Chatters to the Self

BIG TALKS

    When was the last time, you remember, you had lent your ears listening to a person

going gaga over himself, or, for that matter, even just talking about himself. Now, there's a basic difference between talking for yourself and talking about yourself. Both stark unlikely. Let me juxtapose these two and let me talk about myself for myself to myself.            

    There are times when you need to resonate your past and reminisce on the same just for the sheer goods and bads that have defined what you have become. And there are times, when you are basically bored and have nothing to do and have a like-minded lazy screen and a shiny dark keyboard at your disposal. Perhaps, the former gives you those unwilling callous smiles on your face thinking about some stupid moments of the past, which now makes you feel "you were an idiot!" and, you smile. Or, probably it might also greet you with an unconditional pining for the loved thing which have had caused your heart-wrecks quite a few times in the days gone-by.

    But, when you are just worthlessly bored and choicelessly left lonely like Peter Jackson's King Kong, all you feel like doing is talk nonsense irrevocably to yourself and try enacting your hands were long enough to pat your own back, again all by yourself. Be it for the minimal exploits or, for the adequate idiocies, which apparently (you think) have hardened your shell, to be specific, you being a nut - your life's nutshell. And again, the ardent folly in you can't stop grinning. Nonsense!.

    Enough of prelude, dude! Cut the crap and get to the point. It seems your brain have flattened so much that it tends to play round and round. Broken gramophone record, ehh? Anyways, for me, as cliché as i want to make it sound, mie childhood hasn't been a joyride. Yes! I said it. It was crazy, super duper busy and not so pampered. I have a father, who had never been happy, rather i should say contented, with any of the laurels i used to bring home as a child; he never wanted me to grow up on his foot-prints as an engineer, which happened to be mie childhood ambition (though i earnestly thank him for that now) and he was forever indifferent of mie upbringing as he completely trusted a woman’s credentials to grow me up to 'a complete man' -- not courtesy Raymonds, but, Mrs Samanta. Yes, mie mum. Though there's not even the slightest scope to deny that what i am today -- all the credit/discredit solely goes to her.

    What happens when you have an ambitious studious young mom, who is herself still studying her dual post grads courses and is yet keen on taking care of the intricate nitty-gritty of her family? I'm acutely a curious case of that. You end up spending loads of time with your grandma, who takes care of you for the first five years and then you end up with yourself, exhaustively occupied with something or the other -- trying to master yourself at almost everything of those some things doable around.

     Lores have it all. All work and no play made jack a dull boy. As a child, i barely played. Even if i did, i had to do it with precision and utmost sincerity. I assume, unlike poor Jack, that still hasn't made me 'dull'. You! Mie frind, who is patiently going thru' this piece bears the testimony of mie intelligence. Hahahah! I know once again, as always -- the feeling reiterates in your head. "Koustav is such a brat." Cheers mate!

    Uff!!! i should put on those horse blinkers to keep mieslf on the topic and not getting deviated. So, back to my lores. Phewww. As they repeatedly bungled our beloved Jack and even went up to the extent of coining something like "jack of all trades, master of none." i say, it takes more than just balls to play at diffferent fields and venture on varied pastures, just by itself. Buy it from me, at no discount though. But, do buy it.

WATERBABY

    As a baby, i used to have this special thing called the 'acute asthma' --  a lung disease, that was obtuse enough to shelve me to heaven. I was too young to be thrown to hell for that matter. Mie parents didn't approve. And also, mie doctor took charge to cure me to the calm and ended with an advisory of putting me to swimming for a sustainable cure to mie breathing disorder. And, i started swimming at an age of four. The little pup in me jived and i was a swimmer, a pretty good one, in about a year. Mie asthma had already started feeling cornered to the core.

     In the city, where i grew up they have this swimming season of six months. Couple of those seasons passed and the officials thought i was quite of a young mermaid. Yes, i know the last word has a definite feminine connotation to it. But, can't help. That was how the officials poached and persuaded mie parents to make me join the advanced training in the waters to be a professional swimmer eventually. No brownie points for guessing, the hunch came true.

    What started with a circuit training one fine afternoon was there to stay for years to come. I won't make it draggy. I continued with professional swimming for -- (let me count) -- about fifteen good years. Broke quite a few records, including some of my own, as i got escalated from the sub-junior groups to the men's category. Mie specialty was in backstroke. But, mie first state medal, a bronze, was in breaststroke.

