Journey To A Newer World - A Tribute to Rituparno Ghosh

  Hail to thee, blithe spirit!  

        Bird thou never wert -  

      That from heaven or near it  

    Pourest thy full heart  

     In profuse strains of unpremeditated art... 

"Eminent filmmaker Rituparno Ghosh passes away" -- that's the ticker on a news channel that carelessly caught mie eye while stepping into the office on a regular weekday morning. And, the walk from the reception lobby to mie cubicle had me in a weird state of awe, disbelief and a sense of an irrepairable loss. there have been loads of instances of rumors about famous men's deaths and i kept praying why can't this be another on those lines.

one of the the most erudite man of our times was no more. it's indeed very tough to decipher in words what He meant to me. excusing all the adjectives, for me Rituparno Ghosh meant a deeper world of knowledge, sensibilities, charisma and yet an individual adorable to the utmost degree of perfection. for the typical bengalee boy in me, if Tagore was God as i have not seen him in flesh, Ghosh was God-sent. pardon mie prodical words of praise. yes, i'm a little too biased about him and i'm not denying...

the man marked an era of his own, but certainly it would be a falsity to state that his death marked the end of it. rather, it was him who gave a whole new meaning to the Bengali cinematic art and in the most sophisticated style carved a niche for the vernacular motion picture medium amidst the international
audience. it'll always be less, as much as is said about how Ghosh brought back the literate bengali middle-class to theatres in a post Ray-Ghatak-Sen period. His style of film-making waved the green flag for a fresh new breed of directors, who in the days later could muster the courage to venture outside formula-films or box-office-appeasing cinema.

a man, who understood the multifarious shades of human emotions and defined his own ways of sensibilities that was agreeable to some and eye-sore to others,  was advertently a true-versed artist in the craft of movie making. Ghosh said many a number of times that it was Satyajit Ray who inspired him to make films and Abanindranath Tagore taught him unaware how to tell a story. "Among all the things i do with my limited knowledge, i think i've been able to do one thing consistently and that is making films. so, in the end, i would most likely be remembered for mie films," said Ghosh, who lived his life under his own dictations.

Ghosh mostly made films in bengali, a language he was immensely proud of and felt was his very own. He felt he knew his language and it helped him express aptly every time. Somewhere, the Bengali audience identified him as a successor of Ray or Ritwik Ghatak, while i personally feel Ghosh was more of a modern-day scion of Ajay Kar or Tarun Majumder. but, that's a subjective quotient and is hence, debatable.

"Ray set a masculine prototype for film directors. People were proud of his height and his English. People (like me) who wear danglers and kajol to parties (were regarded) as an insult to Ray," Ghosh had said. the succession of creativity probably brings along loads of responsibility. the fans, the followers never wished him to get distracted, at least that's how Ghosh looked at it. they thought, now that he's in to acting - portraying prosaic and the ever-discussed-about-him gender issues, he won’t make good movies anymore. then, they thought just because he's more into dressing differently unlike common men,  his focus was getting distracted from directing good movies.

Coming to his films. The first venture Hirer Angti (1992) was not a remarkable box-office hit. i still feel, it was one of the tidiest of flicks ever made for kids after Joy Baba Felunath, Fatik Chand and the likes. He arrived in the scene permanently with his second film Unishe April (1995) that bagged him his first National Award. Since then, there was no looking back. From Dahan ('97) or Bariwali ('99) to Noukadubi (2010) or Chhitrangada (2012), in his film-making career spanning about 20 years, he dealt with the quintessential nitty gritties of human emotions, sentiments and characters. But, we never ever felt he was being preachy. Or, he was trying to impose his beliefs and his thoughts on us. it always felt so comfortably justifiable.

Ghosh always made it appear so affirmatively look-believe. He touched our lives. the most average, and yet in their own existential way, little but special stories of the middle class Bengalee. here, please allow me share an excerpt of what one of mie closest pals and a fellow scribe, Nivedita had to say -- "When he told a story, you listened. Watched, but you know what I mean. And because Ghosh was an extremely intelligent man, he knew exactly how to hook his target audience: the well schooled but very averse-to-change middle class.
So his characters would sing Rabindrasangeet and quote Tagore and Shakespeare, and the middle-class erudite would feel safe in his movies. Look, these are people just like us!”

the unpretentious portrayal of physical intimacy in Antarmahal created a subtle discomfort among his middle class Bengali audience. perhaps because, the posters have not had given them the cue. and this happened, despite the fact that his earlier film Chokher Bali depicted the young widow Binodini menstruating in a rather poignant scene and yet did not have to greet out-of-the-window criticisms just because the director was working with a Tagore novel and the sexual explicitness was tolerated for the novelist’s essential ‘sanctity’. even after all this, when he acted as a gay adman in Memories in March or the parallels of the Chapal Bhaduri in Arekti Premer Golpo, and in the same tune as Rudra in Chitrangada, a certain section of his audience seemed to have forgotten about all his past ventures in representing sexuality and showcasing the intricacies out of real-life lures, but only juxtapose the homosexual imagery and full stop. Rituparno lived with a strong gender connotation and vice versa, but i'll came back to that later.

just because, i've talked about his first film let me also quickly touch upon his released last. Chitrangada - The Crowning Wish. i firmly believe, if it was not him, it would have never been possible for anyone else to have woven the characters out of Mahabharata and the famous Tagore novel in sheer poetic narration in the context of a present day plot. the whole idea of Kaamdev being some kind of a plastic surgeon or a beautician to transform the conceptually Kuroopa princess to the Suroopa (beautiful) Chitrangada in order to make Arjuna fall in love couldn't have been more neat.

however, Ghosh, who won twelve National Awards out of his nineteen released movies, always credited his luck somewhere behind his exploits and said he was an overrated director. "how much i try i will never be able to feature among the first 200 filmmakers of the world, so might as well spend rest of the time watching their films," he had said to Moon Moon Sen on her chat-show for TV Southasia.

