The Last of the Titans...

I personally feel, despite him being a colossal figure in the political frame of Bengal, death to be the best thing that can happen at his age. He lived a life way too prolonged. Bearing the tallness of a position equally revered and disgraced. And dictating a state well-dominated, then under legends, now under leaders turning grotesque. A life well-frayed, which figuratively concluded with another battle in his residual days. Death probably had received him a little earlier than seventeen days, with the commencement of the medical term of "multi-organ failure", when straining eyesight and a struggling voice had to fight fervidly with age..to give way to the dying flicker of an erstwhile flame. Its often heard, that greats die with the failure of delivering greatness. And perhaps life is not livable enough for some to continue living it as breathing puppets. Not that the former chief minister of Bengal was someone complementary to controversies, but I personally feel him to possess that, which Bengal badly needs today. And that is, transcending all political margins, a Chief minister's voice. But what futher vitiates the aura prevailing today is the commercial computations of losses and gains manoeuvred amid the deceased leader's funeral. For I feel its absolutely savage for some pitiless persons to nudge emotions in helpless people, to evoke them to wish the speedy recovery for a nonagenarian person, which can serve no purpose greater than sufficing a billionaire's bread. I have my father in the press, and its him who taught me to read beyond the printed words deemed as Bible. But I really don't see any ground on why all the muck slung upon a person in his lifetime is tactfully obscured after his death under the blanket covering his corpse, only to drain business out of his cadaver. And after absurdly wasting hours leafing through them, I wish doom for the news channels which fail to refrain from avarice, no matter what, and read nothing cruel in 'selling' a person in his afterlife.

The year, when everything went wrong..

The title of the post, except for ' year' replaced by 'day', is one of the earliest essays written in those primary school times. Composed on a lighter note, it somehow still tickles a funny bone, being the most hilarious thing I ever penned on an exam paper. But, such events, perhaps, continue to be amusing only when it lasts for, 'a day'. For it can be awful and rather devastatingly painful to live a year, when everything and everyday you dare to go through, turns wrong, and nothing continues to remain hilarious or tickle the optimism in you by the slightest measure. The year just gone by has been a debacle from every possible angle of perception and it wouldn't have been anything but my blog for which I am going through the distressing year once again all over.

Anything written about 2009, would be incomplete without the apparition that occurred to me towards the end of 2008, intuitively indicating the times ahead to be difficult. Startlingly enough, the early days turned out to be a complete contradiction, going on to become indeed one of the best phases of my life. Our three nights four days in Vizag will always remain a treasure and it can potentially make me sob for days to come. As of now, I'll possibly never come over the rivetting deja vu of those mountains, beaches, forests, caves, train journeys, tunnels, hotel rooms, terrace, laughter, dinners..and I can literally go on an on about how terribly I want those five days back into my life in a permanent format..so as to slip into them whenever life becomes unlivable in its native form. Idiosyncratically, they fled past sooner than they arrived and were thankfully followed by our third semester results, which happened to be well. Luckily enough, they got better than its preceding ones, still better than my expectations and incomparably better than what subsequently came up. The next three quarters of the year, had been diametrically opposite to the first few months and I no more wonder how things could have turned so miserably wrong. Only that I always, more or less, believed that morning somehow, does show the day...till this year happened with my life.

The fourth semester exams followed hand-in-hand with some catastrophic results, giving way to heightened unrest at home front. Possibilities of a chance recovery were waning away faster than the vigour of the Leftists in Bengal, leaving me with no odds against pitifully suffering from hopelessness and hairloss. I put on weight, grew tired of ambitions, and God knows how many thousands of times, broke up. To boot that, my cellphone ceased working every alternate day and PC got dysfunctional, thankfully, just twice! I started about five novels, none of which I could conclude with and the fifth semster immunology chapters had myself perfectly screwed up. The year exasperated in every sense possible and I couldn't ask for anything from it, but to give up.

I was yet to get maddened anymore, when winters arrived bang in the middle of my exams, showing somewhat hope of surviving the year. Dec-end had been wonderful with Christmas parties and New year, which made me not quite mind the fifteen marks I disgracefully left incomplete on my exam paper. The year concluded on a vastly cheerful note than it had been throughout, and if all is really well that ends well and myths are to be believed, 2009 for me, may someday possibly turn out to be a year, unconventionally though, living worthwhile.

