Why I wasn't blogging.

The image was googled

I know. I haven’t been blogging much. And that is because… okay, so it is a weird sort of a thing that happened. Let me tell you about it in detail.

I was walking around the block one evening when I came across a small diversion that I hadn’t noticed earlier. Curious, I took to the lane and it reached a wall. So a blind lane it was. I turned around to get back to my usual path but it wasn’t there. No. Seriously. It just wasn’t there. I just hit a wall again.

Well, obviously, I panicked. I started shouting for help. HELP! But my voice just echoed in the blocked lane. I frantically started looking around for something. Something. I do not know what. Anything, like stones or waste coke cans that I could throw over the wall and get help, or some explosives that could bring the wall down, or a packet of chips because I was hungry. Well anything could have helped, but there was nothing.

I sat down exasperated. I wished I had carried my mobile phone so that I could call someone, or play ‘two dot’ (My current favourite game) but iguess i just had to wait. After what seemed like hours, I finally heard a slight swishing sound. I couldn’t figure out what it was. I could only hope it wasn’t cockroaches. Katasaridaphobia. Any other creature would have been fine. Luckily, it was another creature.

I realised that the swishing wasn’t coming in from ‘my’ lane. Nope. It was somewhere far away, up in the sky. Initially, I noticed a tiny speck. But as it flew closer, I was sure, it was IT. It. Was. A. Hippogriff. Seriously! No kidding.

It landed in ‘my’ lane and before I could understand I was tossed up in the air and I landed with a thud on its back. I clung on for dear life as it flew away with me.

The flight on the hippogriff was AMAZING. It’s one experience that will stay with me forever. Anyway, we flew over oceans and mountains and lands unheard of. (Mainly because I suck at geography. I am sure, you smart guys, would have heard of them.) And we finally reached what seemed to be a castle.

And I was excited because I thought I would be expected to slay dragons and save the handsome prince, but no, that happened only in fairy tales, apparently.

So I was dropped off, literally, at the gates of the castle and then escorted by men in helmets, not bike helmets, stupid, but the Viking kind of helmets. They took me to the guy, who I guessed was the king because they all bowed down to him. I bowed down too because that seemed appropriate.

He then said in a loud booming voice, “Me, the great Gaster Nomos, the lord of the Culinary, have heard from the messengers far and wide, that you, lady, can bake the best caramel, bread pudding ever created. I. NEED. TO. TASTE. IT.”

And that was it! I was guided to the kitchen that was as large as the Kolkata maidan and I had to start baking the pudding. It was ceremonious as music played and people danced around while I was baking it. I then plated it in a gold plate to serve it to Mr. Nomos. I stood there, tensed, hungry butterflies fluttering in my stomach, as I saw him scoop a bite and place it in his mouth. The music stopped, everyone around was quiet. Even the pins refused to drop, lest they might be heard. My heart stopped beating as he closed his eyes, tasted the pudding and then swallowed it down. He then opened his eyes and laughed. A loud wealthy laugh it was. And with him everyone present started laughing too. He called me over and held me warmly in his arms. The music started… the people danced… there was happiness everywhere.

The next day was spent teaching the chefs the recipe. And the next few day I had a holiday of a lifetime in the most beautiful land ever. I was then flown back on the hippogriff. It was kind to me during our return flight. And well, here I am. Blogging again.

And yeah, I wish all of that was true and laziness was not the only reason for me not blogging. But laziness is what it was. And the damn laziness was so bad that I did not even write a birthday post yesterday. I would kick myself in the butt if I was fit enough to do so.

So well, belated birthday wishes to me. This year will see more fun posts here on my blog. Promise.

Also one thing in the story up there was true. I do make the best caramel, bread pudding in the world. :D

See you soon.

No, I am not dating a vampire.

Sourced from the internet. The picture, not the roll.

A few days ago, a colleague at work told me about this incident that happened in the metro. This happened on a weekday morning. The metro was very crowded. Suddenly one woman bit another woman's hand. And by that I mean that she bit her hard enough to leave teeth mark and some blood. True story. Seriously. I asked this colleague about why did she not click a picture. She said three things - 1. photography is not allowed in the metro. 2. The metro was super crowded. 3. I cannot remember.

But she is a nice girl so I will believe her and so should you.

This incident really shocked me. I kept wondering what could have possible caused a woman to bite another.