an ardent lover of hilsha and sleep, Ghosh loved his city Calcutta and said he probably cannot live without it. Unlike Ray, who composed many of the scores for his films himself, Ghosh said he loved all kinds of music but did not understand the intricacies much himself. He loved Rabindrasangeet more than anything and that probably reflected in his films too. Renowned music composer Debajyoti Mishra, who also scored music for many of Ghosh's films, said he knew music like nobody else. The lyrics of various songs penned by Ghosh, especially the ones in Maithili for his own film Raincoat bears testimony to the fact that he was no less of a remarkable poet or a lyricist.

now beyond the world of films, for which people better know him for, there are much more to the versatility of the maverick. Ghosh had been into costume designing for acclaimed theatre director Suman Mukhopadhyay's plays. He was an elaborate fashion connoisseur himself as designer Sarbari Dutta describes. He had also been into jewellery designing. After having started his career with advertising, Ghosh laster had edited copies for ABP, was appointed the creative head of the Bengali section of Broadcast World Wide, popularly known as Tara, hosted two most prominent chat shows on Bengali television, scripted one widely-followed tele soap revolving around Tagore in a modern Bengalee mindset, etc, etc, etc. however, Ghosh once said, due to the entire limitations of a regional channel and the dictates of a market, he couldn't enjoy TV just for the sake of creative joy. for him, making a film was like having a picnic with all the unbound creative fun involved.

despite all his achievements and the following he garnered to himself, somewhere somewhat his mannerisms drew undue attention. He was tagged as an LGBT activist, a gay icon or even a transgender elite. He never denied he was effeminate and admitted that his success as a celebrity entitled him or, rather gave him the freedom to choose his own terms that many common people cannot.

in his own words, "gender is fluid. there's nothing called a gender monolyth." how can one ensure that a man is bound to behave only as a man oozing only machismo all the time and in no way entitled to be vulnerable or even unwillingly bestowed with the rigidity that he cannot let go a woman-like expression ever? it's not about a sexual minority cause minority is a subjective quotient. he was definitely not the only man effeminate. Ghosh never demanded that he can rope-walk between the loose nooses of sexual boundaries.

"Yes. I enjoy being in the third gender. I am not a 'man-man'. Neither am i a woman. I've heard people asking if i'm now going to wear a saree. my answer is no. the whole concept of being unisex has been usurped by women. if a woman wears a pair of jeans, nobody questions her. but if a man wears a necklace, he is never called regal. i have not worn anything that Indian men have never worn traditionally. indian men have neither worn a saree nor a ghagra choli. hence, i don't see myself doing that either. there was so much speculation over whether i had a sex change operation. i haven't done that. to reduce my waistline, i have only done an abdominoplasty for "Just Another Love Story" [Dir. Kaushik Ganguly, 2011]. i don't want to be a woman. if i ever consider it, i would not be secretive about it. After all, there is no shame in it," Ghosh said in an interview.


putting aside the calculations and miscalculations of the differences between sensitivity and weakness, appropriate sensibility and unwarranted tenderness, or even that of learning and pride, for me, Ghosh can never be dead. His works will forever keep nurturing all the fondness towards him. just that, his untimely demise snatched the opportunity from us to amaze ourselves with -- movies on Jorasanko Thakurbari, where Ghosh thought about putting Tagore only as a side actor, a biopic on Bankim Chandra Chatterji's Debi Chaudhurani - the bandit queen of Bengal, a movie on the life of Buddhha or, a new-age narration of his
favourite epic the Mahabharata -- Ghosh had been planning to work on these projects, which are now going to miss out being interpreted by His genius.

for me, there'll be no more wait for his movies, no more arguments with friends on his plots or his consciously-forced-upon-himself cissy acting, no more showing off pride just because he belonged to my alma mater... for me, Rituparno will continue to stay as an inspiration to knowledge, class and sheer sophistication, just as Tagore stays with me as a part of mie living...

"For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,

And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again."

Credits:

Various Interviews given by Rituparno Ghosh
Percy Bysshe Shelley - To a Skylark
William Shakespeare - Venus and Adonis
academia.edu - Koustav Bakshi's interview with Ghosh
Saregama Bengali Channel
http://nivisbollywoodblog.blogspot.in/ - Nivedita Bhattacharjee
Picture Courtesy - Google Images
And, lots of love and respect for the Man

A Rainy Few Minutes

she was coming down from another city, slightly distant. back to base that was also not the home-town but had become more so with the warmth of pals and the cuddles of youth during the post-graduation days. it was just after the months of summer and she was finally coming back completing her extended internship. 

he was done with the apprenticeship couple of weeks ahead and was back already. but, like never before, the two weeks seemed like two months and was not willing to end. 

they were friends. not the best ones, but endearingly closed ones. they used to talk over phone for hours at times. at times, they used to sit at the open empty amphitheatre humming the tunes they both grew up with. and at some non-existent times, they used to share notes. he was the bookworm and she, literally the butterfly.

his two-week-long wait was finally coming to a close. but conspiracies galore, for the last twist in the tale, her bus was late for about four hours. and his plan to surprise her, waiting at the terminus, went for a toss. ohh c'mon! "what am i thinking? she isn't mie girl or something," he tried telling himself after the text tingled on his cell phone noting the delay.

erasing the suprise-plan and evading the wasted few kilometres he rode back to his room. the next few hours were weirdly the longest. itched a bit with the sweet lil' scheme being flushed in the morning, he was trying to figure out what could be some other welcoming happy note for her.

bingo! he ordered for her favourite sweet meat and flattered the confectioner enough that he promised to deliver on time.

she called twice. he missed them as the bathroom shower kept him away. minutes have passed and when he called back, she was stuck on the highway as the bus-driver stole a respite. "i hope i'll reach in about an hour, go home, freshen up and come to see you. so, keep waiting," she said before hanging up with that typical giggle of hers that always unassumingly teased him.

that means, one hour to reach plus one to greet the roomies plus another to sizzle herself up plus another probable hour to leave home and walk down the hill. he was definitely not going see her till the late evening or may be even night, he thought to himself as he kept wondering what else to do in the meanwhile. "how i wish she knew i was waiting for her at the bus-stop in the morning," the one inside him exclaimed.

