I'll be back...

So finally its the last night at home before I leave for college, something that I eagerly look forward to on the first day back home and something that I least want to meet with as days pass by. I find it really hard to get it into me that I don't live at my home anymore; I'm just a guest that stays on for weeks or at times, a few months. I was wondering why, after one and a half years of being in college, my heart resides in Kolkata.

Kolkata, is not my birthplace, but it has the streets and faces and things and buildings I have known in my senses since childhood. There is something majestic about this city, that doesn't escape me or my thoughts. I find so much peace and comfort and love in every corner of this city. Be its people, be its streets, I love Kolkata. And for the next few days I'll probably be down with nostalgic feats. Though I am surrounded by people 24x7, somehow I feel very lonely.

I live in a place renowned for its scenic beauty. The sunrise from the Kanchenjunga peaks is a panoramic view beyond appreciation. The mountains, weather, rivers, all are so beautiful. But someway, I feel better to skip the sunrise and be in the bed for a few more hours. I love the heat of Kolkata. I love sitting by the Ganges and see the crowds of devotees, passengers and lovers. No, Kolkata is irreplaceable.

But I have to accept the fact that I'm not in my city. Well, I have kind of accepted the fact, and hence have survived the past one and a half years there. Reality is harsh. I repeat what I said in my last post. But somehow the dreams, daydreams and alcohol-spurred illusions keep alive this hope in me, that I am going to be back in Kolkata.

"Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things. And good things never die."

Goodbye to you my dear city and all its residents. I'll be back for sure, and real soon. Take care... :)

Alas! It's too late!!!

Life is so full of realities. So full that at some point, happiness must necessarily be derived from dreams, daydreams or illusions. I mean reality is harsh, really harsh. It hurts. At times I really wish that I could go back and re-live a few moments, and probably redress the issues. But I just cannot. This, I write with a realization of late; that once a person is hurt, its hard to restore the relationship back to what it was.

Anger is a negative virtue I have in me. Nothing on earth scares me, except the person I'm when blindfolded by anger. Issues were born out of thin air at times in the past. Its true that I am the one responsible for most of the reasons why people who hate/dislike me, do so. Now the point is, I haven't found a complete remedy to this malady in me. So it makes me think and retrospect a lot during the aftermaths of many of such sudden outbursts. And the only question I have after that has not yet been answered by me. Why does it happen?

I was very hurt today, not that I lost contacts with the many I did, but because the ones who refrained maintaining contacts with me still believe I don't love them. No, I love them, and what I ask from them is to give me one more chance, to talk to them and confess my mistake. All I want to tell them is I'm sorry.

But alas I'm too late. Almost everyone who is close to me, has been hurt. Some still believe in me. Some do not. So I live in daydreams and dreams. Illusion spurred by alcohol and weeds and smokes. But they are momentary. Yet, I feel they are good. At least I can smile for once.

Recently an incident touched me. I write this basically to apologize to him and thank him. From day one we met, he treated me like a brother. And after the incident last week, he still treats me as his brother. I was moved indeed that he didn't abandon me from his life altogether, though I had to go through a long long speech in return. I never apologized to him properly.

So, to you my dear brother, I'm sorry. And to all you my dear lost friends, I'm sorry. I know that the damned face of mine doesn't deserve to be back before you saying all this, but I hope that the heavens convey my apology to you. I love you all.

The Million-Dollar Question

A friend of late asked me question that quite caught me off-guard. The question is probably one of the most-asked ones in the world, at times colloquially, at times for fun, at times just for the sake of asking a question, but never seriously, or rather as seriously as I was asked. The unpreparedness hence, was quite obvious. The issue is one of the maladies of teenage years, an obsession sounds better though.

I'm in my last year of my teenage years. Now this was not just told to inform my readers of my age, but with a graver thought implied. The fact is I have lived my teenage years, more or less with the same thoughts and obsessions affecting my peace and harmony, as others'. Having lived through all this, I often had wanted to revisit my teenage years, once before I was twenty. And thanks to my friend, that question quite helped me with this share of nostalgia.