Anyway, with time I forgot about this incident.

Then today something happened that made me remember it again.

I am on a diet. Okay, I am lying. But I do try to be on a diet. But some edible products are a home to Satan as we know. Rolls, are one them. They just tempt you to hell.

This colleague who sits next to me had ordered a chicken roll today. He offered to share it with me and I couldn't refuse. Satan, remember?

So I split the roll in halves and took the top half for my self. Which means, I did not have the butter paper that protects the roll, protecting my half of the roll.

I took a deep breath till the aroma of the roll hit my head, closed my eyes, opened my mouth wide and sank my teeth in that hell of a roll.

When I opened my eyes, I saw people at my work place staring at me with hungry eyes. (Some might mistake that look for disgust, but I am sure it was a look of hunger and crave)

And then I noticed that the contents of the roll had spilled from the other end all over my kurta. Yes, the front of my kurta was stained with chicken and juices and oil.

I looked at the people again and this time I noticed, it was disgust written all over their face.

I rushed to the washroom and tried to wipe the stains off.

Suddenly a lady from another department walked into the washroom. She stared at me vigorously scrubbing my kurta with a wet washcloth and said, "wow you smell like, erm..." "Like roll", I completed her sentence. She smiled and said "yes". I replied, "erm, thanks. But I would really not appreciate if you bite me." She gave me a weird look and walked out of the washroom. Without peeing.

But what I said had freaked me out too. The metro incident mentioned above suddenly flashed back in my mind and I just knew why that woman had been the other woman.

After ages I was scared to enter the metro. (The last time was after watching the movie Kahani.) I was seriously worried about being bitten by the co commuters who were traveling back home after a long day at work. Hungry.

Luckily the metro was not too crowded and I managed to stand in a corner with my backpack strapped to my front to block as much of the aroma as I could.

Seriously, I smelled so good that I was surprised that I did not bite myself.

Anyway. After this I just want SSM to know that if ever he finds bite marks on me, he is not supposed to assume that I am cheating on him and dating a vampire.

No, I am not dating a vampire. I AM JUST A LOUSY EATER.

If there is any sort of romance involved, it is purely between the Bengali bhodrolok and the roll. The Satan.

এটা আমি

WB-04 D1473 আমার নম্বর।  আমি একটা হলুদ ট্যাক্সি।  সারা দিন এই শহরে ঘুরে প্যাসেনজার কে ওদের ঠিকানায় নিয়ে যাওয়া আমার কাজ।  বাপ্পাদা আমার চালক, ১০ বছর থেকে। আমাদের একটা সুন্দর সম্পর্ক, আমার আর বাপ্পাদার।

বাপ্পাদার কি খুশি যখন আমাকে প্রথম পেয়েছিলেন । ওনার ওই হাসি আমার এখনো মনের মধ্যে ভেসে আছে।  আমার ও খুব ভালোলেগেছিল।  ট্যাক্সি হয়ে  জন্মেছিলাম যখন, তখন একটা মনের মধ্যে ভয় ছিল যে কিরম হবে  আমার চালক।  বাপ্পাদা কে পেয়ে নিশ্চিন্ত হলাম।

আজ এত বছর পর যখন ভাবি, ভালো লাগে , যে কত কি দেখলাম, উপভোগ করলাম আর শিখলাম ।

নানা রকমের লোক আমার ব্যাক সিটে বসেছে, খুব মজা লাগত ওদের লক্ষ্য করতে। কেউ চুপ করে বসে থাকত, তো কেউ বাপ্পাদার সঙ্গে প্রচুর কথা বলত।  বাপ্পাদাও কথা বলতে খুব পছন্দ করেন। আমি শুনতাম।  বেশি করে রাজনীতি নিয়ে গল্প হত।  কিছু বুঝতাম কিছু বুঝতাম না।

আর কিছু ঝগড়া দেখেছি বাবা ।  কি ঝগড়া করতে পারে লোক জন।  সেইরমই হই হই করার ও প্রচুর লোক দেখেছি। আমিও একটু হেসে ফেলতাম মাঝে মাঝে। কিন্তু আমার বেস্ট লাগত যখন বাচা ছেলে মেয়েরা রোমন্যাস করত আমার ব্যাক সিটে।  আমি প্রথম চুমু থেকে শেষের ব্যথা সবই দেখেছি। আর কিছু কিছু জিনিস তো বলতেও লজ্জা লাগে।

