‘Fair’ is not that 'foul' after all!

Suddenly ran down the memory lane! Remember an essay you used to write, in those nascent years of school: ‘A Visit to a Fair’, or ‘Ekti melar avigyata’? For me the alluring part of the ‘mela’ has been the gilepis and the shingaras (samosas never taste good, shingaras do: “shingara re shingara, tor je dekhi shing khara!”) The stuffing, the deeply fried crunchy exterior … yummy! Food, I mean, has always been my thought for life. And as I visited the 36^th Kolkata Book Fair, the thought revived in me. Yes, you can satisfy your taste buds to the core at this fair. Apart from the Anandas, the Mitra and Ghoshes, the Penguins and the Projapotis, one food stall that has attracted me always and perhaps most of my friends here would acknowledge, is Ben-Fish. The batter fried fish, or the prawn pakoras, chilli fish or the fingers; I have adored dipping them in the sauce and lick my fingers till I went for a second serving. I missed my stall this time. The failure to locate a Ben-Fish stall was like, damn! Why did I join the crowd here? Okay, there’s no queue at the entrances for the tickets, okay, we are getting ‘free’ water pouches and hoarding them in our bag-packs, okay, there seems to an organized surveillance, okay, the traffic is too perfectly controlled t be true in Kolkata, so what? I still I missed my ‘butter’ fry! ;) You can never keep a Bengali away from a plate of biryani or junkies.. and after a tiring visit to well, yes, three stalls, we headed to the food court, devouring sheikh-kababs and luchi-kosha mangsho, and a few cups of very badly brewed cardamom tea. I admit that these days I am not reading much and finally I have been forced to hear this truth and have been severely penalized by my friends: they did not buy me any!

The most rewarding part of course in the day has been a glimpse at the crowd. Here are a few snippets. A newly fallen-in-love guy asked his beloved to go out for stall-hopping and the demure charm in the eyes of the girl resisting her lover’s wish yet simultaneously tempted to go, caught my attention. What was more interesting was another girl, perhaps a friend of the beloved here, encouraged the boy to take her out, inspite of her denials. Love blooming at the book fair, on a Saraswati puja day didn’t go unnoticed. An old man on his crutches, accompanied by his wife, came to the fair for a few particular books and it was very evident that he found it very difficult to walk through the busy crowd. Yet, his love for books did not hinder his struggle; he made his way to reach his stall and perhaps, he had got his books too. A little boy, hardly ten, had been graced with only one book this time and his constant wailing for a few more had not gone well with his parents. The ever-complaining mother, however, could not be convinced.

Local labor and daily wages. Remember the summer jobs hunts after the final days of school? I tried. Spent some fifty bucks for preparing a CV and applied at cafes and book shops. Yes, the western notion had not been of much help, yet I never gave up. Anyways, at one of the stalls, I came across two boys, who were both in the eleventh standard and had taken a part time assignment at the stall till the fair is over. Eavesdropping. No harm in it, right? “Taka chai boss, kichhu taka” is all I could decipher as the substance of their conversation, as they devoured their snacks standing at a corner of the stall.

“Boi dakchhe boi” and the theme song, (yes, Shantanu Moitra, Kaushiki Desikan and Monali Thakur again!) acted as a ‘parfait’ (am in that French-Italian mood this night. Hangover, you can say) background score for the book lovers. Going through the pages of a new book and then enamored with the fresh faint fragrance of the pages, I realized there were so many fictions that were being written around me. Some stories that can only touch your chord deep inside and you can feel the goodness around, the ability of the common crowd to absorb the little happiness disregarding everything else. ‘Mela’, surely unites. It unites friends, as in my case, it unites the book-worms with their coveted books; it unites foodies with platters of delicious cuisines. It unites souls: the one who bumped on me and said ‘sorry’, the man at the tea-stall who, smilingly said, ‘khuchro deben du taka please’ or the woman who came to us and said ‘ei prothom Japan’er stall hoechhe, bhetore dekhun’ are all strangers to me. The warmth mattered. The stories of the lovers, the old man, the little boy or two friends working at the stall have all united under one roof at the ‘Milan Mela’ complex to write narratives of their own. I am a bad writer and perhaps, a worse narrator. Just wanted to share the fictions that I witnessed. To wrap up, keeping in tune with the theme this year, ‘perdonatemi’ for my writing, it is just an attempt to capture moments. It is an attempt to feel good.

aPARAJITA tUMI!

