MY MEDIOCRE MIND MEANDERS MEANINGLESSLY

IIMB 2008

2008-04-06T05:45:00.000-07:00

IIM Bangalore 3rd April
My self-appraisal: GD and writing: 7/10 PI 7/10

GD: Case-based, on a municipality with a failed dog-neutering programme starts killing stray dogs…

PI: 2 young panelists He: panel Me: yours truly

HE: Sayan, chairta edike tene aano please
Me: hyan sir
HE: Durgapur e kothay bari?
Me: blah
He: baba kothay aachen?
Me: blah
HE: So, did your father ever suspect as to why you stayed in a hostel and were not a day scholar?
ME: I never did anything to displease him!
He: why 7.7? What were you doing? Oh ok... you said you did nothing... This is tough, since nothing is impossible to do!
Me: My CG slumped in 2nd and 3rd years, as I did not put in that much effort, but lifted it in final year in spite of an experimental project
He: but everyone has projects!
ME: Yes of course, I also took part in dramatics, quiz and literary events, but as for CG, I should have studied harder!
He: but even those activities do not take up the entire year!
Me: At leisure, saw movies, read fiction and non-fiction, wrote
He: ha ha... How many movies could you possibly see in a day?
Me: at least one!
HE: so you want to do PhD later… (Read out last sentence of my Statement of purpose)
Me: yes of course sir
He: how many years do you want to work before pursuing a PhD?
Me: seven sir, maybe ten
He: but you could well be 40 when you turn a permanent faculty… and others will be 10 years younger!
Me: that does not matter sir, I feel this way will work well for me
He: why not a PhD now, then?
Me: sir I do not feel I am ready for it at this moment…
He: but PhD hardly requires readiness!
Me: I would rather have a feel of the industry before taking that big step
He: why did not you apply for MS then?
Me: management always interested me, and MBA offered much more to be learnt vis-à-vis MS in, say, manufacturing management
He: yes, and with CGPA of 7.7 top universities would have eluded you
Me: yes difficult maybe
HE: did you write CAT last year?
Me: yes sir, an aggregate of 99.89 %ile, but 85 %ile in DI undid me
He: what happened now?
Me: total of 100.00 %ile, and I turned around that DI thing very well this time around
He: so you are a 100 %iler, good!
Me: thank you, sir!
He: so you really want to teach after PhD?
Me: I know that the industry option will be always open, but I am eager to explore the new possibilities arising out of a career in research and academics. Yes, I would rather be a teacher!
He: Which industry will you prefer working in post-MBA?
Me: I have worked in manufacturing, albeit for a very short time, but I am sensitized to the challenges here... I would give preference to this sector, but I should not decide so early
He: so you read, and also took part in quizzes
Me: yes I like to remain updated
He: which papers and magazines do you read?
Me: the times of India, the economic times, the economist and desh
He: ok, say one business issue of recent times which we all know about
Me: (STUPID OF ME TO DIG MY GRAVE) stock market crash
He: what is a crash?
Me: blah
He: why do prices fall?
Me: blah
HE: how do you calculate share market index?
Me: derived from share values of certain companies
He: so if we integrate the index value, we get back those individual share values? (Roll of laughter)
Me: free-float index, use of weightages
He: show us how that weight is assigned
Me: depends on the quantum of liquid resources (again laughed heartily)
He: tell me ONE thing you are confident about!
Me: why go far, my project Nano
He: started a tirade against Tata cars, and Nano in particular (2 minutes, relentless)
Me: defended my organization, and underlined my role in quality management system
He: ok, over... You may leave!
Me: thank you!

IIMA 2008

2008-04-06T05:43:00.000-07:00

IIM Ahmedabad 17th March
My appraisal: Writing ability: 8/10 PI 8/10

NOTE: IIMA did not have GD this year
Writing ability topic: Coconut is nature’s packaging at its best!

PI: panel of 3 members He: panel Me: yours truly

He: what does Sayan mean?
Me: dusk and equinox
He: any famous person?
Me: I am not aware of any, Sir!
He: there was an astronomer by the same name (later found out from the internet… astronomer Sayana, 14th century CE)
He: so you work for small car planning, and never been to the shop floor?
Me: sir, Indica assembly line is the place where we all started learning!
He: SO, you have worked on Quality circles… suggest QC formation to improve IIMA selection process… can we form such QCs?
Me: yes sir, IIMA selection is also a process
He: devise a team, please
Me: team of students, alumni, panelists, industry people
HE: will that a rigid QC or a panel?
Me: for QC, only panelists should be involved
HE: what are the steps to be adopted by any QC circle?
Me: told about the seven QC tools and seven steps
He: what is JIT and lean? Are they same?
Me: no sir, JIT is a lean tool
He: what does JIT aims at?
Me: zero inventory…
HE: what is Economic order quantity?
Me: I do not remember sir, but I can try from first principles…
He: show us the math, then
Me: wrote on paper, correct!
He: so how would JIT work in services?
Me: I am not sure how to implement it sir
He: how do you classify welding?
Me: on the basis of energy source, and told the different types
He: how about ultrasonic welding?
Me: yes sir, and explained the process
He: give me a ballpark frequency range... High or low?
Me: I do not remember vividly, but high, in MHz range (actually about 50-100 KHz)
He: what is a hob?
Me: is that the gear used for hobbing operations?
He: it was I who asked the question!
Me: yes sir, drew a hob, and showed it
He: sure if that is a gear?
Me: yes sir, it can be defined as a gear
He: let us come to Nano... Are you aware of the advantages and disadvantages?
Me: Yes, advantages: low-cost, affordable, safe, fuel-efficient
Challenges: Infrastructure, environment
He: ok, but Nano would still pollute!
Me: It would pollute much less than the competing offerings!
He: that is hardly a consolation! Have civilization so hell-bent on turning on the self-destruct mode?
Me: No sir, environment and climate change is our steepest challenge, and industry, auto-makers, citizens all have to play proper role... of late there has been an increased level of awareness... And investment in green technology and cleaner fuels… solution is there…
He: recently few gentlemen are vociferously campaigning with reference to this, even in India!
Me: yes sir, Dr. Pachauri
He: pachauri! I thought a foreigner who has just landed in India!
Me: yes sir, Al gore…
He: have you seen his movie?
ME: sir I do not have a TV
He: but there is CD, DVD
Me: yes sir... I love watching movies but did not happen to see “an inconvenient truth” but I am most eager to know what Mr. Gore has to say in that!
HE: what is the latest oil price?
Me: I do not know yesterday’s closing price… Thursday closed at 106 USD per barrel for Brent crude
HE: is that the highest?
Me: I did not follow the last two days’ figures!
He: so you live in Pune, where exactly is that?
Me: West of Maharashtra (SILLY BOY)
He: to the west of Maharashtra there is … [J]
Me: (Smile) Sorry... West Maharashtra... 160 km from Mumbai
He: along the coast, Pune?
Me: No sir, inside…
He: thank you!
Me: My pleasure!

IIMC 2008

2008-04-06T05:42:00.002-07:00

IIM Calcutta 15th March
My self-appraisal: GD 6/10 PI 8/10

GD: Case-based, about a marketing manager who has landed up in a soup after a fair-and-lovely advert.

