The B-Connection

In a world of prejudice and opinions, one finds it tough to cope with not being judgemental about things, people, and experiences and so on and so forth. Are you beginning to get bored? My friend, this is no rant but a true account of my tryst with my own judgements and the phenomenon that has happened to me- Bengalis.

You’re right! I’m one of those who would find them funny, their accent lollipop-ed, their obsession with language, literature and rest of their culture, obnoxious, their nicknames (Bampi, Titli and Kuchu, to name a few) hilarious and their love for food, absolutely justified (That’s one thing I can bond with anyone on).

Tainted as my perceptions were, experiences always strengthened them. While in college, Delhi University, to be precise, a huge crowd of Bengalis would gather around and talk in their language that sounded gibberish to me, knowing I was a complete stranger to it. My blessed room-mate happened to be one of those who conveniently used to talk to her mother about me in Bengali, holding me in regard similar to that of a girl who would not have any pleasantries to exchange with her room-mate. That indeed, was a challenging starting point for me to understand Bengali.

Life wanted me to move on. There were better things to do than to form opinions about those who called a simple flower vase, a ‘tub’ and a simple tub a ‘gamla’ (meaning ‘flower-vase’ in Hindi). I shifted base to Bombay. My tryst with the community started- First friends (rather, best friends), first boss, first boss at a new firm, second boss at the new firm, boyfriend-going-to-be-husband- All Bongs! Well, the story of my life is a tale with a twist, of hatred turned into love. None of these friends, bosses, colleagues I have ever regretted meeting or working with! My recent visits to the Pandals on Ashtami, my affection for ‘Doodh-puli’ and ‘paatishaapta’, my love for Calcutta after paying just one visit to the city that is so welcoming-all testify that I have shed a lot of my perceptions to form new ones. Perceptions, that arise from knowing one’s culture better, rather than being a spectator exposed to one side of the long story- Or I just met the ‘different’ people that makes all the difference!

If you ask me, I will happily tell you how I still hate them being loud about their culture, how I detest the fact that the creators of the language happened to miss out on genders in speech and how badly it reflects when they try to speak in Hindi (You would certainly not want to hear someone calling- “Kidhar jaata hai tum?” What on earth is THAT! Something that definitely makes you doubt your womanhood for a split-second!!). But I, somehow, have begun to understand the inherent sweetness in the language and the cynicism in thought. Ever since I came to the B-city, the B-connection in my life has given me a lot! Something has made me understand that whatever they are, they will continue to be that way, no matter what. ‘Ouee aar like that only!’

Thank You, Bombay - For a delicacy called Life!

Even if the whole universe would conspire against me to believe that I do not love eating, it will concede defeat. I have enough proof (Thanks to those rolling eyes, those exclamatory expressions and published testimonials of my consumption prowess :P) to say that THE four letter word means another four letter word for me. Food spells Love for me.

I just wanted to go on and on about food, but the thoughts in my mind put me back into focus. The focus of this post is not just life, but its flavours that have moved my senses through the recent times have pushed me to post this. Hope you have a good time basking in its light!

Ever since I stepped out of the threshold of my home, I have seen colours-of the struggle to survive, of the pain to leave behind, of the joy of reunion and of the urge to move on. Life seemed like a camouflage, it felt like an ever changing landscape of green fields, of arid deserts and of black voids. Being a student of Delhi University and a somewhat detached/attached alumnus of Xavier Institute of Communications in Mumbai, I have travelled with life to a lot more destinations.

I owe a lot to Delhi. It has taught me the first lesson in accepting the love and hate in a human being together. With all those conversations in the college, hostel, random people on the road, rickshaw-wallas, auto-wallas, Mudrika bus drivers, flea-market hawkers...all of them had a special quality. They knew how to teach you your lessons by showing you the way (by charging you over and above the auto-rickshaw rate card, by pushing you through even before your bus-top arrived, or by helping you out in an exam by just passing papers with dissatisfactory answers ;-) or simply by quoting a price way above the bargain).