A two year ‘gap’, a beautiful story, two dazzling ladies, heart-wrenching musical score, stunning photography, restrained performances. Yet, I wonder if he still could be called “Aparajito Anirudhdho”!
“Aparajita Tumi” is a tribute to women (an adaptation of Sunil Ganguly’s ‘Dui Naari Haathe Torobari’). The two ladies in the film, Padmapriya and Kamalinee are ravishing. Roy Choudhury’s female leads are rare gems. After “Antaheen’s” Radhika Apte, here we have another dusky beauty Padmapriya (an interesting combination of Mahie Gill and Tabu), who carries the entire film on her shoulders. Kamalinee’s Ushashee with her ‘hour-glass figure’ adds to the nuances of this relay-tion-ship story! Prosenjit is good, Chandan Roy Sanyal rehearsed but stands out in his void. Indraneil Sengupta in his cameo as Yusuf (with Bangladeshi accent) is sensitive. The film comes closer to “Dosar” in its treatment of the extra-marital affair and Kuhu (Padmapriya) returning to her ailing husband and attending him is an echo of Kaberi and Kaushik. But does she forgive him like Kaberi does?
The opening sequence with the roaring waves acts as a prelude to the emotional turbulence of the characters involved. And as the story proceeds we delve deep into the psyche of the characters and it is perhaps here that the film starts to falter. The lack of prominent action hampers the pace of an otherwise adroitly directed venture. Relationships are ‘prolonged intrusions’ comment Pradeep and Ushashee, and perhaps the director wants his audience to soak up the flavors of passions, pains, desires and choices in this two-hour ‘roopkatha’.
The striking and repetitive metaphors of the bridges and the ‘Mind-the-gap’ conversation are amazingly collaged, and so apt is Ronojoy’s (Sanyal) “A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!” But the triumph, definitely, is of the brave queens, even if one apparently loses the battle and leaves the battlefield, and the other succumbs to her circumstances and prepares to fight her own on the home-front. What was striking was the portrayal of Anish (Kalyan Roy) and his search for home-land. The director merges several complex issues, personal as well as political, in the film and attempts a lyrical montage on screen.

BEDROOM, BOREDOM!

It credits Tagore for his "Additional lyrics" and 'Mayabono Biharaini' is wasted as it gets veiled behind the conversation of the three friends. There was no reason to keep the song in the film,sung, not with the same conviction as her earlier rendition, by 'jagorone' Somlata. Apart from this what 'Bedroom' offers is consistent boredom! Apart from few capturing one liners like "Amar theke expectation? ami to C.P.M." and "Bangla serial benche acche ma-mashi-manusher jonno" put in the mouth of Rahul, the only man to watch out for, the film has just nothing new to offer. Relationships?? Haven't we seen this and heard that before? and how many times? We have a director who wants to make his audience laugh at the contemporary Bengali cinema, politics, journalist ethics and Tagore, and unfortunately fails miserably! Even a forced cathartic effect in the end fails to arouse either pity or fear. What my fellow audience took as a laughathon in the first half turned out to be yawnathon post interval. Should I pity the director, or live in fear for his next release?!
No, I should have stayed back in my Bedroom instead and enjoyed 'furfure ek roder jonmodin'.

My life, my ways…

Change, we all know, is the only constant in our lives. Be it in our personal or professional fronts, socio-political, economic fronts, change is inevitable. However, I always thought that no matter what comes, few things in my life will never change. Kolkata is my city, a place where my heart resides, a city that has given me newer dimensions to my life and bestowed upon me such warmth that I have been looking for. I never thought I would move away from the city.

But change was in the offing. And I had no forecast that my life would change overnight. Criticisms and applauses alike, I had to soak in the opinions of all those who matter in my life. I always think I have that Hamlet-ian streak in me! “To be or not to be” has been my question since, well, when? Finally when I decided that I would move to Delhi, (after weeks of sleepless nights, after brooding over thoughts that if I did, I have to say good bye to the secured monthly salary cheque!), I was more than happy and I still do not know what made me so happy. I knew myself to be someone who loves to play safe. Things have always happened to me the way I wanted to. Graduation, post-grads, M.Phil academics was where my heart was and years went by as I moved on from one rung of the ladder to another. What could have been a perfect life for a middle-class (no class-ist connotation that is!) Bengali like me, my job went on to become my nightmare. I shuddered at the thought of going to the school I was working and by and by I found it to a lackadaisical attempt. I am not a socialist was not meant to be! I still love the children there, but perhaps I love myself a little more. And lo! In a month’s time, I delivered my resignation and today I am here, in the capital, where am still looking for my “dil” to acknowledge this city, “dilwalon ka shahar”, Dilli.

It would me wrong to say, am not liking it. It has everything, well almost, that one craves for a good life. Amidst the humdrum, what I miss is my short adda sessions over a cup of tea or an orange-mint julep at Dolly’s or a cup of café latte at CCD or my Saturday nights at Oly pub or Someplace else, or just going around the city in a cab, or a dip in the Ganges. And yes I miss Bangla movies and my favorite haunt, Fame cinemas at Highland Park.