I, to be honest, was obsessed, time and again falling for the beauty of it and also for the fun in it, rarely because I had to fall in one. The truth is, I was never a desperate guy in this case. I had my issues and stories, but with age, as I grew up to live fuller and better moments, I felt it was better I burn them forever. But I preserved this papers till this recollection of mine. Thanks to him, I burnt the ones I cherished to revisit the most.

Now all of you might be thinking what the question might have been. Before I reveal the question, I will say something. That I have burnt all my past occurrences, doesn't mean I have run out of the desire of future occurrences. And I would prefer a colon P out here.

And the question was-"Have you made-out yet, Sir?"

(for all my readers but to a special person, the proper answer to whose question would be this.)

Happy Diwali and Bhatri Dwitiya to everybody...

God or Human???

Revolution is not a one-man task. Nor is it absolutely synonymous to honesty. And here is the catch : We need to make money enough to survive well in the world today. So, lately after going through a book, I have been weighing my chances in both revolution and being honest, with a goal in mind. I have to earn money. Look, people have different ways of putting it; some say they have to "stand on their own two feet, some say, i need to get a certain degree that betters my chances of survival in the job sector today, snd some just blatantly, yet straight-forwardly puts it as "earning moneyto survive."

Currently, I am a 2nd year B.Tect student. Its the time we are supposed to enjoy our college life the most, since we are in no fear of "ragging" and we have more than half of our college life left to give a proper damn to career prospects. But the world today has changed its thought process. So, sadly what I meant to say is, I have been thinking about how to make money, easily, where I should have been hanging-out with my friends. Sad, bu true. The thing that haunts me most is how am I going to survive in an India which produces millions of Engineers per year?

To be honest, I have planned on getting a MBA degree, if that sieves me out to the "more-qualifed" millions. But there is no such securtiy in the job sector today. Well, there is no guarentee of a proper tomorrow in the first place. Money is Power: that's the mantra of the practical world today probably. And sadly, in most of the huge success stories, if we dig in deeper, honesty is a virtue, least-valued for. You get your work done with hot cash near at hand, else, you are a part of the system. That enables you to wait infinitely for evrything almost with least desired results or as in most, NO RESULT. You can supress criticism and protest with money. You can buy love with money. Imagine, you can be a God!

Revolution is not a good idea to make easy money. When alone, you can do nothing about nothing. While dedication and hard is common to both the penny-paid ways and revolutionary ways, honesty demands a lot in the latter. Revolution, many will argue has happened already in our country. I say yes. But in particular fields only. There can be no voice raised against a long-bothering issue, that is probably the greatest enemy of India's development. Yes. Corruption. That's the easiest way of making money. Thanks to people up at the "top" the people last in the heirarchy of Capitalism suffers the most. I believe India too is changing towards it; Socailism remains to be just another clause in the Constitution.

So, what I really meant through all these conflicting ideas is, what should I do? Will B.Tech+MBA be enough to run things honestly enough to make enough money to survive, or do I have to "make" money? Should I use my intelligence to make money, or should I use it to be a part of the revolution? A "yes" to the previous will make me a God, while a "yes" to the latter, will make me a human. Should I be a God or a human? Should I earn everything, or should I leave a little for achievement?

I Wanted To See For Years...

The grass seemed greener that day. My joys knew no bound as I ran on the meadows; my bare feet were eager to touch the grass. The running didn't tire me at all. I ran and ran and ran, happy to feel the grass beneath, caress my feet. The heavens above roared and soon, as I had anticipated, it began to rain.

I have a habit of catching a cold easily, yet, I desired to run and not stop. My wet clothes stuck to my body and as the wind blew, a chilled shock-wave run across my spine. Yet I ran and ran and ran. I circled the meadows over and over again in joy. For a long time in many years, I could enjoy the monsoons the way I would have loved to. Every drop seemed so clear, as if I had never seen the heavens shower ever before. Not that there was anything special, but I wanted to see them for years...