P.S.:- Happy new year to everyone out there..Have a great year ahead.

Sonnet to thy soul..

You travelled the corridors of my soul
When the dead hour struck nightfall
And enfolded the love pining for thee..
In thy silence, that says it all.
You whispered to me thou tales of winter
And hummed the nightingale's song
Within scarlet confines of thy heart
Sheltered me all night long
You held me across the realms of truth
To where moonlight stays by the day
Closed the eyes of the princess within,
And let her dream away..
You kept her from the canopy of pallor, till solitude stormed a clout
And beheld the princess cling to her dreams, till time had run out.

Winters, wreaths and wishes

Christmas yet again, idiosyncratic of good times, zoomed past the city in what seemed like seconds. And it has been yet another day to etch somewhere in between the countless memories that'll make me love this life for ages. I must admit, that it started as a nightmare..and ended with an unpredictably delightful climax, the details of which I do not wish to give out in my blog. But amidst everything, the high point of the yuletide celebrations had to be the coveted surprise gift I received, that absolutely made my day.

Winter is back with its colours to the city's nest, which rested on me as another excuse to coax mom to get me a long woollen overcoat in blue. Strangely enough, for the last couple of years, I find myself getting obsessively smitten by cardigans, or winterwear in that case, to be loaded with literally dozens of them in a few year's hence. And I do not wish to see any prospective vent for overcoming this obsession, living in a city where one can literally make the most of this spell. I've always believed Calcutta to be one of the cities, globally, to enjoy the most beautiful examples of winter season..way better than the Delhi chill that leaves one shrouded under comical monkey caps, or the hints of a winter season in Bombay that can make woollen pullovers a matter of shame. But apart from the season itself, the other snippets of celebrations that completed my day had to be me, trying a hand at origami, making paper wreaths from my grandmother's Christmas editions of origami books. And lastly, I loved myself hugely in the Santa look and was utterly mesmerised by Paulo's Angels.

p.s.:- Hope everyone had a great Christmas..with sincere wishes of having more of good times ahead.

Growth pangs..and Christmas eve

Exams finally got over after what seemed like eternity. And being truest to my ownself, they failed to meet up to the expections concerning them at any length. Probably that's what kept me from blogging, till almost a week after our fifth semester concluded with itself...that feeling of atonement, inevitable after shrouding a well "dreamt" career, literally for long, under layers of negligence. And amidst amends, I can't wait for this dreadful year to come to an end. No words minced, 2009 made me see through the worst of times, if 'worst' is indeed the superlative term for something so despicable. And its because of a handful of pleasurable phases woven in between this otherwise-horrible-nightmare of 365 days, that made me survive so close to its end. As of now, snippets of Christmas, and whiff of a new year hanging loose in the air, is one of such phases which'll possibly help me make it to yet another week, till the year finally ends.

Its Christmas eve today, and this time, it has been different. I've always refused to believe that anything in this world can match the nostalgia connecting me with my city more than the one encircling Durga Puja. And I can literally go on and on regarding how deadly the feeling can be, to stay away from home during the festive autumn season. Winter, probably, has never been famous for festivities, which literally, comes coupled with idol worship, has it? Its probably a period when people do not dread going out in the Sun lest they might end up within an envelope of sweat. And of course when a New year is imminent, that makes you amnesiac of all the shits life has thrown upon in the year just-spent, letting you see the most of hope and optimism for unfathomable reasons. But, somehow or else, I happened to get nostalgic today. Unexpectedly enough, I found myself missing the days I pined to visit the Park Street of Christmas..the Park Street which lost its vigour somewhere between the tiring miles walked towards college. Or the nights I hung socks in the window, filling them with anticipations and infantile enthusiasm. For some reason, I couldn't help requesting dad today to keep a surprise waiting for me in the window when I wake up this Christmas, followed by earnest persuasions to get atleast something..maybe even a Santa cap..disguised as a surprise. Sadly enough, nothing of that kind happened, and I was nonchalantly handed over a fruit cake on Christmas eve itself, with a sermon that I should try growing up someday. Growing up, well then, possibly happens this way. Its about the processes that robs you of your abilities to wish crazy or letting nostalgia get the better of you. Somewhere deep down, I sincerely wish to voice my hatred against the science behind ageing some other morning, not today. And all the more, yearn to live a grown-up life sometime hence, only to come reversibly back to my normal self. Till then, its Christmas time yet again, and I had to buy a Santa cap for a whopping 45 bucks to satiate myself.