PI: 3 members He: Panel Me: yours truly

He: So, what does Sayan mean?
Me: dusk and equinox
He: what is equinox?
Me: told about all places on earth having equal days and nights on two days each year
He: I do not think you know your name
Me: I am very sure, Sir
He: Even in Norway???
Me: Yes sir, even there!
He: I will have to check then
Me: Sure, sir!
He: SO, small car... why would you leave Pune and come to Singur?
Me: my project sir, I am eagerly awaiting to go on site
He: Pune is such a free place, why come back to Bengal and give up a nice way of living?
Me: At home with parents or in Pune, I was always free to do what I wanted, Sir!
He: But Mamata Banerjee is mighty dangerous!
Me: Work has to go on, sir
He: Nano will cause so much congestion!
Me: roads will come up; people will have to travel anyway!
He: Ok, why does not Tata come up with low-cost homes?
Me: Sir, I am from Tata motors, I can speak for cars…
He: Tata would have been much better off building homes,
Me: WE are finding solutions with cars,
Me: but why not low cost homes, what would you buy first?
Me: A car
He: what would most people buy first?
Me: A car, costs much less than a home
He: Leave Tata, leave Bata... Show some maturity…what does a man need first?
Me: A home
He: See, you took so long to come to the point… (I should have relented 1 or 2 questions earlier)
He: How do Japanese and Western manufacturing systems differ, with ref. to quality?
Me: Japanese stress on buil-in quality, US used to focus on quality checks. Also discussed Toyota and the Big Three of US Auto industry.
HE: What is the difference between product control and proces control?
Me: Blah ( accurate but not very elegant, he then took me through the thought process, and explained a previously unknown thing to me!)
He: what is six sigma?
Me: blah blah
He: leave blah blah, give me numbers!
Me: gave numbers, exact!
He: so, Mr. Manufacturing engineer, how would you make an oxygen cylinder?
Me: blah blah
He: hot-working or cold-working?
Me: hot –working, also explained the related blah-blahs
He: how many calls?
Me: Six, A and B are left
He: How was LKI? Heard that L was stress for many…
Me: I felt I could have answered some questions much better
HE: yes yes... you should always feel that, otherwise you will never improve.

He: are you under stress NOW?
Me: NO, SIR (smile)
He: Do you know you are in teh hot seat today?
Me: Surprising smile
He: guess why...
Me: Is it because of my CAT score?
He: Because you are wearing a suit!
ME: Shy smile
He: So, suit tie etc are all necessary for an MBA, isn't it?
Me: No sir, it is just a formal attire, I could have chosen to not wear a suit!
He: Even Rahul Gandhi's kurta can be called formal attire!
Me: Nodded in agreement
He: So how would you come dressed to the classes?
Me: As I did in Kgp, my attire would befit the institution!
He: Ha ha.. our Chairman himself comes to board meetings in jeans...
HE: Nice tie!
Me: thank you sir
He: your or your father’s?
Me: mine, sir
He: have you any questions?
Me: not at this moment sir
He: thank you! But still any questions?
Me: thank you sir, but none are coming to my mind right now!
PANEL to THEMSLEVES: he will have lot many once he gets in!
Me: I look forward to that, Sir
He: thank you!
Me: thank you!

IIML 2008

2008-04-06T05:42:00.001-07:00

IIM Lucknow 29th February
My self-appraisal: GD 6/10 PI 3/10

GD: Topic was “happiness, like religion, is a mystery, and like a mystery, happiness cannot be rationalized”.

PI: Panel of 2 members… He: Panel Me: yours truly

He: Introduce yourself in two minutes
Me: (Taken aback at such a dumb question) blah blah blah (interjected by fumbles)
He: Why MBA?
Me: Skills, knowledge etc
He: interjects, so what are you doing now?
Me: (This was my most off-the cuff answer ever) Sir, right now I am appearing for this interview!
He: No, I meant your work!
Me: blah blah
He: So how should you define three properties of a car which could define it as a quality car?
Me: (Fumbles again, it simply was a bad, bad day for me) blah blah blah
He: How is aerodynamic important in a car?
Me: blah
He: how would you rate Indica’s aredynamic performance?
Me: quite ok, but it is not Indica’s forte!
He: Tell me something bad about Kharagpur?
Me: the roads could improve, and the street lighting
He: tell us if there are any TATA companies in Kgp.
Me: tata metaliks, tata bearings
He: What is the diff between a front-wheel driven and a rear-wheel driven car?
Me: answered to the best of my knowledge
He: You are an IIT engineer; still you answer like a layman!
Me: Sir, I never worked on automobile powertrain, this is all I know
HE: Nether did us! And still we know … What is the difference between the ABS of a FD-car and a RD-car?
ME: (Too arcane maybe even for an AGM) Do not know, Sir
He: What is six sigma?
Me: I told… mentioned “UCL and LCL”
He: You have mixed up everything, it should be USL and LSL… specification limits come from customer specifications, and control limits are what the engineers set
Me: Yes sir, I was confused... But I am aware of the distinction that you made
He: you are an IIT guy... why do not you go back to your books? Ok... Leave!
Me: thank you!

IIMI 2008

2008-04-06T05:41:00.001-07:00

IIM Indore 26th February
My self-appraisal: GD 7/10 PI 8/10

GD: Case on BPO facing a trade-off between dwindling profits and an urgent need to retrain employees

PI: HE: panel (2 members) ME: yours truly

He: what does sayan mean?
Me: dusk and equinox
He: explain equinox?
Me: did so
He: how do you live your name?
Me: was thinking... he shifted to a rapid-fire round... Picking up keywords from my certificates
He: what is FMS?
Me: blah
He: What is JIT?
Me: blah
He: What is kaizen?
Me: blah
He: What is cantilever? Example…
Me: could not define elegantly... but came out with howrah bridge
He: why does 2nd hooghly bridge look so odd?
Me: blah
He: what is FIFO and LIFO, give examples…
Me: somehow the use of stacks for LIFO implementation eluded me
He: what is TQM?
Me: blah
He: what is six sigma?
Me: blah
He: what is an objective function?
Me: blah
He: which hall in kgp? And which activities?
Me: blah blah
He: two management books you have read recently
Me: the Toyota way, India unbound…
He: something about the author of the latter book?
Me: did well.. But botched up in the last saying that Vicks was taken over by HLL [: P]
He: who was Kurosawa? Why was he famous?”
Me: blah blah, Rashomon..
He: pleasure meeting you, and thank you!
Me: thank you, sir!

IIMK 2008

2008-04-06T05:32:00.001-07:00

Please excuse the deliberate use of lowercase letters and unwarranted abbreviations.

My profile: Sayan Sarkar
Male, 22

Class 10 90% ICSE 2001
Class 12 85% CBSE 2003
Graduation: IIT KGP 2007 Manufacturing Science and Engg 7.7/10
Work-ex: 9 months as on 31st March 2008 Asst Manager, Small Car Planning, Tata Motors Ltd.
CAT 2007: QA 99.99 DI 99.96 VA 99.99 Total 100.00
Calls: BLACKI

Others mentionable details: Co-curricular: Quite good till class 12 (NTSE, Olympiads etc)
Extra-academics: Not much, Ok-ish, nothing fancy
Work-ex: Had reference letter from Mr. Girish Wagh [J]

IIM Kozhikode 7th February
My self-appraisal: GD 8/10 PI 4/10

GD: Topic-based discussion on land acquisition and the lawfulness (or lawlessness) of it, and SEZs.

PI: P1: 1st panelist, P2: 2nd panelist, YT: yours truly

P1: what does sayan mean?
YT: dusk and equinox
P1: explain equinox?
YT: did so
P1: explain the astronomical phenomenon behind it.
YT: did so to the best of my knowledge
P1: show me with diagrams
YT: drew the earth and the sun, the orbits and then fumbled and gave blank stares
P1: so, you graduated recently, May we ask academics-related questions?
YT: yes you may, sir
P1: ho many degrees of freedom do you right arm have?
YT: stupid stare, blank expression... P1 annoyed
P1: heard of Asimov?
YT: yes, blah blah
P1: what is the connection between robots and Asimov?
YT: foundation series etc
P1: what is law of demand?
YT: showed with graph
P1: what is the nature of the demand curve? What are the tests for it?
YT: showed
P1: are you sure?
YT: yes sir!
P1: what are the discrete distributions that you know of?
YT: enumerated all that I knew… then fumbled (I do not know why)
P2: strengths and weaknesses you discovered in last 7 months while working?
YT: said so… ability to handle multiple projects, often of disparate natures… and get worked up a bit too much
P2: so you mean you get stressed often?
YT: sir, I would think I go that extra mile to get the thing done before time and with expected quality because I think of the deadlines etc
P2: What is your opinion about Singur?
YT: gave many viewpoints, and the things Tata motors are doing…
P2: but the place has a lot of antagonistic air surrounding it... Would you feel safe?
YT: sir, blah blah... I am awaiting relocation with eager anticipation
P1: why leave Nano now? It is so damn big….
YT: (I RUINED IT…) not so challenging now... Most hurdles overcome... (Sniff sniff)
P1: thank you!
YT: thank you!