I stopped finally panting for breath. But I wanted to let go of myself, and soon burst into a vocal recitation of one of the songs of Rabindranath Tagore, a person who was next to God in my life. "Bozromanik diye gatha, ashar tomar mala. Tomar shyamal shudhar buke, bidyuteri jwala!"(dedicated to the bengali month named Ashar, when the monsoons strike, the poet adresses the month saying that your garland is of thunderbolts, and you strike the bosoms of the flushing meadows). My joys knew no bound. I could see the different shapes of lightning. I wanted to see them for years...

The rain stopped finally after an hour or so. The field was filled with water almost an inch thick. Frogs seemed the happiest, yet I was happier than them to have seen the monsoons. The sun began to peep through the dark clouds, and soon enough, it was out, fully. It would have made me perspire in other days, but the rain had cooled the environment. I felt the coolness. But then I saw something that I had never seen before. There was a rainbow on the sky, just like I had learned when I was young. It was beautiful in its seven colors. I started from somewhere on the ground; I went near it, but never saw where it started. Yet, I was happy. I wanted to see it for years...

"Rohan! Rohan wake up! Its seven almost!"

I heard my wake up alarm. My hand searched for my glasses. I opened my eyes. It was raining outside. I wish I could see it. I reached my stick and breathed a deep breath. Under the breath, I hummed-"Bozromanik diye gatha, ashar tomar mala. Tomar shyamal shudhar buke, bidyuteri jwala!" I wanted to see for years...

Choice... Do I have one???

Though quite familiar to the word "choice," I am quite not privileged to have had one in my life until today. For long now, the thought of this has been haunting me, and quite often the cause of my furious outbursts. It almost makes me feel like a loser in life, who is not capable of taking decisions of his own that suits him the best. Do I have a choice?

From childhood, I had been under strict parenting, which I presume is good to discipline a child. Young and almost ignorant of the world outside, the choices of my parents would be final, and rightly so. Academics being given the prime-most importance in our family, examples of "good-boys" would quite be restricted within people who have excelled academically. Back then, success would quite be synonymous to being the best boy in my class, and that was invariably topping the score-sheets during the terms. But, since childhood, I was brought up under two ideologies. While my school forced on education, at home, it was just books. While books at schools had no boundaries, books at home every time, found the fence. I still remember being beaten up by my dad for borrowing books from my school library for the sixth week consecutively. That was one of the most important things that made me master the art of lying. I don't regret the fact that I can lie well and confidently, but I hate the fact that I lie too much. From petty issues to important ones, I live with lies.

There is a time at the fag end of your schooling where you have to decide upon your career choices. Art, in every form has always found a special place in my heart. Yes, I wanted to be an artist. My love for music is as much as my love for literature, and even today I act like a crazy when I visit bookstores and music-shops. But I was given two "choices" and quite soon, I was left with one. Engineering, A guy who works well with logic and numbers is destined to be an engineer, at least that's what I was told. I too was a coward back then. I would have loved to continue with biology, but it was totally omitted from my choice list of subjects, as being a doctor, it takes long years to have recognition. I didn't complain back then. But today, I just can't help but do so.

Yes, once again I re-assure you all, my dear friends, that I was a coward back then. And looking back to regret and whine, I am no less than a loser. Yes indeed, my life is scarred by lies, or rather, camouflages. But no more of it. I have decided and I am firm on it. Before I go on to the next paragraph, I would seize the opportunity to apologize to my dad, that I couldn't be the "good boy" he wanted me to be.