    Winning those metal pieces went on for quite some time. Alas! Have been the best in the state in many a number of events but was never good enough to win a national level prize in swimming. Huh! Come on! Don't pity me. Being a state champion aint that small a thing. You have to top your district first, then your zone, then your state.

    I was not bad, you see. And, as i say this, the back of mie mind gets clouded with the memories of mie coaches shouting at me, the starter's fires, responsibilities being the captain of the school swimming team, the first couple of crushes on the girls representing opponent contingents, etc, etc. And, needless to mention, quite obviously, a broad devilish grin on mie face.

    Mie friends promised they’ll get me a pretty mermaid for a partner. Am still waiting. But, I guess, promises are meant to be broken.

    Synopsis of the story: i was GOOD.  

A FISH OUT OF WATER

    The end years in the swimming circuit was too clouted with political similes, which finally made me shift to another water sport -- rowing. Couldn't have thought of giving it all up just for a bunch of morons. Water was the soul-sister of this single child and as they say, once a sportsman -- always a freak!!! Haha, sportsman... The new sport, though inculcated became mie intrinsic in a very short span of time. Won mie first state Gold in the first year itself and then a Bronze in the nationals. Mie first ever national medal. The medal was pretty heavy. And so was the impact, strong enough to make me decide to completely switch to rowing.

   

    Along with the crowns of various regattas, mie highest achievement with oars has been a national level silver. A prized silver, thanks to an amazing radar issue at the last leg in the finals. A national gold still remains a dream.

    Our kayaking instructor had high hopes on us. Apparently, we had clocked better timings than the then reigning national champs. Thanks to an old haggard, who knew nothing about canoeing but had too much money to be on the sub-committee and be a deciding factor for sending teams on tours. We had to stay satisfied with the club level trophies.

    In this chapter, one undeniable part was mie best buddy, who believed he was strong. But also used to think, there is no good in using the same as he was a preacher of laziness. Unfortunately for him, his camaraderie for me was innate. And, he finally had to wake up too early one morning, heading for the rowing club.

    I will not take credit to have taught him rowing a boat merrily down the stream. But, i will do the honours to pronounce that i taught him how to row a racing boat in style down the lakes. We became partners on a Pairs-boat. And, quite evidently --  the rest is history. There's no shying to assert, people were, at the same time, jealous and afraid of our speed, our technique, our balance and our friendship.

    Synopsis of the story: this time, i say "we were GOOD." heyy, you bugger -- pump up your chest and be proud (if ever you're lucky enough to be reading this...)

THE DUSTED LAD

    If you're thinking, the waters wrap all it up for my sports career. You are wrong. Apart from the invitational swimming championships that i kept participating for quite a long time, as a 'boy' i was presumably good on the field too, beyond mie territorial waters...

    Look, being a professional swimmer gifted me the fitness to prance around at ease and endless. And, i had mie own style of running -- i called it 'jet speed', which has now been reduced to a parachute glide you can say -- but, that's a completely different story.

     I come from a school, which was once the biggest in the continent. If am not mistaken, now its ranked third as far as population of students is concerned. So, even if i'm talking about the biennial school athletic championships, one should understand, it was not a lame-same-school-event. I remember correctly, we used to have at least 17-18 heats in the hunderd-metres flat race event. So the point is, that indeed used to be a gala event.

    And, i knew for a reason i did not have many competitors. Some were too good and much better than me. But again, i had mie own set of events, considerably the longer sprints, 400m, 800m and all. I remember, once hearing a teacher doing the commentary for the day, saying those events demanded not just speed but stamina as well. Made me happier, i thankfully had both and ample.

    Taking chances was ingrained in me, could have never helped It. One fine year, i decided not to participate in any of the track events and picked only the field ones -- javelin and discuss throws, long and high jumps -- and luckily i did not disappoint mieslf.

    There were instances of giving up in the middle of a winning race and ensuring a gold in the latter – may be just to keep a promise made to a friend, a fellow contender or, to show off to a high school hot crush. Ahh! Those were the days. I might not be a Michael Phelps or a Laryssa Latinina, but i ended mie last school sports with five fu**in golds and the individual champion's trophy. The school had made me represent it in state championships and the results were on similar lines.

    However, let me share a secret of the first order. But, promise me, you'll make sure to format your memory after hearing this and will never know about this one. During mie college days, on a similar sports day, mie proud self was shattered, tattered and torn, when i lost badly in a flat race. It's like Stephanie Rice ending up 4th in the Olympics final, unable to defend her world championship title in the 200m individual medley.