Uttarakhand

2008-02-16T09:11:00.000-08:00

This post is primarily intended to break the long hiatus, and also to get rid of the rustiness which developed in this period. I will pen my experience in Uttarakhand where I went in the last week of January because of professional obligations.
My work took me to the quaint town of Pantnagar, and to reach there, you need to take a six-hour train ride from Delhi. When we disembarked at Rudrapur City railway station at 10 p.m., the place was already very chilly and there was a shroud of eerie silence all over the town. Thankfully our guest house was not far off from the station, where a hot dinner and a warm bed welcomed me. But the night to come was probably the coldest of my life, and next morning, I turned on the local TV station to hear that the mercury had plummetted to zero degrees on the previous night.
I had an assignment in the Tata Motors plant at Pantnagar, and to keep it succinct, the objectives were successfully accomplished. But more interesting were the evenings which my colleagues and I spent exploring the local market-place. Though not very vibrant probably because of the town being sparseply populated, the market offers many interesting stores of woollen good, and scores of food-stalls lined up on the roadside.
We had a plan to undertake a jaunt to Nainital ( where it snowed that week), but the exigencies of work prevented us from doing so. But the single most remarkable part of the trip was our return to Delhi.
So sooner than we arrived at Rudrapur Station to catch the train did the lights went off, and it was not even a remote indication of the things in store for us. We had our tickets in the sleeper class ( we could not get AC reservatiosn owing to last-minute bookings), and for the next six hours, not even an umpteen layers of sweaters and bedsheets were enough to keep the cold at bay.
Nonetheless, we reached Delhi alive and went ahead with our respective journeys, but the hardships that we faced in Uttarakhand is symbolic of the very spirit of life which is propelling the previuosly poor and backward region towards rapid industrialization. And the impediments are nothing but challenges which any individual or society faces when she or it decides to strike out.

2007-09-03T03:35:00.000-07:00

And, finally, I would like to express fulsome praises for the famed Hyderabadi cuisine. The rich variety of delectable food native to this place is indeed a gourmet’s delight, and one HAS to come to Hyderabad to sample the biryanis, the haleems and the kulfis in their most supreme form of existence (if I am permitted to use the expression).

Here goes a small list of links, which might help some of my friends in case they are curious or fidgety to cook something new:

BIRYANI http://www.indianfoodforever.com/rice/mutton-biryani.html
HALEEM http://www.angelfire.com/country/fauziaspakistan/haleem.html
ROAST MEAT http://recipes.lovetoknow.com/wiki/Roast_Leg_Of_Mutton_Recipe
PAYA http://www.sysindia.com/kitchen/visitors/nonveg/123.html
KHUBANI http://www.bawarchi.com/cookbook/hyderabad1.html

CHARMINAR AND HUSSAINSAGAR

2007-09-03T03:11:00.000-07:00

Now, let’s come to the places of interest in Hyderabad. Though owing to the bomb scare and the ensuing security excesses I have not been able to frequent any place of historical interest in the past ten days or so, I still had the opportunity to go to the Charminar and the Hussain Sagar Lake before the attacks occurred.

The Charminar is no majestic expression of supreme architectural skill, but it is, nonetheless has a charm of its own and a towering presence over it’s surroundings. And most importantly, it is as synonymous with the spirit and the vastness of India as the Taj or the Ashoka Stambha. One can climb up the spiral staircases to a considerable height up any of the four minarets, and the view of the city from there is indeed rather splendid. And that day, I simply gazed up the minarets set against the brilliant blue sky, and the scene was quite breathtaking, as if straight out of the pages of history books.

The Hussain-Sagar Lake is another nice place to frequent, and many other places of urban interest encircle it. The lake is indeed very large, and quite often sailing and yacht contests take place there, and the lake, from a distance, appears to be dotted with sails and masts of all possible colours during those contests. But pity that human avarice did not even let this magnificent jewel of the city alone, and property developers are encroaching upon the lake area so as to accommodate more and more civil constructions.

HEALTH AND HIATUS

2007-09-03T03:08:00.000-07:00

Esteemed friends,

Many of you, over the period of past few weeks or so, have inquired about my health, my experience in workplace, my hiatus from the blog-world, and my life, in general. I will certainly answer you all today.

Owing to God’s grace, I am hale and hearty. A very big thank you to all who rang me up after the twin explosions in my city, and I have no hesitation in averring that your wishes are the most important in my life. And as for the city, normalcy has been restored amazingly fast, and hats off to the spirit of the Hyderabadis (they have a lazy nonchalant elegance in everything they do, probably the influence of a regal heritage).

The city, as I observed, is a bit different from most of the other Indian metros that I have been to, and has a character of its own. It has the wealth and glamour of Mumbai (one only has to frequent the expansive malls, dine out in the elaborate restaurants, stare at the opulent jewelry outlets, and calculate the per capita density of high-end cars to dispel any opinion to the contrary), the laid-back elegance of Kolkata, the presence of a rich resplendent past akin to that of Delhi, the whiff of the sour tropical air of Chennai, and the appalling road infrastructure of Bangalore.

As for my work, the pressure is not too high, and basically demands me to act as a facilitator of groups of professionals from different strata of the corporate ladder (from car cleaners and mechanics to engineers, HR and managers), and help them reach consensus with the aim to find solutions to existing problems themselves, and not merely escalating them to higher authorities.

My not writing for these couple of months had more to do with the lack of access to convenient Internet connections and ennui, than it had to do with not having anything to write about. For the first few days after I arrived here, I underwent a bout of depression, and my work found me thoroughly disinterested in it; and I thereby lost clarity in thought and cogency in words for a few days.

STRIKING OUT

2007-06-26T02:49:00.000-07:00

So, finally, the chance to strike out is here for calling. Four years of a wonderful vacation ( also called IIT) drew to a close, I became a graduate, and the suddenly, the relatively close-knit and protective ambiance of the campus is no more there to serve my needs.
The last few days of my college life sped past at a dizzying pace. The final semester was certainly the "honeymoon" period of my undergraduate life, with eating out and partying practically every other day. The coursework also seemed a cakewalk, with the relentless academic rigor of the seven preceding semesters teaching us more-than-well how to cope with academic schedules and deadlines. My dissertation work also went well, with most of the experiments which were a part of the project bearing palatable results.
Three farewell parties were thrown, one each by the Alumni Association, the Mechanical Engineering Department and my dorm: Lala Lajpat Rai Hall. It was amidst those photo-sessions and buffet dinners that it slowly started to dawn upon me that sooner rather than later, I will be an ex-IITian.
Nonetheless, the semester ended, and so did the comprehensive viva-voce ( will forever remember the sleepless night spend before the viva-day, trying to master as much formulas and muster as much courage as we possibly could), and my thesis presentation. Expectedly, I graduated with mediocre grades and a sense of relief.
The fortnight following that was amazing, too. My father and I went for a trip to Darjeeling: the queen of the hills, the crown of Bengal. Though much more crowded, and much dirtier than other popular hill-stations of the north-east, I still found Darjeeling as reposeful I found her on my first visit in 2003. The weather was much sunnier this time, and to add icing to the cake, we could actually see a glimpse of the Kanchenjungha one cloudless morning. And voila! We rode the Toy-Train. Though the first-class compartment which I boarded presented me with a large group of loud and ill-mannered individuals, we enjoyed the ride immensely.
Then came June and brought with it unending boredom, and, what people call, ennui. I tried to combat it with the entire collection of Wodehouse, Garfield and Calvin and Hobbes, but at times, they too cloyed my taste as I began to long for company, and more importantly, youthful company.
As all bad things end one time or another, that phase too is drawing near, with me shortly going on to join my first employers and moving to city almost 2000 miles from my place ( Tata Motors Pune, for the uninitiated). And as I write this post on my second last day at home, my thoughts are filled with a queer dichotomy- a sense of nostalgia and an urge to hold to the fond memories of all these years, as well as an ambition to strike out, meet new people and stand on my own feet.