সত্যি বলতে, আমিও একটা রোমন্যাস করে ফেলেছিলাম ।আরে লোকজন বোঝে না যে ট্যাক্সিদের ও ফীলিংস থাকে। আমাদের পাড়াতে ও থাকত।  প্রথম বার দেখেই ভালোবেসে ফেলেছিলাম। ও ও আমার মত একটা ট্যাক্সি। আমি জানতাম যে ও ও আমায় ভালো বাসে। এক দিন রাস্তায় ও আমার সামনে থেকে আসছিল।  আমি আর নিজে কে থামাতে পারলাম না।  ওকে হালকা করে কিস দিয়ে ফেললাম। তার পর বাপ্পাদা আর ওর চালকের মধ্যে যা গালাগাল হলো সে তো বলার কোনো দরকার নেই, কিন্তু ও হেসে ফেলেছিল।

তার পর থেকে ও যখনই আমার দিকে তাকাত, মিষ্টি হেসে দিত। সেই সময় বোধহয় আমার জীবনের বেস্ট টাইম ছিল - ফেব্রুয়ারী মাস ,বাপ্পাদা তখন আমার ড্যাশবোর্ডে নতুন ডেক লাগিয়ে ছিল , আমি প্রেম করছিলাম আর অদ্ভূত ভাবে সেই সময় অনেক প্যাসেনজার আমায় গঙ্গা ধারে এমনি  ড্রাইভ করতে নিয়ে যেত।  বেশ লাগত ওই লং ড্রাইভ গুলো করতে। ফুরফুরে হাওয়া দিত। চারপাশে গাছ পালা। কি যে ভালো লাগত।...

আমাদের রোমন্যাসও অনেক বছর চলল। ট্যাক্সি স্ট্যান্ড এ যখনই ওর পাশে দাড়ানোর চানস পেতাম, খুব জোরে হর্ন দিতাম। ও কি লজ্জা পেত।

কিন্তু প্রায় ৪-৫ বছর হয়েছে ওর সঙ্গে আমার দ্যাখা হয়নি। কোথায় যে গ্যালো জানি না।  মাঝে মাঝে  ভেবে দুঃখ হয়।তার পর ভাবি, সাচ ইস লাইফ।

বাপ্পাদাও আমাকে খুব  যত্ন করে রেখেছে।  ভেবে ছিলাম সারা জীবন এইরমই কেটে যাবে।

কিন্তু কিছু দিন থেকে বাপ্পাদা একটু চিন্তায় আছেন।  সেদিন শুনলাম পান এর দোকানের সাইদুল এর সঙ্গে কথা বলতে। কিসব ওলা উবের বলছিলেন।  বুঝতে পারলাম না।

পরশু দিন ট্যাক্সি স্ট্যান্ডএ দাড়িয়ে ছিলাম।  টিঙ্কুদার ট্যাক্সি আমাকে বলল।  এই ওলা আর উবের না কি নতুন ধরনের ট্যাক্সি। বদ ট্যাক্সি।  এয়ার কন্ডিশন ট্যাক্সি। সেটা চালালে না কি অনেক ভাড়া পাওয়া যায়।

কিন্তু তা নিয়ে বাপ্পাদা যে কেন এত ব্যস্ত বুঝতে পারলাম না।  থাক।

সে কি! আজ শুনলাম বাপ্পাদা না কি ভাবছেন আমাকে আর চালাবেন না! ওই আজকে  গ্যারেজ নিয়ে গেছিলেন আমাকে।  তখন শুনলাম জিগ্গেস করতে যে আমার প্রত্যেক পার্টের দাম কত হবে।  বাপ্পাদা না কি এই বার থেকে উবের চালাবে।

না না এটা ঠিক হচ্ছে না!

বুঝতে পারছি যে আমার বয়েস হয়ে গেছে।  আমি জানতাম যে এক না এক দিন বাপ্পাদা আমায় ছেড়ে দেবেন। কিন্তু এইরম আমার পার্ট গুলো আলাদা আলাদা করে বিক্রি করবেন? কেন?

এটার জন্য আমি কিন্তু রাজি নয়! এইরম ভাগ ভাগ হয়ে অক্কা পেতে আমি চাইছি না! কি করব!