sunset behind the hillocks was always neat in colours and flapping wings of the home-coming songsters complemented them surreal. that particular dusk was however, not that vibrant as the long-due monsoon clouds had started seeping in. the darkness of the evening was slightly early that night. 

his phone rang. the hour-clock said she must have just reached the terminus or may be in the autorickshaw on her way home. "where are you? i've been standing at your door for more than 5 minutes now. what's wrong with the door bell?"

contrary to all his calculations of time and plans, she had already reached and that too his place a lil' too early to be true as he was busy reminiscing the older moments kissed by the evening breeze on his terrace. he ran down the stairs. Trying to restore all the idiocies. 

she shouted trying to put up a fake angry face. he knew that was not true. by then, he had already learnt almost all the grammar that made her. that was her, just being herself bossing over the closed ones.

the childish grin on his face and a "sorry" on his lips was enough to get a hug from her. the eyes whispered how they've missed each other and they both tried pretending they were oblivious of the fact or the feeling.

"i didn't go home. i thought i'll come to your place first, chew your head a little and then... wont you drop me up till mie cave on your wheels?" he nodded and carefully hid a smile.

with all the pretends that it was lying in the fridge and assuming she would be hungry, he got her the pastries. the ones that were specially ordered and was crafted with added finesse after the old man at the shop had winked guessing something special. huh! what was he thinking. "it's just that i need them delivered on time." - he had thought presumably.

time in the frame of minutes turned into hours called moments as she kept sharing her share of the stories - what all happened during the toddling days in work, first stipend spends, crush on a fellow intern and how a hunk he was, and how she wished the days didn't end to get back to studies. he was never an avid listener. but, she was just a tad tolerable. 

it was time to take her home. as happy was he, having gifted a good evening that was almost turning to its nightly hours as time flew and she was in a hurry for the last couple of hours to go home. just that the talks seemed never ending.

there was a pinch of dampness in the air, a strong breeze around and a proper silver crescent lurking in the sky. perhaps, it was raining somewhere, the sweetness in the air deciphered. he kicked start the bike. and the clouds rumbled in sync. it was an amazing weather, they both agreed. a very rare occasion indeed when these two agreed on a same thing.

"you're already late. let's take the way roundabout. just a few minutes more. please..." he said.  just for the sake of the roads and the welcoming winds, she allowed. a few metres and the second turn round a corner, a jolt of the bumper as she held him tight from behind and it came pouring.

it was an empty road as far as could be seen. two lazily gleaming street lights drenching in the rain and the ecstatic foliage by the both sides of the road amid the darkness of the trees. he cursed himself. it was all his fault. it was an awkward moment with the joy of soaking in the season's first rain that was to relish and the worry of her backpack getting wet, that she had forgotten.

he wanted to take cover. some sheltering shade nearby. she insisted. happiness had its choice. it was just the two of them and a heavy shower for company. a streak of her drenched hairs was kissing her cheeks. he had stopped the bike on the middle of that slanting road, looked at her in her eyes such that he could see right through her heart.

the first time he saw her blush. the first time he felt she would let her be the boss amongst the two. the first time nothing else mattered. the first time the sweet chivalry in him wanted to let go of the consequences.

cold was the air, colder the raindrops. and amidst all that, warm was her presence, warmer the embrace. the breath was heavy and the spirits high. the cuddle grew tighter and the bonding felt shy...

their lips parted themselves and rested in each others. a moment of sweet submission. a moment of their lives. a moment when time stood still.  and a moment only the rain had witnessed and the monsoon clouds had seen. 

Picture Courtesy - Nickolay Khoroshkov via khoroshkov.com

Google Images

To Stay Fallen Apart Together

those were the lanes and alleys known to me intricate by every nook and corner.
but, those were also the same paths i haven't had taken in the past one decade
not even in the unwishful dreams, unknowing thoughts and unpriced memories.

those passages always used to bring a picture -- with colours so vibrant,
aura so blissful and smells of happiness unscathed
never it appeared to me why those boulevards were forever tranquil and yet jovial
with a never-ending spirit of care...
was it because at the end of the route stood the little hut that stored all the warmth
that just the two of us shared --
where pamper was our pride, where one's mere presence was the other's gold
i knew every inch of your body & i knew every bit of your soul...


now, these are the lanes and alleys seemingly familiar but not so obvious
and i sometimes confuse between the corners to take.
and these are also the same pathways that i've taken everyday for the past decade
in mie wishful desires, nurtured realizations and overtly possessive conscience.

these passages always bring along a picture -- starkly tepid and darkly grey
smells foul and toxic almost often and wrapped with anxiety justified
never it greets me why those avenues are forever noisy and ostentatious
with an endless exhibit of disregard...
perhaps it's because at the end of the route stands a castle burning, smeared with flying ashes
that wasted the purity of the bonding we shared --
where we annihilated our attachments, where care was jinxed and hatred was bold
had i ever known a slightest inch of your body or, had i ever known a slightest bit of your soul?


the roads jittered and slowly led to the zenith
ornated with flowers of lead and leaves of gold
the distance between us grew and grew apart
as fondness turned cold and the longing pricelessly sold

and, we forgot every reason of our existence
thus, we forgot every allegiance to our soul

One for the Night

just as the way you cannot say that you've felt the ocean yet if you have not waded down the shore with the rippling waves kissing your feet, making a love-like gesture and then breaking up and leaving you for the sea, again and again

just as the way you cannot be a lover of the roads or the open skies as long as you haven't set sails or packed your bags and geared the wheels with the dust and smoke burning your eyes, the raindrops pinching on your face or, sometime have had only the stars for company

just as the way you cannot decipher it's spring only by looking at the calendar dates until and unless you've felt the nip of blossom in the air or heard the inimitable tunes of the little winged ones accompanying the sunrise or the moments when it sets



in the same same same way you cannot infer how much i love you if you do not have a clue how often i dream about you, how often i wake up in the middle of the night and crave to call you up just to hear your voice and then flip thru' your pictures on mie cell phone, smile all by mieself and hug the pillow so tight as if it has your smell in it...





