Super-annuated That

Happy Birthday to Us.

I remember the 12th August a year before... I also remember the 12th August the year before that...the afternoon which was dedicated to a part of That, that was called No-one Special...I remember writing down the early thoughts of my day...which at that point of time used to linger around me throughout the span of an entire day...my early thoughts were all that I thought about...and then came in the better-half of this blog---This... the very thought brings a smile on my face...the long discussion on names...the write-up on the introduction...the page set-up...everything...the year was fantastic!

The 12th August a year before was a celebration of our achievements...without any readers though...we managed to inspire each other pretty well...however how much I got inspired remains to be Questioned...somehow I had lost my words which I have already said in my earlier post...may be my inspiration lay somewhere else...may be my inspiration was not into me anymore...may be I had changed too much...rather I have changed too much.

So today I say sorry..only and only to my better-half...I have loved you more than I have ever loved this blog...the day you asked me to destroy it I had decided that day that I am going to do this sooner or later and then I thought of this day... I know I have disappointed you but I truly cannot do this anymore.

Today being more sorry than I can ever express I tell u THIS that I call it Quits.
I retire.


P.S: I promise to come back every year to wish us Happy Birthday and I shall follow this blog very regularly if you choose to keep writing because This may love that and That may love this but This and That always love each other.

This might be stupid but who cares???

I don't.

You know what I don't care about?

I don't care about the fact that I haven't written for months...I don't care about the fact that I have totaly lost touch and to tell the truth don't even know what I am going to write but here I am..writing...YES!! I am writing and thats the most important part.



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They wished me last night. Many of them. They wished that my new year would be a great one and I have all my wishes fulfilled. But they ignored my very first wish.

I wished that the year doesn't end. Its not that my year was a fantastic one. I mean,yes, there are a few fantastic things that happened this year and the way round as well.

But the one thing that I realized the most this year is that it hurts...it hurts to leave the old times behind...and it hurts the most when old time leaves you behind.

It hurts. Really does.

Wild at Heart

"Just ask your brother no,Goddammit!"
"I can't..."
"Now what does that suppose to mean,Oindree?"
"Guddu,I can't possibly sit down and type so much."
"Why exactly can't you do that?"
"I just don't visualize myself doing that..."And so it ended.
That was it.
Nothing more was left to be said or done.
She didn't visualize it and that meant it won't happen.
This is one person who has an exceptional foresight.She can't possibly tell you what is going to happen but if she doesn't VISUALIZE something then it rarely happens.Luckily (or unluckily) she visualized me to be her friend.One such friend whom she meets once in a year and at times doesn't talk to for months at a stretch but calls up when she is standing alone in the bus-stand just to say,"Its so damn hot in Kolkata..whats up in Kalyani?"She watches the Moon at night while doing Differential Calculus.She doesn't eat Fuchka from the roadside vendors.She likes Shahrukh Khan and plays the Violin (Oh the way she plays it!).People at restaurant stand up just to get a better look at her when she starts laughing .She keeps the water running in the bathroom so that nobody can hear her sobs,when she cries.She doesn't miss school even for a day ("This is my last year in school...I can't stay without going to school.") She gets angry when people take her Lunch-box away.She thinks that the Moon in Kalyani is brighter than that in Kolkata and she writes....

'Being able to do what you want to do' and names it 'Wild at Heart".

When you were busy....

Have you ever heard the dew drops falling on leaves?
A very rare sound to hear but if you get to hear it on a cold January night you’ll know why I’m writing this post.

You are busy with something…engrossed in some stupid work may be and you hear this first few drops and suddenly you feel like coming out of a trance and you’re relaxed. Your mind lets go of all the tiring thoughts, releases you of your duties and responsibilities and you just listen to that tip…tip…tip…feeling yourself as the dew, being lowered from leaf to leaf with every single drop and you feel as if you are back home---to the gentleness of your mother’s care, the depth of her love, the feeling of languor in her arms and the wetness of her kiss. The sound has an atonal melody to it which releases you of all the atavistic ways of life.

Your eyes gets closed by themselves but you can feel the surrounding with every breath you take---the chilly air, the calmness, the soft tip-tip through the penetrating silence and you can feel yourself glow with bliss. Through the velvety darkness you can almost visualize the sparkling drop of dew; soaking your senses and leaving a minty refreshment spreading like venom through every capillary, every nerve of your body making you burst out in bloom waking you up from your sleep like a new-born flower bud.