GREAT EXPECTATIONS

2007-02-11T09:51:00.000-08:00

The urge to merge has finally caught me in it's stride. Queer feelings flood my thoughts these days, and I do not know how to proceed. But something in me, and some things around me suggest that this time, it's not the hormones alone.
Once I had asked a friend about the difference between a friendship and a romantic liaison, and the reply was 'expectations'. I guess friends share happily, support selflessly and enjoy each other's company;but still there remains something amiss. A simple and confused person like me can only describe it as the the simple desire to just be with someone. As close as one could, and for as long as one could.
Of late, there has been a surfeit of opinion, both in the media, and from friends, about relationships, and what to expect from them. Tricks and innuendos et al, about how to get on with relationships, how to strengthen them, and how to negotiate them. But alas, I am a slow learner, and it is notoriuosly difficult to teach me. I am a self-centred individual who sees negotiation as deriving as much satisfaction as possible, by sacrificing as little as possible.

I am generally restless, and in a hurry. I need someone to calm me with the reassurance that everything has it's own time and place. And when I am listless, I need someone to make me believe that life is necessarily about being active. I am scared and confused, and I need someone to hold my hand and say that I'm not alone. I am easily hurt, and I need someone to provide me with the shoulders to cry on. And when my heart is rendered insensitive, she should hurt me so that I bleed again. I am insecure, I need someone who I could hold in those moments of desparation, so close that it seems that she would never go away. I am impractical, and I need someone to ocassionally wake me from my slumber,and transport me back to the world of pragmatism. And when I am burdened with the mundane, she would be there to fly with me, to the land of fantasy. Someone should be girl enough to enjoy with me the innocent childish things that I so often indulge in, and woman enough to make me a man.
And, someone should let me love her as much as I want to.

" Prano bhoriye, trisha horiye
More aaro aaro aaro dao pran
Tobo bhubone, tobo bhabone
More aaro aaro aaro dao sthan. "

WHAT IF?

2007-01-22T06:49:00.000-08:00

2007 has so far been, to express succinctly, pathetic. Restricting myself to acedemics, though. Did a blunder in CAT, 99.89%ile with no calls! And did even poorer in XAT. Though I say it hardly mattered, but I still don't like flunking exams. Friends say that my pen has also started to lose its keen edge, and I say that my mind is gradually going into a rut. Nothing to look forward to these coming months...yeah... i am free at last.

KILL ME...

2006-11-13T04:56:00.001-08:00

The feeling grows, so does the helplessnes. So completely dependent on someone.
Don't wan't to wake up without hearing the voice, neither do i want to close my eyes at night without doing so. Though I generally submit to my fate passively ( in this respect).

Thoughts of you are everywhere. They bring the faint smile to my sullen face, the simple glint to my tired eyes, the hot tears in those desperate lonely i-want-to-break-free moments, the lump in my throat when i hear those songs.

Everything reminds me of you, as if everything IS you.
I can hardly take it any more, my existence hurts .

I cannot turn my back to today.
I cannot hide in my mother's womb.
I cannot find a balm for my bleeding heart.
Please, please, please...kill me.

WHY?

2006-11-09T09:32:00.000-08:00

I was so very miserable, so helpless, so lonely and cold and crestfallen. But someone was there, it seemed,at least. During those moments of despair, when a sudden unknown fear sent shivers down my spine, a crutch seemed to appear out of nowhere. During those moments when my limbs were blue from cold and lifeless, and my eyes were bleeding warm. I felt dead, I felt as if a great hollowness was about to engulf me. I desparately held on to that crutch, whenever it pleased me to do so. It hurt even more, but that pain was all I wanted .

The urge to cry out loud, the urge to hold someone close, the urge to sleep on those shoulders, the urge to rest on the bosom, the urge to die in those arms. They hurt.

It asks us to set it free, all I did was to cling to it. It asks us to see the brighter side of life, I derived pleasure out of pain. It asks us to be selfless, all I was concerned about was ME.

Why can't I ever be normal? Why can't I ever be sane? Why can't I ever be what it asks us to be.
Now that it is gone, why can't I ever know what love is?

So desparately aroused
So listlessly decrepit.
Such flights of fantasy
Such agonizing pain.

I love you.

SARKAR-NAAMA

2006-10-13T18:51:00.000-07:00

The ongoing seventh semester
Isn’t going to fill my empty canister

With an ever-plummeting CPI
Old man says,”Fie, Fie!”

Did many things to please my self
Dragged my lazy ass out of the shelf.

Went to meet sweet little OOA
Even on a blazing September day!

Saw some good Ray movie or two-
Pratidwandi, Jalsaghar and other few.

Countless forays into Waldorf and Mid-town
American Chopsuey still wears the crown!

Even tried my eyes at reading printed material,
Finished “Foundation 2”: nothing sentimental.

When my empty skull with shit got clogged
I opened my page, and simply blogged!

In the Durgapujas I had a blast
The Durgapur memories shall ever last!

There has been the odd frowning and sulking
But the fun was overwhelming!

The imminent doom is the CAT
Hope on 19/11 my tires don’t go flat!

In December shall fight for gainful employment
Bone of contention being the emolument!

So much for today, so much for now
The coffee’s getting cold, raised are my brow.

I shall be back another sunny day
With my doggerels to inflict upon you dismay!

My philandering tongue shall be once more verbose:
Alvida, au revoir, goodbye and adios!

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

CPI: Cumulative Performance Index, where students are graded on a scale of 0 to 10.

OOA: Object of Affection (Don’t object at calling a person an “object”)

CAT: Common Aptitude Test

SURPRISE...GOT A GIFT FOR YOU...

2006-09-27T10:06:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, those stupid fairytales seem to be more welcome than tomorrow. Got a gift today, not exactly a gift as many would say..rather a snippet (mere snippet) of information/opinion. I don't want your gifts, I just want an old beared Santa Claus to come with the bells tinkling in a dulcet rhythm, and give me nice presents. I don't want the nasty presents that you gave me. Or rather life gives me time and again. But as usual, I will have to accept with a meek surender what I've got, and maybe I will survive, and survive to weave the haven of dreams once again.

I wish I was given a fresh easel to paint life with, but these damn brown stains will remain. Shall wake up tomorrow to see the same old yellow eyes, swollen cheeks, pimply face in the mirror. But the damn sparkle would be gone for sure. I am so listless, I am so fucked up. But don't worry, I won't let myself know that i am.

I should survive. Pujas are here, inspite of you.

DURGA, DURGA...

2006-09-27T05:33:00.000-07:00

Yes friends, the pujas are here again...not wholly or in full measure, but very substantially. Fortunately enough, I got to spend all the festive seasons in my life so far in good old Bengal-sometimes in Calcutta, very recently in Kharagpur, and for the most number of times, in Durgapur. And even today, whenever maa arrives, there is only one place of the face of the earth I want to be in-Durgapur (pardon my damn parochial homesick self).