[Picture Courtesy - The Chronicle]

'marry-me-dotcoms' -- the Meena Bizarre of relationships

Indeed. We've come off that age, when a bride and a groom used to catch the first glimpse of each other only on the marriage podium, evidently late enough to call the wedding off. Sooner, the vows happened to seal a life-long togetherness of two strangers who have had chosen to take care of each other just because their parents felt they'll look good together. Quite presumably, those were times when the tally marks of compatibility criteria were preceded by an imposed mutual trust and perhaps, lots of compromises. But, above all what was considered sacrosanct was commitment towards the bonding. Most of us belonging to this evolved generations would agree that the loveliest of love stories they've spotted in their real lives are that of their grand-dad & grand-mums. And, there's no denying that most of those stories run on similar lines of strangers falling in love -- truly, madly, deeply and eventually -- as they tied the knot and tried sharing their lives with each other.

Our urbane tweens, who take pride in their fast track creed of being and having educed the mindset of 'moving on'-induced-innumerable-love-affairs, prefer commitments towards compatibilities than commitments towards relationships. Hence, the moment the idea creeps in that "oh! we're so bloody different!" they run seekin their love sanctuary in newer people. Most of us think arranged marriage, at least as far as the connotation of it runs, is not our forte. Either it's too geeky or, too old-school. Still, many end up with that when it comes to settling down. The reasons can be many. It may be all study and no play made Jack a dull boy to have a Jenny for himself, or too many cook and choicest varieties on the platter spoilt Mr. Pickwicky or, maybe the randomly common story of 'all was going well for years till “we” realized it’s not working anymore', or sometimes it can even be the parents' undaunted zest to get their wards happily married as soon as possible. Now, arranging an arranged marriage is much bigger a task than even that of the Cupid for a matter of factual farce. And, no brownie points for guessing, there are 'n' number of matrimonial web portals to come to the rescue.

The matrimonial match making business thrives as it takes care of almost all the odd perspectives associated with the celebration of love, even though mostly it might be giving undue importance to the frugal and trivial corners to the building of a new relationship and might pay lesser heed to the solidarity of its foundation. Love, Care, Affections are just few words. In the automated world you need to be robotic enough to fall in love or just simply marry in terms of the binary digits of preferences. “Suits You,” will say “the lunatic, the lover and the poet” as they grin about your tough luck with love and relationships. Stop complaining. At least someone’s trying to help out, don’t you see?

Pay to Peep

Just like a typical middleman’s nuances the modern-day match makers have their own tantrums. They’ll boast about an enviable database featuring thousands of prospective married-to-be, they’ll poach you to the extent that you start feeling that marriage is the whole and sole aim in your life, they’ll lure you with the promise of helping find your ‘the’ perfect match and they’ll also make you realize that perhaps, all that you’ve achieved so far is not worth to make you lucky enough to meet the one of your dreams. What happens if you ignore to pay them despite creating a profile? Every now and then you’ll be greeted by prettiest of prospects staring at you from your screen but, the designed-to-make-you-helpless portal does not allow you to contact them even by any crooked means of chivalry. Then, as the agony aunts’ pestering bowls you over to give up the lost battle of bachelorhood, you promote yourself to be a paid member. There await the payment slabs, deciphered in acute metaphors of the cumulative values of the precious. Be a Gold member and access the database that lets you fetch say 25 contacts. Be a Platinum one to reach out to 50, or be a Titanium, Plutonium or Unobtainium to be spoilt for more and more choices up the ladder. And, as i said, just like the ladder, the comparative degrees of the memberships also adjudicate how many prospects can reach out to you. Try your luck. So, the more you pay, the better panoramic the view appears thru’ the window.

Brandishing the Brand You

A profile can be created for a self, a son, a daughter, a relative or, even a friend. But, instances testify that the website executives cannot and will not disclose the identity of the friend who might have created a profile for you, apparently for security reasons. Don’t be amused if some father creates a profile for you at the matrimony junction and your own father denies that. You’ll never be able to know that other father, again for security reasons. Let’s assume someone creates a true profile with an honest desire to find his/her perfect match on some or the other hook-me-up dot com. First and foremost, You need to synopsize your life-story so-far in a restricted space of word limits and touch upon the saleable intricacies of your past, present and future (if that too is possible). Speak upbringing. Speak pedigree. You can probably give hint if your great-great grandfather missed the Nobel prize by a whisker or perhaps, emphasize that you have the tenacity to be the next Laika (dogs are faithful, so) or, maybe you can do many things together with precision and hence are versatile (watching TV, eating and texting your gfs, all at the same time DO NOT count). But whatever you say, you need to tell them in a make-believe manner and you can never forget that you should be doing all these with the utmost resonance of humility, modesty and sweetness. You don’t want your prospect to run away annoyed from the loud beating of your drum, do you? So, master the art of making cacophony sound like music.

Fatter the wallet, Fitter the choice

So much said about the nitty gritty of tastes, preferences and compatibilities. Yet, most tend to weigh the life’s happiness in terms of a prospect’s annual salary package. In fact, that seems like the most crucial and determining factor to qualify to be a match. Agreed, it’s much more comforting to cry inside a Ferrari than on the pedals of a bicycle. The former gives you privacy too. But, you’re crying anyway. I don’t want to make any sexual discrimination here, But this needs mention. Father of a would-be bride aged 25 and who earns say, INR 2 lakhs per annum seeks a groom for his daughter, aged not exceeding 27 to have an annual income of INR 12 lakhs. I mean, come on, what is he thinking? And, this kind of an example is not one in a million. They are in galore. I’m just trying to put up a sliced matrix of expectations here. So, don’t get astonished if you’re proven useless by a bracketed demand of some individual unknown despite the fact that you’ve always thought you have done good for yourself so far and you earn just enough to lead a life much more luxurious than many of your friends. The universe is miniscule that encompasses people who care more about love and commitment and less about thicker wallets. Hence, all said and done, the nuptial knot-welders tag men and women according to their earning credentials and their salary ‘packages’ decipher the yearnings for them. You as a man might not matter, but you as a man in terms of money does does matter.