I dedicate the rest of this post to the ‘City of Seven Islands’. I owe every bit of the good side of me to Bombay. It has given me people who I can find no duplicates in lives to come, experiences that are unparalleled and lastly, the zest to lead life with an aim. No one is content, no one ever is and no one will ever be. The lash of waves at Marine Drive late in the evening, flower-sellers at traffic signals or the daily hustle-bustle at the Victoria Terminus (which I have witnessed for a year, since St.Xavier’s College is close to VT) Bombay tells you a million tales in a day. In fact, I actually can draw a complete album of photo shots from the back of my mind, and play it all, projected, in-front of my audience. But nothing justifies the feel of shuttling in local trains, seeing bus conductors perform the daily routine of punching tickets with utmost precision, the giant clock at VT, watching the stained glass windows of old Catholic accommodations in Bandra, seeing the Dabbawallas rush to deliver (haven’t I described Mumbai in the most ‘Traveller' way? Sheesh...the fact is, nothing can describe an experience) night clubs droning with the sound of music, hawkers in Colaba, photographers at The Gateway of India, and fisherwomen in ‘Nauvari’ sarees...I am drifting already!

The city breathes life! The city says, ‘Move on’. It beckons, it calls. It adds the much wanted salt and spice to the curry of life :-) And you know it, it’s a flavour called ‘Bombay’.

Yes!! I am bored :)

Back to blogging pretty soon, eh! I am so happy to declare..I am BORED!! And cannot even estimate the delight it brings to my very being. The feeling is a feeling I get after ages of working weekends, a feeling that comes when you are relaxed, AT HOME and have the mindset to blog :) Well..to all those to whom the concept feels insignificant, quit reading. This is because I don't want to rub off my boredom on you. This post is dedicated to all those souls who celebrate the feeling of being detached- from work or to do anything that is even remotely associated with 'make good use of your time' philosophy. Boredom is- to stay detached and to enjoy doing nothing...not even self-introspection (which is precisely why I call this a rant :P)
To all those, who are sharing my feeling right now- hearty welcome ;) Welcome to the boredom zone. Let's experience, this novel joy of having nothing to do and having everyone else to take care of every other thing that may have bothered you. Just get BORED :)
Since time immemorial, boredom has not been treated with respect by Karmayogis. No, no..I give them their due respect, but why would they not understand the significance of the feeling that has awarded them the status of what they are? After all, why are Karmayogis called Karmayogis? It is because they were driven by the fear of being bored! Duh!! To understand the very essence of why boredom creeps in, and to internalise the reason why boredom is significant and relevant- just get bored (C'mon, do you expect me to write some sense?...it is gibberish of a bored mind, if I may try to explain)
For getting bored, you need to do...NOTHING :D Try not moving your limbs and sensory organs to the direction of work. Try being immune to all important business phone calls or e-mails, try being the most sluggish slug and the most hibernative organism. Trust me, this is NOTHING you are doing. Just lay back, stare at the wall, examine the crevices and places where you would need to replace wallpaper (Later!!) or probably observe an insect trying to move up your nose (You could do it as per your convenience) or just lay back.
No gyaan, kori bakwaas.. is what comes out of a rant like this. But since I am bored and you are the subject of my interest, let the rant flow...
That's all folks!

The 'Class' difference

This is one of those sarcastic posts as well as post of realisations :P...I am back to blogging. I admit that I have stayed away from it for the sake of the job I love and the time I value. I determined that this blog won't die a 'diary' death, like the others.So this one is a timely post!

Travelling by train for work takes away a lot of my time during the day. So I have made myself to learn eating, sleeping (while standing,as well), reading etc. in the train. One hardly gets a seat during peak travel hours in the women Ist class compartment owing to its small size. I think it will take a while for the Railways to understand that women demand space- just like men do(God, the railways still think women are not as much a part of the Mumbai workforce!! :P).

Back to the point... a lot of times the 'not-so-deserving'people board the Ladies first class compartment beacuse they find it a little less cluttered compared to the rest of the compartments (not that the Mumbai locals give you the time to choose which one you want to board :P). They do it purposefully- knowing that they can be fined heavily for doing so(Who cares about the fine anyway, yahaan to sab chalta hai!)
These people include- slum dwellers, policemen(not women, MIND IT!),school going kids, beggars, fisherwomen etc.