The excitement would start as soon as the month of September commenced, and so did the shopping season. Those sultry evenings spent at the crowded Benachiti market, teeming with thousands (so crowded that sometimes people travelled faster on feet than on buses), each looking forward to his (her) yearly bout of buying apparels and accessories. Those welcome air-conditioned breaks spent at Style-in, Readymade Center et al, replete with the recurrent wish that your parents earned more so that you did not have to desire lifting the entire clothes stores. The smell of new tanned leather at Khadims or Bata, and the hours spent on deciding which shade and design to choose.And after the not-so-satisfactory shopping evening was over, the much awaited biryani at Koh-i-noor's, or the chicken rolls at Tirupati Roll Corner, or mughlai paratha with rosmalai and/or icecream from Ruma Sweets.

And as the days drew near, the crackling of the radio at 4am on the mahalaya morning, the thickening of the catkin shrubs, the deepening of the smell from the chatim trees, and the gradual decrease in the humidity all but heralded the homecoming of the goddess. The wait seemed unending, and the final resurrection took place only when the school bell rang on the afternoon of the panchami. And when shashthi evening came, our joys actually knew no bounds!

The inauguration was accompanied by brilliant fireworks, and some inane cultural programme (which I thought to be pointless), and four days of unending celebrations began. The fondest memories are associated with the Anandvihar puja, where seemingly every youth living in Durgapur happened to flock/pass by. We used to gather there with schoolmates and other mates, apparently doing nothing! Major part of the four evenings there was spent in first-rate bhaat/adda/bulla and bird-watching. Incidentally, the major part of the bhaat was with reference to bird-watching! Though in a narrower sense of the term most of us continually made little prayers so that we could come across higher hemlines and deeper décolletés (no offences, please), it was fun none the less. The place was invariably crowded, and it smelled of a strange concoction of red dust and sizzling fish rolls and dripping sweat and smudged lipsticks and cheap perfumes. The smell was strange, nauseating at times, but intoxicating like nothing else on earth.

There were other places to visit, too. The high and mighty Nabaroon, the expansive pandal of Santose, the seedy Agrani Gali, the distant T.N. School (my dad’s alma mater), the imposing Marconi, the bustling Cement Park et al. The memories of those long rides on dad’s scooter (he shattered the ball-and-socket of his left arm in 2001 and the beloved Chetak was sold off later) or on friends’ motorcycles, as we went hopping from one place to another is still fresh. Well, they were not exactly Ei Path Jodi Na Shesh Hoy enactments, but the cool October wind ruffling my hair as dad speeded 50-60-70-80…felt good. Very, very good.

And obviously there was Ashtami. The fasting in the morning, the early shower, the visit to the garden to pick flowers, the adornment of traditional clothes, the offering of the pushpanjali…So many small and silly things are cloying my nervous impulses now-the bisarjan, the hugging et al, the narus…I wish I could go on and on.

I never actually realized fully what the festive season augured for and meant to me. It wasn’t mere religious obligation, it wasn’t mere social gathering, it wasn’t mere school vacations…but it still was THE time of the year. But one thing for sure, no matter where I be and what I be occupied with, I would rather be enjoying the durgapuja than doing anything else, and I would rather be in Durgapur than anywhere else.

A FINE FACADE OF FARCE

2006-09-25T05:59:00.000-07:00

DISCLAIMER: Though the author had taken his GRE and his TOEFL in his summer vacations, and some of his friends/foes much earlier than that, the time frame he refers to in the ensuing essay is applicable to an overwhelming majority of IITians

One fine morning my fecund imagination fancied me studying abroad (read the US of A), and I took my first big step: I registered for the Graduate Record Examination (or the GRE, pronounced as “jee-aar-ee” in normal places, and as “gre” in the IITs). I duly complied with the tenets of good studentship by preparing well and taking the test well, but as soon as my test was over, I realized how big a farce the GRE is.

Commenceth the autumn semester, and you see final year, wannabe researcher/NRI undergrads poring over Barrons et al, memorizing strange exotic useless words, preparing for the GRE, bunking classes or sleeping during them.

And the outcome of even many more and much funnier endeavors made me realize that:

The GRE proposes to be a test of proficiency in English usage, among other things; and it fails miserably in doing so. I scored reasonably more than some of my friends who are atleast ten times better at English than I am.
Mere knowledge of using uncommon English words in blanks/analogies does not imply command over the language.
Even if one agrees that it so does, I seldom use those words in speech, and most of my writings, even in the post-GRE period. So the command so gained, if any, is useless and pointless and vague in concept.
Even now if we agree that GRE tests good English, why on earth do universities require each and every graduate applicant to take it? Why do you require good English for something like toxicology or surface sciences?
Ok, even if we deem that GRE scores are important for a complete graduate application, why do most universities (except for the few elite serious research-intensive ones) attach importance to them? What makes a person with superb GRE scores a necessarily good graduate researcher?
And why the hell the GRE and the TOEFL cost so much? My parents had to shell out 6500 INR apiece, and currently, the combined cost is as high as 15000 bucks! Even the darned score reporting is expensive.
GRE preparations make you imbibe a certain lack of finesse when it comes to English words. I would rather use beautiful in place of pulchritudinous, lying in place of prevarication, and fucking in place of fornicating. And I wish I had not come across those inelegant/inconvenient synonyms!
Finally, the GRE hullabaloo proves that even the fabled US university system( the supposed epitome of efficiency) is flawed!!!

PLAYLIST OF THE DERANGED

2006-09-24T21:30:00.000-07:00

Yellow Coldplay
Trouble Cat Stevens
The Scientist Coldplay
Wind of My Soul Cat Stevens
One Last Breath Creed
Can't Take it in ,,, Imogen Heap
Aaji godhuli lagane Subinoy Roy
Aaji bijono ghare Chinmoy Chattopadhyay
Ekbar biday de ma Lata Mangeshkar
Amar raat pohalo Debabrata Biswas

Play them in a repeat loop of a thousand iterations, one does deranges.

TRANSFORMATION 102

2006-09-24T21:23:00.000-07:00

I am getting more demented by the passing hour. Indifference makes me laugh at myself. Earlier used to be angry and hurt.

TRANSFORMATION 101

2006-09-24T21:18:00.000-07:00

What someone earlierthought to be spontaneous concern, is now being started to be regarded by someoen else as irrelevant questions. It's in my blood to badger you, isn't it?

SINISTER SANITY

2006-09-24T13:15:00.000-07:00

It seems that the end is near, the end of my so-called sane life, during whose entirety, i actually beguiled you to think that I was sane. Now that the stars have aligned against me, I bid goodbye, as normal people are expected to.
I have, finally, figured out what i really wanted to do (atleast I love to think so). Someone doesn't care, which makes me all the more expectant and desirous of all the small things.

Take a walk down the bylanes of a quaint European town on a wintry dusk. The only sound would be those of my feet against the rustling leaves on the cobbled path, with the snow coming down, dancing to a slow lilting rhtym.
Trek the length of the Amazon, sheer primal forces at play. So naked, so aphrodisiacal.
Listen to Pachelbel's Canon in D-major till my eardrums rupture, and my senses collapse with joy, and to raaga bhairavi in sarod till I have no tears left to shed
Read all that has been penned by the genii of all ages.
Eat all the peanut butter, dark chocolate, chocolate icecream, sorshe ilish, American chopsuey that one possibly can.
Travel to the South Pole, and from there to the North Pole, and see the Aurora Borealis.
Visit the ruins of the Harappans, the Egyptians, the Aztecs, the Mayas and the Incas...and to travel to Titicaca and Mansarovar.
Share these insane nothings with her, isnpite of knowing that she could not care less.
Tell her that she has no right to occupy my senses 24*7.
Tell her that I fantasize her to be the one( he he, stupid!).