Horoscopic Heracles

On one hand, we’re proud flag bearers of advancements in crude terms of various social stimuli; On the other many still cling to the apparent foreseeable futures in the cross grids of horoscope charts and astrological hula hoops. It may be that two individuals (read a boy and a girl) don’t even have a single trait in common and yet the horoscopes suggest otherwise, many upheld the match to be literally made in heaven. And, god forbid if such a marriage doesn’t work out in the long run, the match makers once again blame it on the planetary shifts et al. So, be prepared to get rejected even though you might have had started speaking to someone you met on the marriage platform, had started liking a bit and had started planning to begin the new journey of life together. You might just get stuck, perhaps for reasons that does not involve the either of you but thanks to the planets on which you’ll never get to live even, just because horoscopes posed a red signal. Sometimes things you always thought prosaic and ignorable might just decide your fate. Crush, infatuation, love do not decide here. They are considerably the lesser important ones in these grids of mindsets and the matrimony pandits are well-fed and perhaps, well-read too to forecast the bonding between a man and a woman in percentages. So, wonder wonder a couple whose horoscope charts suggest they are 82 percent preferentially matched will never be able to love each other fully. It’s like peeping through the keyhole outside locked doors to steal voyeuristic pleasure or like watching porn and believing oneself inside the screen.

Castaway in Casteism

Agreed, there can still be reasons that one can buy against inter-religion marriages just on the basis of the slightly presumable difference in the ways of living of two individuals belonging to varied faiths, but that too barring any associative corners of spirituality. However, the unreasonability has had never made sense to me that how does it matter to others if two people from different religious upbringings choose to stick together and share their lives with each other. Forget communities, the century old caste systems inside one or the other religion continues to live deep-rooted in the so-called modern society. A Brahmin wants to marry a Brahmin, A Kshatritya to a Kshatriya, and likewise. Shouldn’t the choice of just a man marrying a woman be the order of the day? I wonder where would have been the world and its most rational creatures, had Adam thought about all these before making love to Eve. Or, was it Adam happened to be a rich brat and Eve was from his own community. So, as the river of mindly narrrowscopes keeps flowing, the match makers provide enough room to nurture them and lets you allow segregate prospects of your same caste universe even before delving into the other asteroids. And in the process, thus erases clean, the scope and the hope of ever meeting your perfect one, who might have been just a caste away.

And, the story of the marry-me-dotcoms go on and on as the butterflies keep spreading their wings and touch upon human souls to crave for someone very own. And the intricate design of lure doesn’t make one ever realize that in order to fall in love, he or she meanwhile falls out of it. Is it even possible to give shape to the one in your dreams in the intricacies of money, caste, horoscope, age, stars, citizenship, eating habits, and all that jazz?  I doubt the eternal bond between two sexes can be dubbed in the ways and means of an underlying bargain market, or for that matter, in winnings of jackpot games. I pity those poets who made believe that love seeks love and not a thing else. I guess, we’ve come a road too long and away to care just about love and nothing else while seeking for a partner to spend the life with. Hence, cheers thou match makers, our friendly neighbourhood jokers of practicality, eat well and be happy. But, please please please keep your fingers crossed that your sincerity in work only creates happily ever after stories. 

The Burnt Butterfly

in an incorrigible zest to console mieself... at a point in time, when even the 'chatters to the self' resonates dumb worth...

the hapless romantic always die the death of wasps -- lonely and burnt unaware, irresponsibly fleeing away from himself as each and every moment passes away...

in an idiotic quest of putting up a bright face, a smiling gesture and the moron doesn't even understand

that the onlookers do have the slightest of intellect to catch he's faking it... Alas! They never know what he is faking...

just as the most chivalrous is never found to be the most gentleman,

just as the afraid is often mistaken to be the coward, 

just as the friendliest is most likely to get back-stabbed...

the bugger who is the best company one may have might not even get a true companion for himself...

why are the threads so boastful and yet so weak that calls for voiding a love for another?

countless days, countless nights, time moves on the wings of a burnt butterfly... 

the idiot dies the idiocy doesn't.

the love lives on, only the lover ceases to exist... 

[Photo Courtesy - weeel via Flicker]

Pujor Gondho

amar chhelebelar shohor tatey firtey ekhono pray ek maash baki... taai, apatato aaro ek mash tuktak hapittesh aar opekhha kora chhara onyo kono upaay nei. shorot eshe gechhe, pujo-w aschhe -- maa durga kintu eibar besh khanikta late. ekdike hoyto bhaloi hoechhe, asha kora jaay borsha-rani totodine bangladeshke sobuje sajiye aar bangalike ileesh mach khaiye "onno kothao, onno kono khaney" udhhao hobe... atoeb, pujor kota din bodhoy tini aar bhasaben naa, antatoh amar moto anek bangalir-e eta thik ei muhurter 'wishful thinking' bola jete paare...

amar shohor-ta kano eto beshi important? amar shohore penja tulor megh achhe, kochi baansh-aar shiuli phool-er gondho achhe, potoparaay ganga mati kete murti gorar torjor achhe, 'pujo marketing' achhe, rasta
bondho kore pandal toirir hujug achhe, pujor gaan, pujor khaoadaoa, pujor prem, pujor chhuti --
sob achhe. aar sob theke beshi kore achhe ekta tulonaheen uddiponar amej aar bandhonhara amudey uchhash -- bangali paareo botey!

ta dekhte dekhte, gyanato anekgulo pujoi katiye felechhi... haan, ta about more than a score of years... but strangely, protyek bochhor bayoser sathe sathe uddipona ta barchhe boi komchhe naa. doinondin jiboner gheratopey, jeebikar tagide je hatobhagara amar moto bidesh-bibhui-e pore achhe -- nijer bari chhere, apon jon der chhere besh khanikta duure, i'm sure - quite evidently, tader aneker-e golpota thik amar moto...