P.S.:- This, for sure, is a lousy post..but somehow couldn't help writing down the same.Merry Christmas to everyone out there.

November Rain..

Its seemingly feeling like decades after I had last tended to my blog. Perhaps exams do this to oneself..that I kept coming on and off the 'line' for the past one-and-a-half months only to rummage fruitlessly through some social networking sites, scribbling nonsense that led me nowhere. And tried keeping up the best of my efforts to hope to be back again on some fine morning at my literary best. Somewhere down the line, I wonder, whether I really should have taken up microbio in graduation. Or science in the first place. For nothing can be more excruciating than the attempt to comprehend how hard your T-lymphocytes and B-lymphocytes work in order to protect you from the big bad world, with two lines of poetry crossing you every now and then, that has just stumbled upon your mind. In the meanwhile, my monitor went dysfunc. and the entire system had to be transplanted with a second hand cousin, bearing innumerable scratches and fingerprints on its facade, which was enough to strain my eyes from having a view of whatever I'm scribbling down. But its comforting to be back on a writing spree..and I definitely refuse to put my pens down.

There has been some relief of late on the academic front. After shouting endlessly (behind closed doors) at the irresponsible stance of the college authorities to have scheduled an honours exam on the day of a BJP strike, and implore them politely with abundant reasons, our fifth semester exams have finally been postponed for half-a-month. And that was more of a success than what the BJP themselves can achieve through their strike..though I seriously doubt how effective this extended spell would be on our analogous lazy minds and what degree of futility will these silent demonstrations and noisy pleadings amount to, for the reverse doesn't work in Xaviers. But still, as of now, the thought of exams are a tad bit relieving. Rather, life seems worth re-living now.

Winter perhaps, after their long break-up spell of two years, has decided to settle its differences with Calcutta. Last Dec-Jan months had barely been a trailer of what Calcutta is like without men sweating profusely. The rise in humidity post Diwali is somehow endurable..for I had learnt of something called 'October heat' in class five geography books. But any justification behind January heat, I bet, can even put geography to shame. But this time around, winter, it seems, is here to stay..thanks to a few unexpected spells of November rain.

College life is nearing a dead end. Way more dead, since the next avenues are still under heavy mist cover, hesistant enough to go open. Wish its not what we've spent three years hearing to..the pride in declaring that there's "Nothing beyond". Cheer Nihil Ultra, anyone? Finally, making ourselves believe that we have literally concluded with five semesters out of six is something to wonder about and ponder upon.

Today, its one of the most special days of my life, if not the most..Only that it hurts to be alone on a day like this. Its we who made it special, and its us to whom it is. And hence, its all the more painful to celebrate such a day with exams intersecting the back of my mind every second. This blog was an effort to celebrate the day in my own petite way..owing the present joyous state of my mind to the little pleasantries that has been trickling onto my life now and then. And to reach out to you miles away with a share of the feeling that is destined to remain the same..

"When I look into your eyes, I can see a love restrained

But darlin' when I hold you, Don't you know I feel the same?

'Cause nothin' lasts forever..And we both know hearts can change

And it's hard to hold a candle

In the cold November rain.."

The Way She Looked That Night...

I bet its the last day that the Mother looks her best..with a vermillion smear adorning her face. And she seems to make every other woman acquire a fraction of that beauty she defines. Just like I've always wished to look exactly a copycat of the way my mother looks on every Dashami evening. The beat effusing from the dhaak on this day, I feel, seems the most elusive and irresistible, slipping out from everyone's reach in the blink of an eye and engulfing the festive spirit alike quicksand. The last few hours of the festival seems to pass over in no time. And its when you pointlessly argue with yourself that it would certainly have been better had the Pujas arrived a little late. Its always a sulk that the fervour is finally over and I'm really getting short of words and rhyme and thoughts to write something that'd be somewhat a pleasure. Seeking a vent, its imperative to walk the optimistic way..that we are surely getting nearer to the festivities awaiting in the forthcoming year.

P.S.:- Subho Bijoya to everyone out there. Hope all of you had a great puja.