Something that happened the other day in a train towards Victoria Terminus...A blind woman,about 70, entered the womens' first class compartment at Mankhurd station. Mankhurd never sees anyone boarding the first class. Unkempt hair, tattered saree, bare feet and stench of sweat blended with the stench of the sea and was a reminer of the stench of circumstances she was living in. The look of hunger and misery on a million faces like these everyday used to go unregistered in the daily hustle-bustle. In this case, the look was scary as the lines of worry and age made ar face looked like charred parchment.

At Chembur, which is two stations ahead, entered a 'prim and propah' working executive. In a pink silk shirt and pink high heels, she was a pleasure to look at.The smell of shampoo from her hair mixed with floral odour of the perfume she had worn made the morose compartment smell nicer, at 07:45 AM :)A nice leather bag, a PDA to assist her and a warm smile- All perfect.
True- Sometimes, the hope of 'growth'in standards of life and living comes from small experiences like this. She gave a amile to some people in the train she already knew (fellow-commuters, I presumed)
The very next thing changed the environment within the train. I saw the smile fade away, giving way to a frown of disgust...as she lay her eyes upon the wretched old beggar-woman.

And then began the conversation:

Lady in Pink: Idhar kaise chadhi tu? Ye first class hai(eyebrows raised and teeth clenched)
Beggar-woman: Mere ko pata nahi chala, agle station pe utar jayegi main
Lady: Tum sabka aisa hi rahta hai...ticket hai tere paas?
Beggar-woman: Haan (as she extended a seven rupee ticket)
Lady: Ye second class ka ticket hai, maloom kya? (eyebrows shrunk, face red)

The train had already crossed GTB Nagar(Two stations from Chembur)and was approaching Wadala Road (3 min ahead).

Beggar-Woman: Mere ko pata nahi tha, utar jayegi main...

The screechy voice of the lady was a little too much to bear and I consoled myself, thinkig, "Don't judge a book by its cover :P" I ignored the conversation and turned on my i-Pod.

Lady: Pata nhi kidhar se aate ho tum log...bheekh kai ko mangte ho?
Beggar-woman did not reply, but was looking down in embarassment.
Lady: Aise rail ki patri pe let jaane ka, ye kich-kich hi kum ho jayegi!

(I don't know whether she was insulting or counseling, but she was for sure making a point to her acquaintances! I was thinkng, if only she could keep shut, I could listen to music without exceeding the volume of my i-Pod above comfortble limits )

The beggar-woman had now started developing extra frowns on her face. This was certainly uncalled for,her mistake was not that petty after all, eh?
Lady:Tum log ko sarkar rehne kyun deti hai, pata nahi...pata nahi kya karti thi, jo bheekh mangna pada hai.
Now, she was addressing her acquaintances in the compartment.Commuters were watching the entire drama from the grilled windows of adjacent compartments.

The train had started slowing down. Wadala was approaching. The beggar-woman had now started crying, and was making her way towards the door of the compartment, as if she had realised that she did not belong to the place. It was a different world she had entered. It seemed she visualised that she was a tattered piece of cloth and was spoiling the show of the lady's silk shirt.

The woman got down wiping her tears with her tattered saree and I could not concentrate on the music any more. I heard the Lady say,"What a nuisance! I wonder why do we even let them get in."

The 'Class' difference was enough for me to feel more towards the beggar-woman, who had shown more patience than the lady,had accepted fault and amended it. I realised that there is a difference between education and literacy. Literacy demanded money- Education did not.

All it takes..to attend a march for Peace

I am one of those people who attended the peace march at the Gateway of India on December 03, 2008. Though I am still thinking -" How long will it stay??" I am feeling happy at the show of solidarity by the crowds of Mumbai. They gathered at a place that has recently seen carnage, despite rumours of 2 blasts at Churchgate station and a confirmed incident of police finding 8 kg of RDX at CST again... the people turned up in huge numbers.