Today when I took a decision about my higher studies, I was told that I am ignorant of the world outside and the market conditions. Yet I was assured on the other hand that nothing was being forced upon me. The ways differ as we grow up; the obvious dislike said it all. I was most foolish to have not done what I wanted to do, but enough of it. I will stand on my own two feet. I don't know how much having a "branded tag" counts in my case, because I'm happy with simple things. True that comfort never eluded me since childhood, but again, I wish not to fly on my father's wings. I prefer poverty, for poor people know what is it not to have things one needs, near at hand.

Today, I made the first choice of my life. And that is to be honest with myself, which till date, was jeopardized by the thoughts of being beaten by leather belts and slippers. I am no alien to those. There would be hatred in his eyes, and pain inflicted would be inhuman. While the shouts allured him to land one more blow, there was someone who sympathized with me, and mostly took the rest to bail me out of it. If not for anybody else, I'll do it for her. Today, pain, failure, I have been through it all, and I know I have lot more left to go through, especially when I chose to dedicate my life to the seven notes. But for once, nothing stopped me from doing what I wanted to do. Yes, finally I am happy. Also, I love you, mom...

Music...

My parents have been really troubled of late, concerning my total disregard of the rituals of "my" religion. I showered curses while climbing a long plight of about 300 steps, which "Hindu" people from all around the world come and climb willingly to have a "glimpse" of one of the numerous deities, and hence I should ditto them. As a result of that, I received a "curse" from "Him/Her" for my behavior in the form of getting a deep cut on my right hand... There have many more of such incidents of late. My belief in God and my being a "Hindu" has been of public debate in the family.

In this post, I'll clarify and justify why I did all that I did. Also, will introduce you to my religion, in which I believe I don't go astray from what the Gita or the holy scriptures of our religion says. To begin with, I had always wondered and questioned with equal awe, the extents that people could reach in search of God. They can traverse rough, long miles, barefoot. They can climb heights high. They can conquer the vast waters. And all these and many more, in search of God! And God? The clay-made, bronze-made, gold-made, silver-made, platinum-made idols? The funniest thing that has been intriguing me since my childhood is that, people know how God looks! All the flowers that we offer at the idol's feet, reached the Gods in heaven! I wonder and can't do a thing more than wonder...

Durga Puja is one of the most important "festivals" of the bengalees. Indeed, the word puja that follows the name of the deity is of little or no significance at all. We don't worship, do we? We have Brahmins having special training in the "Art" of worshiping, who have mugged a few lines in Sanskrit doing the "puja" and all the rest, go about pandal-hopping. It is indeed when people get to wear new clothes. The rich clear their wardrobe for the poor, and then buy a couple for themselves(so much so that they have a new set every morning and evening of the days of "puja"). It is also a time for reunion for many. As for the worship bit, all we do is repeat the lines in Sanskrit after the specially-trained Brahmins, and that is indeed all we do.

My questions arise. Is God residing in those religious spots only? Are Brahmins the only people who have the right to pray? My questions have never been answered. God to me is one, and omnipotent. Religion to me is one that binds every human being together. From my views, "Hindu" people do have every right to socially sideline me and curse me, but I got some answer for them too. No, I'm not the atheist that does not believe in the existence of God. No I'm not that agnostic that is unsure of God's existence either. I do have a religion.

I worship music. It is my religion, it is my God. It is present in every corner of the world, among people of every caste, creed, sect, sex and "religion." Music has its kind, its types. But music in a word covers all its varieties. Its speaks to people. the different tunes and ragas, have different emotions. Music, though comprises seven notes, and nothing beyond, is infinite. It is omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent. It understands people, people understand it.

I don't find that inner peace of praying, or the satisfaction of completeness, or even the peace of mind at a religious spot, but every time I touch the six-strings despite all the pains in my finger, and utter the notes my heart feels to utter, I feel detached from everything on earth. Life, death, mirth, sorrow, none affects me. I can feel, i can dream, i can love, i can hate, i can laugh, i can weep, all when I sing. That is the way my God listens to me. That is the way my fellow human beings listen to me. Yes, that is my religion, that is my God. And that is music...