Yesterday, I was at the market and people flocked to the nearby paan-wala for a sachet of “sikhar”. Suddenly, I knew wherever you arethings are at their own places, for few things never change like the road-side cigarette shops and the eternal need for sikhars. So no complaints, no Hamletian dilemma, let life happen to me, and let me happen to life… after all, zindagi na milegi dobaara….

"staccato"!

This piece is dedicated to the one who, like a spark, suddenly ignited in me, my long lost urge of writing for my blog. A year has passed. My blog still remains unwritten, unread. I started it so that I could capture the sensitive essences of the slices of my life in this city. But I could never do justice to my blog. So here I am again with a vulnerable decision to start afresh.

The last year has been quite interesting. I have attained newer heights. I have received so much from life. But this year started off on a wrong note. Avishek passed away. And I still find it untrue. I am unnerved at every thing I do since it reminds me of him. I have had my best days of my life in college. And he was undoubtedly one of the reasons for making those three years so special. We had spent a week in Vizag in August 2003. I have my most memorable moments there. He was (disgustingly past tense) a critic par excellence. I had never been criticized so vehemently in my entire life. Miss his criticisms, miss his presence.

I don’t know exactly what I have to write today. In the midst of this chaotic city life, I am still unmoved. People, like race horses, galloping. No one dares to remain static. Money matters, a good life does. To be honest, I have fallen in love with my work. It gives me a chance to see the ‘other’: the kind of life any city man or a woman would dread to think of, where ambition finds an entirely different dimension, where children play and do not think of their home-works for the next day, where people work yet they are contented with what they have, never asking for more. Satisfaction comes easily. What is required perhaps is the mindscape. The mind, we know, makes a hell of a heaven or a heaven of a hell, and this is what we fail to comprehend. Life is all worth living with all its hurdles and Avishek’s departure again deepens my belief. Do what you feel to do, remain satisfied with what you have achieved. However, it does not mean that I’m against the hardworking, ambitious creed, but I want to be happy above everything else.

Saturday Saga...

If a movie arrives, can Dibbo be far behind?

A limp and crepe, and a craving heart,

Decided to begin anew, stir up my soul and mind.

A soul stirring saga and a magical man,

Disrupted in parts but yet a director can,

"copy" a few and make a very new,

Visually stunning choreographed piece,

Pathos and humour, blended with equal ease.

And ah! those eyes and the dancing steps,

With a new face Aditya and Aish's subtle pace,

A splendid first half and a wrenching plea,

With a running time of 140 minutes, it's a movie to see!

For all those who crib 'bout Sophia's red lips,

And a room almost like Sabyasachi's store,

I ask, bring few examples, bring few more

Of films that make poetry of senses.

Get rid of reviewing with biased lenses.

And see what a magical man can do,

With his poise and his stoicism too.

For I liked it and yes there were flaws,

But moments make a film, and although no laws,

Legalize mercy killing and deny Ethan's wish,

But for love and for Art’s sake and for a sensory trip,

I recommend, for once, do watch Guzaarish.

The auto driver is in no hurry. Nor are the passengers. Life at some places, creeps like a snail. As if for them tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow never comes. They live the “here and now”. An old woman is standing in the middle of nowhere with two small children, one a boy and another, a girl, and a young woman accompanying them. The auto can not accommodate all of them but she insists the driver to stop and tells him that only she will board. The driver is happy because he gets another passenger. The lady takes a lot of trouble to board the auto, being such an aged person that she is. The driver says, “ebar jai?” The lady smiles and says, “ektu dara baba.” The driver waits. The lady takes out her purse, unzips it and out of that purse comes out another small pouch. She opens it and takes out few ten rupee notes. Everyone is watching her. She does everything with so much care! Then she hands out a twenty rupee note to the boy, and two ten rupee notes to the girl, who are standing for a long time. The children smile and that brings a satisfying smile to the lady. The driver says, “dida, holo nati natni ke poisha deoa?”, and smiles. The lady replies in affirmative. The auto moves on. And so do we..

Panopticon was designed by Jeremy Bentham in 1785. It is a prison building which allows the observer to observe, without letting the subjects know that they are being seen. The details, well,you can Google!!

I like observing the world around me, the nuances of it and the ever changing, ever constant city Kolkata.

My effort is to note down the throbbing, pulsating and living history of the people whom I come across everyday. In its beauty and ugliness alike, I would endeavor to capture glimpses of the city and its essence, and the slices of my life too, enmeshed in the humdrum of the daily routine.

Cheers!!