The fire within was visible..the posters that screamed,"Ban Politicians" and "Enough is Enough"and chants of Vande Mataram and Bharat Mata ki Jai were explaining that Mumbai is angry and that it is on fire. I could see the Taj looking like a haunted palace, with less lights and grandeur. The police and volunteers were doing a brilliant job of steering the crowds in the march.

The authorities- Deshmukh, Patil and Thackrey were being bashed...

The most interesting part was the excitement that made it all worthwhile. I boarded the train from Santacruz towards Churchgate, and halfway through, I heard that people were discussing whether to get down at the nearest station. When the matter spread in the ladies II class compartment, we got to know that there have been two blasts at the Churchgate station..this turned out to be a rumour as we happened to enquire from somebody who was at the station. She denied the rumour and we moved on...

Later, as there was huge traffic between Churchgate to the Gateway of India, we walked it up..

and there came another surprise... A political party worker who was followed by a bunch of people with effigy of the government, informed us of a stampede that had already taken place at the Gateway. He said in a shrill tone-"Apko to waise bhi wapas aana hi padega kyungi wahan to stampede ho gaya hai! Kya karenge wahan jaa kar??" (You'll anyway have to come back because there has been a stampede. What wll you do going there?)

We were aware enough to go ahead to find that there was nothing of the sort and the peace march completed peacefully... I am sure you would have heard a lot about it in the news. There are too many fears one needs to encounter before standing up for something he feels. I am, hence, leaving this blog open-ended to invoke some thinking...That's all, folks!

Pizza learnings

I stepped into the threshold of what was going to be my home for the next 3 years. One year after an unwilling step-out of an unforgettable phase of hostel life, I recognise it as my Alma Mater... It is my hostel.

Those three years contributed a lot to the formation of various perceptions that I proudly tell people about. Many are about life, communities, students, living (fine living included ;)), alcohol, smoking, sex, men and blah. For example, people belonging to a particular college looked nothing but nerds. While they would be shabbily dressed, intelligent, eccentric people, lost in their own world of weirdness...they would smell of smoke and drink and their lost eyes would narrate aloud the story of their all-night long weed sessions.

Or, the neighbouring college students were essentially good-for-nothing material...who just came to halt at Tom Uncle ki Maggi only to flaunt their new, branded clothes and huge cars, owned by their filthy rich fathers and arm-candies who looked as if they wer competing with Paris Hilton in their dumb-blonde-Indian style. High hopes! (I hate her personally, but she is a true example of dumb, yet popular people!! )

These perceptions were formed over three years that I spent as a 'vella' on the streets of Delhi University.

Being a resident Mirandian gave me the so-called 'privilege' to 'interact' with the most brainy crowd of India- the IITians as a part of their and our annual event that had to fall on the same date:( - the IIT SOCIALS.

Belonging to a humble background, brought up in a discipline every Indian girl is, by thoughtful parents, this concept was new and weird to me. Why on earth were we interacting with the IITians??? Since, to others , it was a big privilege (as was evident from the way they dressed up!! ;)) the question needed no answers! A probable thought in my mind was some kind of an academic bond of our college with the IIT. But when the fact showed that it was exclusively for the hostelers, I got the 'bond' concept of IIT with girls ;)

Since my seniors pushed me to witness the 'gala happening', I went. The biggest problem was that everybody was to dress up, because it was an event to socialise which included dance, coke and PIZZA! (ding dong! That was the only thing that was motivating enough, with the kind of financial crisis that made such food dear to eat for hostelers :))

I thought it was a good opportunity. Who cares for the guy?? I was happy enough by my 'officially' single status then. Only to get to the Pizza smoothly, I dressed up...the simplest and the most deglamorous way. Unlike the other girls, who were basking in the glory of compliments and camera flashes, mine was just enough to get me the Pizza and no partner!!!(The sudden emotion for Pizza might tell you that I loved Italian then...I loved, but 'fokat ka!')