And somewhere inside, you know that the world is, after all, not such a bad place to live in.

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By the way Happy New Year readers…from you know…This and That and a few others may be :)

Christmas...as it was

"Baba...Baba..."


One deafening yell...then a crash...and I was on the floor,wrapped in a bundle...quilt,pillows, bedsheet n et al.


The whole house came running.
“What happened?” Baba asked, pulling me up through all that mess.
“He came. He actually came again this year. See I got my gifts. Cake, biscuit, a book and a letter.” I smiled.
Baba smiled too. So did Ma. We all smiled on the Christmas morning.


Christmas is there for that only, right? Its there to make you smile.

When you believe in the fairytale, you smile because your faith is true and when you don’t, then also you smile to the memories…and that faith stored up at some corner of your loyal heart which soon fills your entire mind and sets your imagination free…and ultimately brings a smile on your face.


Fortunately or unfortunately,I always used to get the same gifts from Santa every year…a cake, a packet of Britannia Good day, a book and a letter. The letter was the most fascinating part. Santa knew everything that I did year round and he wrote to me about that. He gave me innovative ideas about how to be all the more naughty…he asked me to be good…to love…believe and most of all he asked me to be happy. He also used to request a reply. I used to reply as well. And not knowing where to post it I ended up handing it over to Ma who always used to know where to find him.
Christmas was definitely a lot of fun...always.


It must have been class-III…the last time Santa ever wrote to me…and I never replied.



May be the child in me had started to doubt or the adult in me had started to grow up…what ever it might have been…I recognized Santa’s handwriting.

It was Baba. He had written the letter to me.
I was shocked, disappointed and hurt.

Hurt beyond imagination because not only was my Santa just fake but he also did not exist. He was simply not there. Not in my house…not in someone else’s house stuck up in a chimney…not in his factory at the North Pole. He just wasn’t there. Nowhere.The child in me lost its unadulterated faith and gained access to the world of doubts, disbelief and rationality.




It was hard to let Santa go... but as years passed…I realized that I don’t need to let go of him…rather I cant let go of him…because at some corner of my heart I’m still grateful to that bearded old man with his huge belly, red dress, reindeers, guffaws, elves and promises to return the next year, for making me imaginative and believing. For making me love, smile and happy. I am grateful to him because he actually taught me the lessons of life as I’d have preferred them. I love him because he kept his promise each year and came back to collect that piece of paper full of spelling mistakes and grammatically incorrect sentences or phrases..whatever you might call it...I love him because he never left me.

P.S:I never replied to him after that little discovery part…but however now…I really wish he would write to me one last time…I promise I'd reply.

Things meant to be broken...

"I don't like milk Dadu...I promise I'll have anything other than that."

"That wretched teacher,she deliberately failed me..but next time..You just see Baba.Promise!"

"Ma,please let me go.Its our match today...please! Please please please please PLEASE!I promise I'll be back by sunset."

"Come on Chhordabhai,let me have a look at your cell...I promise I'll be careful."

"Promise Gopal,I'll wash my hands before eating."

"I swear Memo,I practice maths everyday."

"Leave aside smoking like Tatun,Oindree..I won't even touch a cigarette.Promise!"

"Promise Tatun,I'll never tell Oindree that you smoke."

"Bubla...hang up now..I promise I'll call you back."

"I'll never get angry with you Puchi...Promise."

"You just get well soon Guruji..I swear I'll not give up dancing."

"Promise :)"

"I'm there..always...Promise."

Independence Day

I was in Class-IV.

Returning home from school after celebrating Independence Day with much Pomp and Grandeur, I was shouting a lot about the love I have for my country and Independence (etc.).

Baba was reading the newspaper in the drawing room, Ma was trying to concentrate on a recipe book she had taken out from Dinna's trunk and I was--- shouting!

Baba called me, took me on his lap and kept his left hand on my head. I stopped. The calmness in his touch always did that to me. I was pacified and rested on his chest.

"You know, Gurai," Baba spoke, while his hands caressed me, "we are not independent."

A stunned me sat straight. As the words sunk in, I turned to face him.
"How can that happen? That's not true. Big Aunty said,' We are free. We are independent.' She said..."
"You are independent only when you realize your responsibilities and are responsible for your actions. We Indians, neither realize our responsibilities nor do we acknowledge them."
"But Big Aunty..."
"Remember what I said." Baba smiled. His hands still caressing me.

I was in Class-VI.

