burp that sounded like a wounded lion, he told me that he was upset
because when he went to the airport this morning to catch the 7:15 from Detroit
to Chicago. Although commuting to the airport is number fifth in my list of
harrowing experiences, but i figured that could not be the reason for Ank's
train wreck look. Upon insisting, Ank transformed his looks to that of disenchantment
and said that he was invited at the annual avionics conference in Chicago to
present his paper. He not only had looked forward to meeting like minded physicists
at the event but had elaborately planned to use his spare time in using his
search algorithms to locate Jimmy Hoffa. However at the airport security in
Detroit, he was detained by airport authorities as his name had popped up in
the no fly list. He was frisked, stripped and asked questions most of which
made no sense to him-like religion and ethnicity. It didn’t make any sense to
me either. I told him; well what’s the big deal about having the name in no fly
list. As deep as my neurons can take me, most of the people i knew, including
me, should be on that list as we humans don’t possess the inborn ability to
fly. The only people i knew could fly were superheroes. And not all superheroes
for that matter. I mean only a guy like Superman could be said to fly in the
real sense. Not Batman who uses a batmobile or Spiderman who uses his web for
suspension in air. So the attribute of gravity defying flying could only be
attributed to some of the superheroes and certainly not to any human being.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But my discourse seemed to agitate him more instead of
having a soothing effect. He told me the reason for his aggravation was that he
had spent all his hard earned money in developing a prototype for the model of
a flying human. He had tested positive for a duration of 1 minute and 17 seconds.
Basically he believed he could fly and when those officers broke the news about
his being in the no fly list, all his money and effort seemed to go down the
underground sewage system. By the time he was released by the airport staff and
given an apology and the option of buying another air ticket at discounted
fares as his plane had already departed, he was completely heartbroken and
returned home. And I, like all those people in the authority, was being
insensitive to his situation by talking about unnecessary things, when the fact
that he could not fly technically due to his name being on no fly list was the
one and only thing that mattered to him. Before i could say anything in my defense,
he dashed out of my house.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
By the way I forgot to mention that Ank's real name is Ank
ur Rehman and he is of Bangladeshi origin. He studies physics at the university
and we share a common liking of comic books. I think sometimes it’s difficult
to reason out with friends.</div>
amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6819178129700425664.post-86690416980739330872010-06-28T19:54:00.000-07:002014-04-27T00:02:28.893-07:00Drug related violence: Ankur's version<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzRo4vAKxqvdZ9IjWEh2wUQnrBkG4MtIdk2GQdY4VOlYcxATx0HasYl3ItDm7b04P4e7xPuEPwTu-lM5bgkNkUTQ2fhTV2HNRwYF7kmqUsDChYyvQjvLWzwZ3R8bEj7TPZEa3GvbVmZU/s1600/DSC01041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzRo4vAKxqvdZ9IjWEh2wUQnrBkG4MtIdk2GQdY4VOlYcxATx0HasYl3ItDm7b04P4e7xPuEPwTu-lM5bgkNkUTQ2fhTV2HNRwYF7kmqUsDChYyvQjvLWzwZ3R8bEj7TPZEa3GvbVmZU/s1600/DSC01041.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I never expected the things to turn this way when i received that call from Amit late in the night, that night. I was already in deep slumber when the phone rang. He spoke about that horrible incident of the brawl at the local drug store. Personally i avoid getting into arguments with billing guys , be it in a supermarket or a drug store. I always carry a satchel full of change and tender exact change in order to avoid confrontation. However if there are circumstances that some balance creeps up, i don't force the billing guy to return it to me. If they do it willingly, i accept it. If they don't, i just let go. From the meaness in their eyes, you could bet that most of these billing guys are part of some money laundering/ extortion racket. It's always better to loose some money than to loose some body part.<br />
<br />
I wanted to say all these things to Amit but could not avoid taking a jaw flexing yawn for about thirty seconds. And then as i began to speak, i heard a whirring sound on the receiver. I yelled hello few times but all i heard was static from the other end. Then i heard the hung up tone. And then it struck to me that maybe his phone was wired. A cold sweat dripped from the spinal cord to my pelvic brim. In a fit of frenzy i opened my drug box to check on the inventory. It had the reserves for a month but few important things were about to get exhausted: like my cough syrup and the gastric pills . I had no other way but to manage on these reserves to avoid getting into the local drug store. Its been about a month and a half that i have visited the drug store. In fact i avoid that driveway altogether and have taken work from home option for a month. And most important of all, i haven't called up Amit for a month or so. I don't know whats become of him but i hope he is okay. You never know, at what levels talatedhese drug related violence can get esc. You never know....amit chakrabortyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02871713404956561164noreply@blogger.com2