All my excitement came to a maximum when the IIT bus that had come to pick us up a few minutes before came infront of the hostel gate of JWALAMUKHI hostel in IIT-D (that made me think of a volcano of lust that would erupt as soon as we entered!!) There were guys at the doorsteps, but Pizza nowhere in sight. My woes multiplied when we were given ribbons to wear on our tops. This meant that the guy one would pair-up with will be the guy wearing the ribbon of similar colour.

We were lead into the party lawns, where the music was playing loud and a queue of guys in anticipation stared at us. I felt pathetic. The appetite was just not calming down. I paired up with a guy who looked just the opposite of the guy of my dreams. Anyway, he was my way to the Pizza (since, to my great displeasure, coupons were to be availed by couples together. So I could not say "Thank you for the pizza" without dancing, or chatting with him :( )

So you think, I chatted,I danced and got the Pizza??? Well, if things would have been so normal, I wouldn't have been writing this here!

I lost my coupon. He had only his, which meant none of us could have the pizza. The moment I realised this, I knew my journey till here had been nothing but a futile chase behind that cheesy, capsicumous, tomatoey, onionous, olivey, pepperonious..ohhh...It pains to explain any more:(
I appreciate that lusty man with high ambitions for the single reason that he manged to convince the stall owner about the loss of my coupon and got the most coveted thing in the world for me...Pizza

He went ahead telling me stories about his friends, family and life at IIT and a lot of things that would affirm and confirm his spontaneous, unnecessary and increasing in proportion to time affection for me. I was unaffected, completely drowned in tasting the fruit of my labour and nodded and responded to I don't know what!

About the dance, I was so not with him during the dance session. He followed me up from group to group, song to song. I finally did a jig or two with him, simply because I did not want to show that I was ungrateful.

The party came to an end. The Pizza still filled my stomach and the feeling of achievement and contentment filled my heart!!;)
He came to drop me to my bus and waved me goodbye four times!!!! And I felt happy that I did not exchange anything but my e-mail address with him (Sighhhhhh!)
The teachings of that evening were rather funny but deep. I, finally, could not meet an IITian that I could respect for his brains.

Girls are the biggest entertainment for guys. Since there is always a dirth of the girl race in the IITs, the privileged ones enjoy the attention;) For a woman, everything becomes ridiculously easy if she is willing to thrown away into the jaws of lust.

And the biggest learning of all, that comes from my instinctive hatred for men who do not respect women, and that is- Men of Respect are those who respect women. The rest are just Men.

Here I am... the place to be!

A thousand eyes stare at me...with anticipation and expression. A thousand heads turn to where I turn mine...move with my feet. Those thousand wondering minds are in sync with mine..only for the fact that I know what I am going to speak next, and they continue to anticipate.

My voice is the only voice in the world that seems to beat against the ear-drums. Those ear- drums that are accustomed to listening and recognising millions of voices day- in and day- out, are now listening to my voice...what I say , what I have to say.

Each word that I utter seems to echo through all dead walls, all alive consciences, all unconscious minds.

The multicoloured, strong beams of light fall on me, dimming and brightening up with the effect of my movement and I feel tremendous energy tightening its hold on me.

This is where my entry and exit changes scenes. It changes the story that has been continuing so long.My movements bring about the change.
I turn,I gaze, I think, I speak...and all changes.The plot of the story takes a new course.

This is where, I am the Goddess.

This is where, I am proud to be someone else. To lose my identity here, is a pleasure immeasurable. I throw emotions at a large mass looking at me, speculating me.
I cry, I laugh, I stand, I droop, I crumble, I gather, I grow- all in front of those thousand pairs of eyes watching me, visualising me in hundred different ways.

Here- Shakespeare, Premchand,Tagore, Sahni, Oscar Wilde are but puppets of my imagination. Here, the colourful masquerades, the lively village fairs, the mourning procession and the funeral are all alive. Here the dead identities come alive. Let life live and the dead stay behind the wings.
I am a colour, or a character. I am a body or a soul. But here I am, where I want to be,...what I want to be.

" I'm on THE STAGE "