bigoto dosh-ponero bochhore prithibi-ta anek anek bodle gechhe. ashepasher chhobi - manushjon-er bhabna chinta - rajnoitik totha orajnoitik poribesh - scientific advancements - amader songoskriti - emon ki kolkata shohorer durga pujor arombor o upodhoukon -- sob kichhu... atoeb, globalization ba eisob inevitable changes-gulo niye ajothha kothar kochkochi kore labh nei... barong, jeta niye shuru korechhi setate firey ashi... amar nijer trysts with durga pujo-related memories aar thik ei muhurte janlar pashe bosey
seisob-er reminiscence...

chhotobelar pujo ta -- hmmmmmm, chhotobelar pujo bolte mone porey -- ek mash school theke pujor chhuti, Gariahat-e pujor kenakatar bheer, chokher samne Ekdaliya-r pujor pandel-ta ektu ektu kore toiri hote dekha, kota notun jamakapor holo thoter dogay taar hisheb rakha aar barbar mone mone guney neoa aaro kotogulo hotey pare, ei sob. amar school-er prothomdik kar best friend, ora protibar puja vacation-e kothao na kothao berate jeto, amra kokhono jaini... pujor somoy kolkatar baire thaka-ta je ekta batulota
seta bodhoy ebhabei sei chhottobela theke amar modhye inculcated hoe gechhilo... berate jabei jodi jaao na bapu -- goromer chhuti-te jaao, christmas holidays-e jaao, nidenpokhhe pujor 5-ta din baad diye-i nahoy jaao...

ami chirokal shohore manush, south calcutta to be specific -- so, bangali mindframe-e durga pujor sathe kash phool-er dola, ba Apu-Durga-r kashboner bhitor diye doure doure train dekhte jaoa-ta -- sotti kotha bolte thik sei bhabe relate korte pari naa... tobe, mamarbarir bagane ekta bishal shiuli gachh chhilo... sei gachhtay protibar sesh borshar sathe sathe kuri dhorto, ekrokom bola jaay setai chhilo amar durga pujor harbinger.
bolai bahulyo school-e chhuti porte tokhono anek derii, taai agotta din gona shuru. chhutir diney kotobaar oi bagane shiluli phool tulte giye shuyopoka mariyechhi, ekbar toh haat-eo chotke felechhilam... kintu ashwiner sokale, shishir bheja ghashe shiuli kuronor byapartai chhilo onnorokom. shuyopoka-r abar bhoy ki, Didu paan sajaar baksho theke ektu chun lagiye dilei sob thik. Didu, maane amar dida -- tar kachhei chhuch-suto
aar oi shiuli diye amar prothom mala bananor haatey-khori. barir thakurer jonyo chhoto chhoto shiuli phool-er mala baniye ditam. aar seriously, i mastered the art pretty fast. pujor chhuti sesh holei abar porikhha, taai season-ta upobhog koro ba na koro, "esechhe shorot himer porosh legechhe haoar torey" -- robi thakurer deoa ei bornona-ta comma-daari somet mukhostho kintu howa chaai... tobe, pujor kota din boi-khatar paath ekebarey bondho... maa-o jor korto naa.

sei somoy mohaloyar din bhor rattire uthhe radio-te Birendra Krishna Bhadrer chandipaath-er mahatyo ta thik bujhte partam naa. ager din raate hothat, barir purono radio-ta thik achhe kina boroder seta janar tagid dekhe bujhtam byaparta besh important nirghaat ota kono ekta sekele obhyesh... amar barong tv-te mohishasurmordini dekhte beshi bhalo lagto. ekhon ei kotha ta bolte bolte nijeke sottie boka lagchhe, baah hoyto ami benefit of doubt peye jete pari ei boley je tokhono it was in the process of this bangali in the making... ekhon bujhi bochhorer oi din-tay radio-te oi bhodroloker golay stotropaathh na shunle bangalir pujo shuru hoy naa, hotey pare naa - "Rupang Dehi Jayang Dehi Yasho Dehi Disho Jahe" gangay torpon ar surjjo pronam-er modhye diye Mahalayay debipokhher suchona holeo, Maa bolto durga thakur naki saptami-r din bhor belay martte pouchhoy... aar taai, saptami-r din bhor rattire durga fal diye barir choukathh-e saat-ta phonta diley, Maa durga khushi hoye amader bari theke ghurey jabe -- ekbar eshe gele jete naa debar fondi-ta oboshyo amar chhilo. taai proti bochhor bhor rattire ghum theke uthhey thakumar chandan piritay chandan ghoshey barir sobkota dorjar choukathe phonta ditam. maa durga toh aar bashi ghar-dorey asbe naa, taai ghar-dor porishkar korbar dayitto-ta Maa-i nito... surjjodoyer sathe sathe parar pujor pandel theke bheshe asto dhaker bol -- maane, durga pujo shuru!!!

jokhon arektu boro holam, maane class 7-8 aar ki... tokhon pujo-ta khanikta bodlalo... kono guardian chhara, sudhu bondhura miley thakur dekhte beronor permission paoa jete laglo. tokhon-e shuru prothom prothom pujor prem -- aamader chheleder moto, obviously meyerao tader dal-bal niye thakur dekhte beroto... hothat kono pujor pandel-e kauke dekhe ektu bhalo lagle, chokhachokhi ebong within a fraction of a second taake isharay bujhiye deoa moner sobta -- jodi se mukh ghuriye nilo toh "who cares" ekta bhab dekhiye pandel theke beriye jaoa aar jodi by any chance sei kishoritir mukhe ek chilteo hashi dekha jaay, tahole Jatayu-r moto "apnake toh cultivate korte hochhe moshai" marka ekta hashi diye por por koekta pandel-e take follow kora with 'no implications intended' ekta attitude niye... kokhono kokhono kotha bolar sujog hoye jeto abar kokhno hoto-w naa, kintu ekta byapar osshikar korar kono jayga nei, je, seisob prem ektaao kintu lokhhi pujo porjontow goray ni. bondhura ghurte beronor onumoti paoa jachhe boley je barir loker sathe pujoy somoy katabo naa, setao sombhob noy... taai jaate sob dik-e bojay thakey aar akher e labh-ta amar-e hoy -- ashole, muul lokkho chhilo koto beshi thakur dekha jay aar ki. ami bhag kore niyechhilam, sokal goriye bikel porjonto bondhura e pandel se pandel ghurleo, sondhebelay kintu maa-bappur sathe berono chaai-e chaai... edik odik ghora aar prochur prochur bhalo mondo khaoa daoa -- fuchka, ice cream, fish fry, cutlet -- kono kicchui baki thakto naa