TOMAKE CHAI

2006-09-24T09:00:00.000-07:00

Borshar raate tomake chai
Bidyuter chomoke tomake chai
Chokher jole jhore tukro hire
Tomake, shudhu tomake chai.

Hemantar bataase tomake chai
Jhonjar madokotay tomake chai
Khola buke lagiye domka haoa
Tomake, shudhu tomake chai.

Sonali shishire tomake chai
Bhorer kuashay tomake chai
Aanginay togorer sada paprite
Tomake, shudhu tomake chai.

Shiulir keshare tomake chai
Kashphool er bone tomake chai
Buk bhore otha chatimer gondhe
Tomake, shudhu tomake chai.

Nidagh dupure tomake chai
Godhulir korunay tomake chai
Tulsitolay sanjher ujjwal prodipe
Tomake, shudhu tomake chai.

Doler joubane tomake chai
Mahalayar agomone tomake chai
Nabami nishir nirmomo bardhokye
Tomake, shudhu tomake chai.

Okaron anande tomake chai
Nisphal rodone tomake chai
Ohetuk shiharane ushno deho-mon
Tomake, shudhu tomake chai.

RHEUMS OR RAINS

2006-09-20T19:21:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a rainy, rainy, rainy day. The nimbus ruptured as if tears and humiliation of seven previous lives have ben accumulating inside them for so long. Woke up with a high fever, and a bad cold, and worse still, the medication was ineffective. Could never fixate my attention to the job in hand (had an examination from 2pm), and stared out through the broken sash of my window. Blank stares you associate a dunce with.
Tried to ring someone's number umpten times, but to no avail. The darned rotten telephone lines left me alone in my misery.Someone doesn't care, does she? Hands and feet felt numb and cold, hairs stood on their roots. The more i sunk deeper in my self-concocted msiery, the more i wanted to be with you. The more if felt cold, the more I caved forr a little warmth. You don't care, do you?

LITMUS TEST

2006-09-18T13:03:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, and in times like these, I really wish my wishes came true. In times like these, I wish the stupid telephone would start beeping, and you’d be on the other side of the wall. In times like these, I wish I could hold your hand and press it tight. In times like these, I wish I would cling to your bosom like a helpless child, and that I never have to wake up again. I wish my pain grows so unbearable that Death comes, but as an angel. I wish I could reframe sense and sensibility in this darned world, and make everyone else think in a way I want them to.
The blues have got the better of me again…the blue is a bit redder now.

THOSE DAMN BLUES...

2006-09-07T20:12:00.000-07:00

Yes, the storm in my head has subsided after I came to realize that my woes are hardly uncommon, and that there are many more truly dissatisfied and deprived people on this planet. But oh boy, the last week has been one of the lowest lows.
The curse befell when I started to brood over my grades, which are so pitiable and so f***ed up, that my applications for admission are destined to be used as tissue-paper by the grad school guys of the so-called elite universities. Grades are damn important, and it took this fool three years to realize that, after being shown the door by professors big and small, with reference to projects( IIT fraternity would understand).
Next came the sickening feeling when I reckoned that all of my batchmates in other colleges have landed secured gainful employment while I, reading in a place known for getting its students good jobs (to say the least, as they say), have not. This damn place holds it campus employment programme later than all other colleges.
Then came the obvious big issue-girlfriend. Won't brood much, as there is nothing much to talk about, but believe me, it sometimes can get very very frustrating, and you end up cursing yourself 24*7.
Then arrives another dilemma:career options. Dad wants me to go abroad, enrol in a grad school (chele bidesh jabe). Oh dad, five years in a quaint town, a million miles away from home, living alone,without friends, cooking your own meals, and knee deep in academics shit, do you know what it feels like? You are emancipated at twenty-seven, only to see that half your life has whizzed past. Mama dearest wants me to study management, work, and marry a buxom bengali doctor. Oh mama, do you know what the pressure in the IIMs is like? And why the hell would buxom bengali doctors be remotely concerned about my matrimonial plight(?)?
And odds and ends...typical of any mediocre 21-year-old, and my indulgence in useless brooding makes me more mediocre than the most mediocre( plagiarism, Joseph Heller).
Feels like hell, though. Grown much more impatient twith people these days.Sit in classrooms with my head hanging down in a stupor, stare blankly at the fluttering pages of open books, and at the computer screen, and at the ceiling fan rotating ahead, and at the halogen lights that can be seen from the left window of my room. Music doesn't help, weeping like a child does not either. Talking like a demented ass nowadays.
I do not smoke, do not drink, and do not use drugs. But I now know a very good reason why some people do.
When the going gets tough, nothing gets going. Belive me , it was much much much worse than that!

oh trouble can't you see
you're eating my heart waway
and there's nothing much left of me
you've made me a wreck
now won't you leave me in my misery?
I have seen you eyes
and I have seen death's disguise
hanging on me
I am beat, I am torn
shattered and tossed and worn
too shocking too see

WILD MUSTANGS

2006-09-01T02:52:00.000-07:00

Veins numbed by pain
Drugs keep them alive
Enslaved, incinerated
Conflargrations inside my soul.

The sirens of deceit play
Dulcet sounds to my ears
My mind dances on,
Enraptured.

The breeze ruffles my hair
Lilting rhythms of tender love
Dreams of a pleasant morrow
Dazzle the eyes.

But lo! A tempest brews
The skies turn ink
Feathers return to the nests
Screaming doom.

The nimbus ruptures
The gods are kind
The vessel tosses on waves
The sea turns enchantress.

Hound of wild mustangs
Hooves turn the horizon red
They surge ahead , ruthless
Raping the expanse of sand.

Gasps for a mere breath
Lips part like faithless lovers
False dreams haunt me
Drench me in self-defeat.

Untamed arousals of imagination
Turn to worthless dust.
With listless indifference
My veins give in again.

And again.

BEAUTY

2006-08-30T15:18:00.001-07:00

The tall trees
Sway in orgasmic drunkenness
Thier limbs contorting in a seizure
Playing slave to the storm.

The reflection of gold
In the crystal on the lotus leaf
Danicng like the eyes of a doe
Zilch!

The fragrant earth in the fist rains
The first caress of a lover
The yearning of the river
To give in to the sea.

The hubris of the albatross
As it's flight goes unbridled
And gets lost in the horizon.
Liberated!

Fountains of love from your eyes
Hot rheum
The reflection of my face in the iris
The pain in the veins.

The pride of the broken heart
Indulgence in yesterday
The blue shadow of the mist left behind
The solace of the breasts.

You're beautiful.

THE AGONY IN ECSTACY

2006-08-19T20:45:00.000-07:00

You led me from despair to darkness
Ensnared me with your cold blue glances
A shiver down my spine.
The numbness of senses
The ennui of existence.

Can't close my eyes
Lest your shadows come and pervade my darkness
Can't dream of agonizing tomorrows
Lest your limbs entwine around mine
Can't part my lips in ecstacy
Lest your breath intoxicates them
Can't nurse my wounds
Lest your pity stops kising them.

Parched skin thirsty for the rains
Taut hairs hungry for touch
Just closed my eyes...
Your shadow was gone.

O loneliness come befriend me
For your agony is akin to ecstacy.
O pain come make love to me
There's a want in my wounds.
O Death come undone...
Thee is Providence!
Break me...

WANDERLUST

2006-08-19T05:32:00.000-07:00

I don't want to be your hero

I want to dream as if there would be no tomorrow
I want to cry as if there is no one to see
I want to dance as if there are no fetters to hold me

I want the breeze to run through my hair
I want the rain to kiss my bruised torso
I want to walk on the wet sand on a moonlit night
I want to gaze at the horizon. And beyond

I want to embrace you like the sol inundates the petals
I want to make love to you in a fit of feral fury

I want to set free
and run
to the higest mountains where the snow is whiter than your soul
to the lonely islands greener than your youth, far from the madding crowd
to the ruthless deserts more chaste than Virgin

I want this dream to never end
I want this fire to never die
I want this rheum to never dry

I want this wanderlust to destroy me
I dont want to be your hero.