    Yes, that was the end. I never ran after that in any competition. Good they don't host flat races in decorated sports days in B-schools.

    Synopsis: i happened to be good but, ended on a lower note as someone else pitched a higher chord. Example: Tired Gay succumbing to Dix in 200 metres... Laugh at the pun and then do read the news reports. "Tyson Gay, who has been battling a nagging hamstring problem for seven weeks, ran his first 200 of the year in 19.76 seconds to finish just shy of Walter Dix, who took control coming off the bend and stayed in front to win in 19.72." Ahhh! I know you'll call it an excuse to hide it off. I'll say it's an excuse to console mieslf thinking -- if gay couldn't, i toh am just happy.

CULTURAMA

    I got plenty of occasions and chances, from waters to the fields, to have made mieself, mie parents, teachers, coaches, friends and foes feel proud of me. But, for a bengalee boy, these were just sports. Coming from a cultural family, you are not considered worthy at all, if you don't associate yourself with some kind of a culturally inclined activity -- be it singing, dancing, reciting or, painting.

    And add to it, you are the only young one in the family, the most loved one and almost everyone, who have had excelled in something or the other in their 'days' want you to pick his/her choicest.

    Mie father, slightly and unadmittedly colour-blind, did not want to leave a scope that i was one too and his unpractised yet classy artistic sense left me to a drawing school when i was three. Too early? Is that what you're thinking? It's a common case with many bengalee kids as the Tagore-inherited parents want their wards to pick up the next Nobel prize in some discipline the Master mastered. And i have a mum, who's an amazing singer herself and an ardent lover of music. She wanted me take up music, and it's not a past tense yet. She still pokes me at times enquiring why don't i pursue being a vocalist or something. And beyond these, i have an uncle, a man -- whose heart pounds for theatre and who is a voice artist.

    As a good kid, i was bound to make all of them happy. Yes! You got it right. I had to.

    Dad won by a clear margin. Yes, but the race was long enough for them to have me participated in all the three categories to do the least. As i said earlier, i started to learn painting very early. Here Is a funny anecdote. I got mie first diploma certificate when i did not even know what a certificate meant. Mie drawing teacher gave it to me, cuddled me on the cheeks and told me "keep it safe and as soon as you reach home, give it to your mum. Do Not lose it." All i could manage to understand was it's a precious thing to be kept closer to mie heart at least till i reach home.

    Metaphors indeed. So, i folded it to a small square, small enough to fit into mie shirt's small pocket and took it safely home. I have never had seen mie mum to get so ecstatic yet blast me off. It was kind of awkward for me to comprehend the entire situation. What did i do? Is she happy? Is she mad? Is she happily mad? Or, is she madly happy? That day, i learnt never again i should fold a thing called The Certificate.

    I continued painting till i was in the first year of mie college. And that span of time was enough for me to earn in total, eleven diplomas in painting panning across fine, folk and commercial arts. As you might have reckoned, every year i had to prepare for those theory exams on the works and lives of old Masters apart from the regular school curriculum. They conferred me with a Visharad when I was 13.

    Mie mum and mie uncle did not lose entirely. Ma finished a runner-up you can say. I was sent to music classes too, which helped me know the basics of eastern classical music and also brought me close to Tagore for the first time, which was to stay for the rest of mie life. Can perhaps, do away with food or, sleep for a day, but not Rabindranath -- his songs, his poetry. So, for those, who are still wondering, you can call me a trained classical vocalist though mie diaphragm steals a naughty laugh at that but. mie voice tends to deny, as it believes there's still something left in it. Now, you know why mum keeps dragging it even today.

    Like most high-school kids i too had a band. Firstly, the school band and then another one. Did a few shows across the town, be it fests or just local functions. Mie band members and extended band members, who were considerably new with the instruments seem to have faith on my childhood music training. I used to sing. And, taking into consideration the applauds from the audiences made us believe we were 'not that bad'. Did it sound humble? Don't worry, humility is not mie trait.

    God knows what was going on in his mind when he gifted me flat fingers. I bought a guitar with the money from my first cash prize in rowing but could never play rhythm on it. Still can't. Lead -- may be one, two. Had a classical music training which sounded kind of old school in the generation i belong to. Never did it bother me. But, i always wanted to explore the western tunes. Some things which had similar patterns but were expressed in a different language.