bangalir kachhe pujor khaoa daoa ta essentially guruttopurno ekta byapar... sei niye kotha bola ekbar shuru korle sesh korata sotti khub mushkil hobe... but, beyond everything, jeta naa bolle ekebarey thik hobe na seta hochhe -- ashtami-r din sokale anjali diye bari firey garom garom luchi ar chholar daal aar nabami-r din rewaji pathar mangsho -- chobbo-choshyo-lejjhho-peyo jaai hok na kano, ei duto jinis chhara pujo ta thik pujo hoy naa... antatoh amar toh hoy-e naa. thik tamon-e bijoya dashami te nimki, chhoto chhoto shukno goja aar narkel deoa ghugni ta mussstttt... NAAH, ami ekhhuni ekhhuni bijoya niye bhabteo chainaa

firey ashi arektu borobelakar pujoy -- tokhon high school ba early grads. tokhon pray amra sobai chutiye prem korchhi and mind it, puppy-loves noy... besh serious relationships... atoeb, bandhobikuuler abirbhabe pujo ekta notun matra pelo. anek chena obhyesgulo bodlateo holo, paaye hente saraa shohor toto kora bondho korte holo sobar aagey... ashole preyoshira sobai baadh na sadhleo, tader notun stilleto porar phoskagulo atota considerate hoto naa -- bangali chhelera hujuge holey ki hobe, chivalrous at the
end of the day. taai agotta pocket gorer maath kore kono decent restaurant-y bhojonadi ebong Durga Bari ba Maddox-e boshe adda. kheyal rakhte hoto kon kon parar pujo mondope jaoa jabe naa -- karon ta khub simple, jodi kono bandhobir barir lok dekhe fele, tahole high chance baki pujota mati... ei somoy-tatey proti bochhor amar ekta ekrokom self-imposed dayitto thakto aar seta hochhe Didu-ke sokaler dike rickshay kore thakur dekhano. naa naa, ekhono amar dida serokom oti bayohjjeshthha thurthure buri hoye jaeni, tokhon toh aaroi chhilo naa. ashol plan ta hochhe Didu-ke sondhebelar bheer theke bachano aar thakur dekha sesh holey Dida-nati-te pet purey bhalo mondo kheye bari fera. nijeke besh ekta responsible adult mone hoto. besh gorbo kore bondhuder boleochhi koekbar "naare, amar saptami-r sokal-ta hobe naa,
Didu ke niye ektu berobo." ashole, sei somoy alada kore serokom kaj-er bhaar toh keu dito naa. taai ekrokom jechei esob kora aar ki... chhoto chhoto bhalo lagaa aar anekta bhalobasha.

oi somytatey Kolkatar pujor arombor drastically anek ta bere gechhe. pollibashir involvement ba sobai ke niye anondo, hoi hullor korar theke commercialized competition-guloy e beshi mon diyechhe shohorer pujogulo -- aar jodi kono political neta ba real estate agent-er patronage thakey tahole toh kothai nei... Asian Paints diye je sharod sommangulo shuru hoyechhilo, brand visibility baranor jonyo sobai ekhon kichhu na kicchu puroshkar dite chaay... sera protima, sera pandel chharo, dekha gelo kothao kono local Energy Drink-er company sera ashur-er prize dichhe toh shohorer kono naamjaada mishtir dokan ganesh-er sera bhuri-r jonyo puroshkar ghosona korchhe... prize jaar jonyei hok, uddokta-ra kichhu ekta pelei khushi... aar ei protijogitar propaganda-r majhe puro domey shuru hoe gechhe theme-er pujo. kothao papad ba biscuit ba matir hari, kolshi, kolke diye toiri hochhe devi murti toh kothao aloor- khosha, shamuker khol, jhhanta kathi ba hogla pata diye toiri hochhe mondop. eshob-ee je otinandonik ba soundorjjobisistho hochhilo, taa noy. ei byapartay kono ojana karone ami ektu beshie conservative... amar chirokal mone hoechhe nothing beats the sabeki ekchalar protima -- maa-er sei tanatanaa raagi chokh athocho mukhe ek smito hashi, the perfect jagojjjononi roop. aneke hoyto arguement rakhte paren je somoyer sathe sathe change ta khub important. theme-er pujo sei bodoler e porichayok. amar mone hoy other than providing a temporary employment to
quite a few needy artisans aar kokhono kokhono to a mere extent banglar kichhu purono sangoskritik oitijjhho-ke tule dhora chhara, theme er pujor pokhhopati ami atleast konodin hote parbo na. i mean, come on -- ghutey-koyla diye toiri durga thakur! eta mene neoaa jaay??? kintu eto kotha jokhon bollam-e, amar bola uchit somosto theme pujor uddoktara kintu okaron thematic festivity te biswas koren naa -- theme-er pujo holeo shohorer dokhhine shibmondir, badamtola ba bosepukur-er pujo gulor jothhesto charusommoto ekta appeal roechhe, karon taara kothao ekta nijeder bendhe niyechhe and they've never gone over the board.

sobkichhui ekhon brand aar ei brand Durga pujo celebration-e abal-bridhho-bonita -- sobai samil... tobe TV-te shalimar narkel tel ba thumbsup er pujo special advertisement-gulo pujor essence ta ekebarey bangali-r andarmahale pouchhe diyechhilo. "ei pran dhala utsab-e barbar... aalo asha, bhalo basha mishey ekakar"

bangalir baaro mashey tero parbbon niye besh cholchhilo... kintu seigulo baad diley... when it came to thinking about career opportunities, porashona seshe nijer paaye daranor upaay thahor kora -- shohor-takey khub boka mone holo. sobkichhu jano ekta jang dhora nongor-ey stalled hoe gechhe... taai agotta amar somobayoshi aneker moto, ekrokom bhaggyo jachai kortei onyo ekta shohore, sompurno onyo ekta jaygaay paliye gelam...