STREETS OF PHILADELPHIA

2006-08-13T10:48:00.000-07:00

No arcane words, no esoteric terms...just simply the words of Springsteen. Touched my soul so many times, seen so many of my tears, been my caressing lover when i was sinking deep in agony. This goes to me...

I was bruised and battered and I couldnt tell
What I felt
I was unrecognizable to myself
I saw my reflection in a window I didnt know
My own face
Oh brother are you gonna leave me
Wastin´away
On the streets of philadelphia

I walked the avenue till my legs felt like stone
I heard the voices of friends vanished and gone
At night I could hear the blood in my veins
Black and whispering as the rain
On the streets of philadelphia

Aint no angel gonna greet me
Its just you and I my friend
My clothes dont fit me no more
I walked a thousand miles
Just to slip the skin

The night has fallen, Im lyin' awake
I can feel myself fading away
So receive me brother with your faithless kiss
Or will we leave each other alone like this
On the streets of philadelphia

THE 'BEING-A-BENGALI' BLUES...

2006-08-10T03:10:00.000-07:00

Well, I am an unpopular man per se, and this post is not going to do me any great favors either. This is actually an emended version of my comments to the blog of a friend-a young man with a keen intellect and great learning. From the angle of a neutral observer, he has, albeit humorously, pointed out as to why Bengal is stuck in rut today.
Dear friend, absolutely no offences.Though I am not a mole within the Bengali community, I very well realise why this group has been the butt of many a jokes. People of this part of the globe are one of the most indolent that i've known, and unfortunately, they are not a bit ashamed of it. More so, they continually eschew any considerable effort, industry and diligence and try to put up a pretty face by eulogizing about Tagore, Sen, Bose et al. And being a none-too-exceptional Bengali myself, i really sometimes wonder whether i am deservant of harboring any parochial pride in being one.And our great cultural traditions, when passed on to the hands of the apathetic Bengal youth today, makes it more of a liabilty than anything else.
No wonder we have reduced Calcutta, once the second-most important city on this planet to a filthy bedlam. The province of Bengal, which once used to fill up the coffers of the East India Company , now occupies a mediocre position in many aspects of human development-income, health services, energy consumption, industrial growth,infrastructure.(I know Communists and left liberals would come running, harping about land reforms, village upgadation, et al).A community, which once produced the finest scientists, writers,movie-makers,philosophers,economists,freedom fightes and administrators now churn out run-of-the mill unimaginative, unambitious, ineffectual,cigarette-smoking, time-frittering men and women.
For a race or a community to be rated highly in the eyes of history and humanity, it needs to fuel its own impetus, continually, and relentlessly. We have lost in a few decades what great men built over centuries. Unfortunately,Bengal is no longer the pride of India. And speaking of Bangladesh( for it constitutes the larger chunk of this world's 'Bengali' populace), is a disgrace in itself, with its pathetic human rights record and failure in sustaining a healty secular democacy, as envisaged by great men like Mujibur Rahman.
Instead of taking great pride in non-entities like adda, maach-bhaat, durgapuja alone, we should cerebate on the factors which make a race great or unique.It's time for zeal, for industry, for dreams,for the urge to make Bengal a superior race once again. Its high time we take a cue from the French, the German and the Japanese as to how parochial pride can make a race go from stength to stength, and how NOT to use it as a shameless cover-up for, what I would deem, in actuality, utter disrespect for one's own culture and tradition.

CRICKET OUTTAKES...Part 1

2006-08-08T19:16:00.000-07:00

A rather popular ad aired during the ’96 World Cup proclaimed that “Officially, cricket is played in whites!” Yes, cricket is still supposed to be a gentleman’s game, in spite of the floodlights, the pajamas, the round-the-year meaningless tournaments, the twenty-20, the betting et al. But over these years as I grew up watching, what many would call an overdose of cricketing action; my aberrant imagination could not help but humor itself on a few idiosyncrasies of those gentlemen.

FINGER-MAN Whether in spinning the cherry round the willow-yielder’s legs, or typing sweet innocent text messages to leggy women, our good old fat bastard Warney seems to live a life which centers around his fingers and other people’s legs.

LAX-MATE Always bearing the countenance of constant consternation, seems that good ol’ mate Stephen Roger Waugh must have been a little lax on his laxative intake. Over his career, we came to know only two of his facial expressions-the one without the expression, and the grimace when he becomes none too dissatisfied with the on-field proceedings.

SMILING SPEEDSTER Why does Brett Lee always smiles when hit for the boundary? Sportsman spirit or does he likes to be spanked around? Pun not intended.

KP He needs no intro, and I presume his power originates from some special region in his brain, which he continually brings to our attention by that colored patch of hair which changes its hues faster than a chameleon.

FEARSOME FREDDIE Flintoff was earlier hard on beer, but now mended his ways to be harder on batsmen, and bowlers.

HARD-ON Afridi always brought the ‘hard-on’ aspect to the game. He spins hard, hits harder, and sledges the hardest.

DECEPTIVE DEMON Shaoib Akhtar likes to befuddle. Both with his dizzying pace and with his accented English, or rather American. Rolls his wrists and his ‘R’s with equal ease (but to other’s unease).

MYSTIC MURALI Nothing around Murali appears to be cricketesque! His arm-action is that of javelin-thrower, and his facial actions are that of a serial killer.

PRINCE OF TRANCE More conventionally known as the Price of Trinidad, BC Lara shuffles and bends like a rubber-man, as if either someone invisible is tickling him, or someone has set his a** on fire, or he likes the cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof maneuvers, or simply, he finds the 22 yards a little too amusing!

NOSEY Mervyn Dillon, may not be remembered for his deeds with the ball, but doctors kindly take note that the brackish Caribbean breezes and the pungent smell of varnish can sometimes suffice to give a man life-long runny noses. And nothing else, as a matter of fact.

ANYONE BUT ME...(I)

2006-08-06T04:56:00.001-07:00

Those who the gods may destroy, they grant their wishes.
Many a times I ponder over the fact that this piece of Hellenic wisdom couldn’t have been more apt in betraying the ironies of fate.
It all started on a sultry summer afternoon in 1985, when a six-pound-boy was born to a young married couple from an industrial town in Bengal. The very middle-class nature of my birth stamped on me a cachet of being conventional, pragmatic and mediocre in ambitions. Five years later when I started to top my very middle-class school, I was branded as intelligent. And like so many millions of other “intelligent” middle-class industrial-town children, I was taught that scholastic performance was the be-all and end-all of all professional pursuits in life.
Though my tender cardiac valves and my curious cranium found its way in literature, sports, and painting, they were continually reminded of the harsher and less romantic veracities of life. I was destined to choose one amongst engineering, medicine and applied sciences as my career, and I duly complied by ending up in one of the best schools that ‘scholastic aptitude’ and the taxpayers’ money can fetch in my motherland.
And little did I realize beforehand that scores of fine young men and women, much more intelligent, ambitious, industrious and creative than me would be flocked together in the same place. I felt very, very mediocre.
And now, standing at the threshold of yet another turning-stone in my life, my thoughts are flooded with futile recollections of all that I wanted to do, all that I could not do, and all that I should have done, especially since it appears that everyone else but me has an idea about what I should be doing with my life.
It started when I got my first toy car…I wanted to be a 24*7 chauffer. At the age of three, when I consciously experienced a steam locomotive for the first time, I wanted to be an engine-driver. At five, when I took my first rickshaw-ride to school, I wanted to be a rickshaw-walla. When I was through with my nursery rhymes, I wanted to be Santa Claus. When my sister was born and according to me took away a share of my parents’ attention, I wanted to be her. When I read my first Holmes novel, I wanted to be Holmes. When I had my first crush in sixth grade, I wanted to be a florist and a bard and a prince rolled into one. When I saw Shane Warne bowling Gatting round his legs, I craved to be a legspinner. When I saw my first Baywatch episode, I wanted to be David Hasselhorf. I wanted to be Goran when he won the Championships in his fourth final. I wanted to be Nehru when I first read out the “independence speech” in a morning assembly. When I saw a leper for the fist time, I wanted to be Mother Teresa. When I learnt about racism, I wanted to be Martin Luther. When I got good grades in college, I wanted to do better, and more often than not when I got poor grades, I still wanted to do well. When I have nothing to do, I wish I had something to do, and when my hands are full with work, I want to shun all responsibilities and flee.
And when I go to bed each night, I pray to those Greek gods that I am reborn as a child, for whom the world is but a vast white easel, and who has the freedom to paint it in whichever fashion it may please him.
What a pity I want to be anyone but me. The other side of the story shall also be brought to light…