বাপ্পাদা পানের দোকানে গেছে! ওই দেখো সামনে থেকে একটা বড় লরি আসছে! এই সাহসটা কি করব?

করে ফেলি... ব্রেক টাকে তুলে  দিলাম...

শেষ সুর...  আমার সবচে প্রিয়... ট্রামের  ঘন্টা... আর কিছু না...


***


ব্যাকরণ আর বানানের ভুল প্লি ক্ষমা করবেন।

I can't think of a title for this.

This is probably the most nonsense post ever written in the history of blogging.

***

SSM and I go to drop Ri to school every morning and on our way I come across this broken dilapidated carving of Lord Shiva on wall; somewhere near the market place.

I am sure this was a piece of art once upon a time

This carving has been intriguing me for a long time, rather, nagging me. Because everytime I see it I get this feeling that it resembles someone and I can’t figure out whom. You know, it is that annoying, irritating feeling - where you can’t place your finger on something and it keeps screeching at the back of your head wanting you to tear your hair apart – that feeling.

So that has been going on for long.

***

You know how people have comfort songs, songs that they listen to when they feel low and not too great about their lives. I too have a comfort song – Yeh jo thode se paise from the movie Papa kehte hai.  While I love the song, the picturisation (Microsoft gives me a red underline on the word ‘picturisation’ and does not give me spelling suggestion. So I am not sure if the spelling is incorrect. I will leave it as it is) of the song always soothes me. I always feel thankful for my existing life and happy that I did not decide to venture into Bollywood.

***

So last week as I was watching the song on Youtube the realisation dawned upon me that the reason why that Lord Shiva carving seemed familiar was because the lips exactly resembled that of Mayuri Kango’s lips. 

See... same lips

Serious. No kidding. Check it for yourself. Are they not the exact same lips. The person who carved this Shiva, had to be a fan of Mayuri Kango. I was so impressed. I have total respect for the guy who did this awesome carving. What a fan!

And I finally got freed from that nagging irritation of trying to find who did the Lord Shiva resemble.

***

PS: This post is not meant to offend any Lord Shiva worshippers (including myself) or Mayuri Kango's fans (including myself).

Realisation: I can really write crap when I am upset.

Calcutta in a box - a guest post by Disha Doshi.

My friend, Disha, who is a extremely talented girl and thrice as crazy as me gave me a gift today. This. Yes, she gifted me this wonderful write-up.

And since it is a gift, it is now mine to publish it on my blog whether she likes it or not. (She is standing next to me reading this as I type and grinning ear to ear.) So here I publish it as a guest post because this (the write-up and the gesture) has really touched my heart. 

***

Source: internet

I could never convince myself to call this city Kolkata.

North Calcutta and its mystical lanes with so many stories. Ageing.

  

South Kolkata blooming like new leaves.

  

Central Kolkata conveniently lost in the hustle.

The Joy of having cha in a mati bhaanr (clay pot) with a group of friends , colleagues or alone. 

Brishti was unaware of it. All of it. She turned six this June. 

She has been accompanying her Moneesh Mamu through out the FIFA matches. She recognises Suarez and loves the crowd on TV. Her house is at the end of an "S" shaped lane. Which has forks on both the ends. The lane is thin and at every 100 metres there's a plasma tv. The remaining walls have Kali Ma and Maradonna painted on it. 

Brishti asks Moneesh Mamu, "shouldn't Bholenath be next to Kali ma, why is Maradonna there?"

The TV has two things always close to it , garlands and a howling crowd. She knew that even if she left home for her Manipuri dance classes, she wouldn't miss the thrills of the match.

Brishti and Moneesh Mamu would daily go to the Lake. She would be always ecstatic to see the rowers , birds and the tall trees. She had even named few of the trees. She would claim that the trunks are the faces of these trees which change expressions with the changing seasons. She liked the tangy and pepper filled fragrance of the lebu cha.

Brishti found it unbelievably exciting when she could remember the complicated lanes of North Kolkata. 

She had once gone to see the idol making with her Moneesh Mamu. He was a freelance photo journalist. He was an exceptional cartoonist. He read Ray, Dahl and sang Beatles.

Brishti wished to see the city the way her Mamoo saw through the lenses of his DSLR. She couldn't wait to grow up.

Wish I could tell her. Don't try to grow up. The city is not the same when you are all grown up.