dubochhor management porakaleen amar prothom kolkata-r baire durga pujo... chhuti paini. emonki mone achhe, ashtami-r din du-duto porikhha chhilo. jehetu deshei chhilam aar fortunately bombay-poona-teo besh kichhu bengali association-er uddoge durga pujo hoy, dhaker awaj, sondharoti aar pujor bhog-ta puropuri miss korte hoyni. kintu coat-tie-er formal uniform-e ashtami-r anjali deoata ekta experience of a lifetime... anjali diye college-er pothey jete jete maa-ke ekta phone korechhilam... jani na kano gola-ta hothat dhorey esechhilo... khub kanna pachhilo... maa durga-r festive celebration-e nijer maa-er theke duure thaka-ta -- is seriously a pain, i tell U.

need less to mention, amar college-er bangali bondhuder haal-o amar-e moton. ichhe thakleo upaay nei. saradin college korey,  raat dupure sobai miley -- anek ta duure ekta pujo pandel-e jetam... tarpor temporary stall gulote bangali khabar kheye, majhraat obdi adda diye bari fera. firte hotoi, porer din abar porikhha je... tobe, there's no denying that kolkatar bairei hok, arr hajaaro ekta unwanted reservations-e hok bangalir hujug kintu kome naa...sebarer pujo ta chhilo notun bondhutter pujo... college-er onno department-er acquaintance ra hothat khub kachher bondhu hoye giyechhilo... ek bochhor agey release kora Anjan Duttar cinemar naam-ta amrai bodhoy jothajotho morjada diyechhilam... wherever you might be, the Bong Connection always binds U.

er porer bochhortaao pujote Kolkata firte parini. ekta documentary shoot korar ojuhaatey Bombay chole giyechhilam -- amar college-eri ek khub kachher bondhur barite. seo bangali kintu unlike me, entirely brought up in Bombay. tulonamulok-bhabey Pune-r theke anek beshi durga pujo hoy okhane. kakima-r haat-er ranna kheye aar edik sedik pandel e shoot kore besh mojatei ketechhilo sebar. Bombay te hiranandani ba lokhandwala-r pujo dekhle monei hobar jo nei je tumi kolkatar baire... sebarer pujoy 3-te jinis jante perechhilam -- i) manush sottie obbhesher dash karon eibar pujoy kolkata na firte pere ato ta mon kharap
hoyni ii) bangali jekhanei thakuk na kano, Durga pujo te hullor kora-ta taar mojjagoto aar iii) playback singer Abhijeet sudhu bhalo gaan-e gaay na, khub bhalo dhak-o bajay...

porashona sesh kore abar onno shohor... ebar dakhinatye. thikana Bangalore. bayos ta arektu bere gelo... concrete-er jangal-e bhora ei pora deshe shiuli phool fotey, kintu kothay taa amar jana nei. ashole ekhane toh aar cycle niye olite golite ghurey beranor sujog hoy naa. ekhon pujo-ta anek-ta onno rokom. ekhane pandel toirir kochi bansher gondho nei kintu TV-r bangla channelguloy pujor countdown achhe aar achhe pujor prostuti niye nanan rokomer program -- sesob guloi keeps us well informed "pujo aschhe"

ajkal nijer kota notun jama holo seta gonar theke, kaccher manushguloke koto beshi deoa gelo, taatey beshi moja hoy... taai kolkatay barir lokjoner jonyo kichhu na kichhu kiney pathate khub bhalo laagey... besh ekta boro hoe gechhi boro hoe gechhi habbhaab. aar echhara pujor dumash agey theke flipkart-e regularly chokh rakha-ta khub necessary -- kobe sharodiya sonkhagulo eshe jay -- haan, ekhono ami aar amar besh kichhu bondhura sharodiya anandamela-r jonyo wait kori... haatey peye gele hoyto Sunil Ganguly-ke criticize korteo chhari naa je ebarer Kakababu-r golpota thik jomlo naa ba goto dubochhor ager prochhod-ta ebarer tar theke anek better chhilo... bochhorer shurute calendar khuley sob theke prothome jeta dekhar seta holo Durga pujo-ta ebare ektao weekend-e porechhe kina -- tahole ektu chhutigulo allocate korte subidha hoy aar ki. tarpor kachher bondhu gulor sathe reeetimoto sincerely plan kora je kon bengali association-er pujo beshi bhalo ebong pujor kon din-ta amra kothay katabo, kobe kobe 6 Ballygunge Place ba Bhojohori Manna-y khabo aar kobe mondope bhog bitoroney haat lagabo. nijer jonyo kichhu kena hok ba na hok, ekta panjabi khub dorkar - se Ashtami-r anjalir jonyei hok ba Bijoya sammiloni-r onusthaney porte... kenakata, bhuribhoj, adda, abdar, prem, line diye anjali, atmiyo-porijonder duurobhashey pujor shubhechhe adan-prodan, facebook-e ekta pujor chhobir notun album upload kore bondhuder tag kora, ei sob niyei
kate ekhonkar pujo... aar, aschhe bochhor jokhon abar hobe i'll make sure je ami Kolkatay firboi ei ashay buk bandha...

anek kotha holo... anek pujor, anek chhobi -- anek smriti... chhoto theke boro hoe uthhte uthte amar durga pujo. anek din agey pora Robithakurer ekta kobitar koekta line khub mone porchhe...

"ashwinete pujor chhuti hobe
mela bosbe gajon tolar haatey
babar nouko koto duurer theke
lagbe eshe babugonjer ghatey
baba mone bhabbe soja suji
khoka temni khokai achhe bujhi
chhoto chhoto rongin jama juto
kiney ene bolbe amay "poro"
ami bolbo dada poruk eshe
ami ekhon tomar moto boro!"