    I play drums these days. Been quite some time now, some four years. And yes, now i can decipher and read staff notations quite at ease. But, have off late started realizing jazz drumming Is not meant for mie legs, too tough it feels. They are rock-solid, as old days. Chuckles.

    And for mie stage-man, mie uncle -- he guided me to win a few recitation competitions when i was young. The prizes mostly used to be famous poetry books and the poems, some i still can't comprehend. But, nevertheless, mie uncle's love built mie taste in poetry and mie affection towards it. Rest assured, being a scribe made me a wordsmith. And i dare to write mie own these days. I call them 'Scribbles'. Still haven't managed to gather enough guts to call them poems. Haven't you read any of mie stuff? If you have, you'll know better than me. Don't forget to send your bouquets or brickbats as a token of appreciation though. The brat speaks again. Such a snob, i say!

Synopsis: i hope I'll be GOOD someday to host my own exhibition or publish my own book. [Have decided on the name already -- 'tranquil conflicts' -- i'll call it... cheers!]

SOFT BUT BIG TALKS

    What i am today, what i'll always continue to be irrespective of the time or age I'm in has had been crafted thus. With a few glitches may be. There was point in time when mie mind used to go numb and the body used to work like a clock-walk. I used to feel like shouting it out. I used to feel like fleeing to some distant lands. All that kept me at bay was the fear of being forced to come back only to the same old routine, once i give up and return.

    Mie days used to start as early as 5 in the morning, even much before the sun himself woke up, going for mie swimming sessions. Now when i look back, i see mie childhood-self tired may be, but, beyond that what greets mie smoky eyes more are two tireless individuals -- mie mum and mie dad.

    Was it only me, who was made to go thru' all those i have been complaining about? I know they used to wake up even before me. Have you seen this year's (2012) Olympics ad campaign on "thank you mom" which neatly crafted what lies behind every athlete's life. The strength called ‘Mom’. If you still haven't, please do watch it. Youtube is there for your rescue.

   So, allow me to get out of this monologue and let me put it like this. Ma used to prepare mie breakfast, take me to the swimming club, wait there for hours during the practice session, make me eat and then take me to school, go back home herself to complete the unattended household chores, come and pick me up from school in the afternoon to drop me to the painting classes, stay around and finish her prosaic outside work and then take me for swimming again before reaching home by about 9:30 in the night -- where mie dad used to wait with a smile and the dinner ready knowing how the mom-kid duo had been running the entire day.

    That phase of life, honestly, i don't remember the dinners much cause i used to drift off to sleep knowing that mum would make sure feeding the sleeping brat. Keeping aside the emotional humdrums, that i have been harping for the last half an hour, here is a fun anecdote.

    Remember, i said mie dad was never contented. When i won mie first district medal

I ran to show it to him. He took it in his hand and said "that's all?” “That's what

makes you happy? You practise for 7 hours a day for a district prize?" i was drooped. But, ma said "thank you!" Sometime later, a state medal and dad's reaction was on similar lines as the previous time. "Now that you think you have achieved it all, give up sports and concentrate on your studies." Ma thanked. However, i never had the courage to jump up to him ever again with a state-level award.

    Then, finally after i had shifted to rowing, i got mie first national medal. Guess what! This time, all mie dad said was "hmmm. This medal is heavy. Now go and study." That is mie old man. And, he continues to be so, till date.

    Now that, this man has grown a little old and that man, older, i know he never showed it before me but, he always had been proud. So proud. Now that, when i stay away from mie parents in a distant city, their favourite pastime is to fiddle with mie certificates and keep mie medallion-showcase dustfree.

    Ma has her students, some from mie own school. And i've heard, those young lads kind of wish to be like me. At least the prizes inspire 'em, if not me. Bliss.

    Synopsis: i have been GOOD.

DUNCE’S CAP

    Undoubtedly, mie worth and tenacity as a drummer is proved today. Such a long time and consistently i have been beating up mie drum so loud and crazy and yet, if you are reading this line, you are not bored (atleast you have given me enough room to assume that).

   

    Look, there are things that i have done, which can be tagged as mie exploits are quite a few. But, also there are things which i have never done or, perhaps, I’ll never be good at are many -- things like playing cricket, being street smart or, say for instance, dancing...

   Ohho! Shouldn't have said the last one. I know i just ruined even the last ray of hope to have a girlfriend sputtered off... Poof! After all, whatever might have you done, which pretty lady wants to have a beau, who has two left feet when it comes to dancing?