Baba was admitted in a nursing home in Salt Lake. Both the transplanted kidneys had failed once again. He used to go mad with pain after dialysis. His hands and legs were tied so that he was not able to throw them.

Nobody was there in the room. Just me and Baba.

Baba's hands tied. I was standing at the window, looking at the setting sun over the Salt Lake Stadium. I turned around. A drop of tear was rolling down Baba's cheek. I went up to him and brushed it off.

Baba smiled.

"Gurai,will you do a job for me?" I was running my index finger on the veins coming out on Baba's hand. I nodded. "Take care of Ma, Gurai. Don't ever leave her alone."

I was in Class-VII. It was three months Baba had died. One night Ma suddenly started howling in her sleep. She was crying for Baba. She was shouting. Her whole body was shaking uncontrollably. I held her tightly to my heart, wrapping her around with my arms, continuously whispering in her ears, "Its okay Ma. Its okay. I'm here." Kissing her on the forehead, shouting in my mind for help, for Baba. Ma was calming down. I was holding her. She fell asleep. I was still holding her.

Baba had said, "You are independent only when you realize your responsibilities and be responsible of your actions." Just realizing is not enough, no Baba? Just being with her when she cries is not enough.... I fight with her Baba. I make her angry. I get angry with her. I spend a lot more time with my friends, books and other accessories than I do with her. But I'm with her Baba.

All the time---like the Jasmine you planted--wrapping, climbing and growing up along that Cherry tree.

Early thoughts of the day....

Everyday when I wake up in the morning,the first thing I do is---CURSE everyone around... Why the hell do we have to get up in the morning? Why can't we get up in the afternoon? Okay, may be not in the afternoon but at least not before 10 to 10:30...Please!

But no point telling all this because everyone...starting from my Ma,my tuition teacher,even our milkman (HariDa) have the time to lend me a ear only and only (one last time please!) and ONLY in my dreams..which I usually have just before Ma pulls me out of my bed. Okay, I get pulled down,shouted at and then dragged into the bathroom.(Sigh!)

Everyday (when I say everyday I mean EVERYDAY), since time immemorial, while brushing my teeth, this mesmerizingly STUPID thought comes to my mind---"How do the Tigers and the Lions manage without brushing their teeth? And if they can manage without that Close-Up, Binaca,Oral-B and stuff then WHY do we take so much pain?"

However,before you start judging my mental condition lets proceed further.

I remember not many years ago,but a long time back I used to walk around in our garden,early in the morning,with the toothbrush in my mouth (chewing its bristles so very badly that it had to be changed every 15 days),stepping on all the dewdrops that I could see on the diamond-studded grass,may be standing under a over-grown shrub for a while and then again moving away,attracted by a Red Ladybird beetle with black polka dots all over.


Ma used to shout at that time also. But I never got bored. I always enjoyed it. Even if it ultimately led to a resounding slap,a blood-curdling glare or just an exasparated sigh. Now I just get bored.

Things were New then. Most of it is New still now( How much have I seen or known?), but still the fact that I can Actualy KNOW,LEARN,JUDGE and DECIDE is not New anymore,which at times leads to--BOREDOM. (Sigh!)

I KNOW Ma will shout, I've LEARNT why she shouts, I've JUDGED her reasons for shouting and I've DECIDED that no matter what, I simply LOVE her shouting. Somethings should always remain unchanged. (Smile!)

But however, the Red Ladybird beetle with black polka dots all over does not attract me anymore. May be because I know WHY its there or may be just because I know it'll always be there.I don't go out to my garden anymore. It'll always be there as well. Nothing is new about it.Even the NEW rosebud isn't new enough.

But its not the rosebud's fault. Its my mindset. Our mindset.

We are now in the INFORMATION AGE, where you are supposed to be INFORMATIVE. You'll KNOW what you are supposed to KNOW...you need to KNOW and are asked to KNOW. You know anything more than that and people start calling you a failure.

Nobody 'knows' for the pleasure of knowing. Nobody 'knows' for the excitement of knowing.Everybody knows just for the HECK of knowing.

The new rosebud (without a new air about it) is not in my syllabus for the Half-Yearly Examination.So why should I know about it?Why should I know that the Red Ladybird beetle WITH BLACK POLKA DOTS ALL OVER ("Not again!") has a new neighbour,the Mustard-colour Moth?

Why should you know my Early Morning Thoughts?

But then again if all the Questions had Answers and No-one also had useful work like Everyone then things would have been Quite Different... rather Very Different.