THE SMILE OF THE SPHINX

2006-07-27T19:57:00.000-07:00

Dear fellowmen( who am I addressing? Hardly anyone besides Ankan and myself reads this blog!), after a couple of pakau and thouroghly unenjoyable blogs, my friends suggested I wite something more light-hearted. And shorter. So I tried very hard to find humor inside and around me, but failed miserably once again. It only reminded me of how useless I am. And speaking of uselessness immediately reminded me of my misfortunes with the members of the fairer sex.
Oscar Wilde, in his The Smile of the Sphinx tells us that women are to be loved, not to be undesrtood. Some may think he was sexist, but he was, ironically, true. My story dates back to my sixth and seventh grades when i had the hots for a certain girl in my class. It was my hormones, I was told. It was divine love, I thought. Consequently she thought i was too ugly for her, and I rationalized by saying i needed someone more sensible.. Next came THE YEAR-my tenth grade.I again fell for someone who spoke rather well. I tried to measure up to her by doing unusual things like wrting poetry ( doggerels, on afterthought), singing hosannas and undue cerebration. Inspite of that, she thought I was callow, and I rationalized by thinking that i needed someone more attractive. Then came high school-the place where you are supposed to be baptized into the tricks of the trade ( pardon my expression). But alas, this time i needed no rationalizing-i did not consider a single young woman around me either sensible or attractive.I "saved" myself for college.
College would be wild I thought, where people did STUFF, just as they show on each and every one of those Hindi college flicks which are invariably remakes of Grease. But in the name of college, I was thrown into a jungle of sexually frustrated homosexual young men who did nothing besides pursue academics(?) and stalk each other. I thought I would try my hand(?) elsewhere, but realized that I might not muster the time/inclination/desire/money/other things needed to fuel a successful hunt for a female match. And vice versa!
So here I am, after twenty-one years of my life, burdenless. I tried being intelligent, I tried being naive, I tried being ugly , I tried being sweet( but I am noy gay!), I tried being gruff, I tried being senstive, I tried being insenstive, I tried being what I actually am. Nothing worked.My uselessness have even triggered certain blood-relations and friends to show explicit concern over the fact that i may die a you-know-what.
So here goes my case. My experiences have turned me from single and desperate to single and pathetic. Now I do not even try to love women without understanding them.
Oscar Wilde was actually half-right in my case. You can never unravel the smile of the sphinx.

MAN AND SUPERMAN

2006-07-25T20:59:00.000-07:00

The other day, a most esteemed and learned friend of mine averred that a hero who falls from the lofty standards that he sets for himself and the world is no longer a hero-he is just another ordinary being with extraordinary skills. My most humble and ignorant self was thoroughly confused, as to whether I was asked to shift the context from flesh-and-blood role models to the comic book ones.

The very concept of a hero is that of a person who is the quintessence of excellence in his field, and who has shown extraordinary fortitude and skills in overcoming the impediments that society and circumstances have tried to dissuade him with. He is therefore, fit to be revered, to be emulated, to be admired, because he, in spite of being an ordinary individual otherwise, has constantly thrived on the desire to surpass his own abilities, and stretch his individual limitations. No single human individual has moral and ethical standards lofty enough to be immutable. And those extraordinary men are heroes since their achievements more than compensate for their common follies, not because they do not possess them. And the presence of an Achilles’ heel is but the characteristic of any and every great man.

The soldiers of Genghis Khan, the ruler of the single largest ever empire in the history of humankind, massacred tribe after tribe and plundered village after village, under his orders. Asoka, the greatest apostle of peace India has ever produced, was a savage warmonger in the earlier parts of his life. Kautliya, the great Indian economist, was known to have indulged in dishonorable activities. The brilliant ruler of Jerusalem, Pontius Pilate, send Jesus to the rood. Shahjahan, after having built the Taj Mahal, severed the hands of the craftsmen so that they could never posibly emulate the Taj. Christopher Columbus, the discoverer of the ‘New World’, has been found guilty of torturing his crew and letting them starve to death. Thomas Jefferson, the founder of the constitution of the nation which the world today considers the torch-bearer of liberty and equality, was the master of scores of Black slaves. Pablo Picasso, drew his artistic inspirations from his lurid encounters in Parisian brothels. Gandhi, the most extraordinary man whose political genius and selfless sacrifice ameliorated a fifth of the world’s population in 1947, advocated some views which were, ironically, detrimental to the progress of the nation for which he finally gave up his life for. Bill Gates, the single most successful entrepreneur in the last quarter of the last century, was tried and amerced for carrying out unfair trade practices. Even the world’s most powerful person daily doles out death to scores of innocent impoverished children of the Middle-East.

Therein lays the catch, my friends. Though we have seen over the period of recorded human history, that all great men are essentially men with the keenest of abilities, but fallible nonetheless, a section of skeptics harp about their shortcomings and magnify them, as if normal human shortcomings besmirch the loftiness of great individuals.

Well, after all, it takes a big heart and an open mind to be appreciative and forgiving.

We would rather bask in the sunshine than complain that it blinds our eyes. But for a bigot, his mind is but the pupil of an eye-the more light is shone onto it, the more it contracts and refuses to be enlightened.

PS Referring to comic book heroes, even they make mistakes, my dear. Superman didn’t even knew how to use his inner-garments in a proper and conventional way. Therefore, even superman is very, very human. Is he not?

DEAR YAZID...

2006-07-24T05:13:00.000-07:00

ZINDEDINE YAZID ZIDANE…

The name sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Perhaps half of the denizens of this planet are acquainted with the name, and it almost immediately rings a bell. But what about the second of the three names that he has?

You are bang on target, dear men and women. Yes, he, besides being a Frenchman, is also a you-know-what. The world carefully chose to call him Z. instead of Y., also for reasons you-know-why. The name Yazid could well have been that of a ruthless terrorist, or maybe an illiterate cultivator, or an ultra-conservative priest, even an uncultured oil baron. But a French artist? NEVER…

The brouhaha over the ‘head-butt’ has brought into sudden scrutiny his ethnic origin, his upbringing, and his disciplinary record. The man, who was, until very recently touted as one of the best exponents of the skill of playing football ever born, has now figured in the hate-list of millions.

Oh, he has attracted so many red-cads while playing for Juve, you know…

Oh, he has already kicked and butted, you know….

Oh, he is an Afro; you know…what else would you expect from one?

And, oh …I almost forgot…he is a Muslim, so he is expected to be violent, you know….

Yes, dear. I know.

And probably so did Marco Materazzi on that eventful evening in Berlin, and perhaps his pure Caucasian blood was boiling with a seething rage…maybe he was scared of humiliation…that a Roman like him might have to stare from the stands as an African Muslim lifts the ultimate prize and wins copious accolades, after defeating him in a conquest which is more recognized as the battle for supreme glory.

The arrogant racist inside him heard the clarion-call. The impending insult would be too much for his blue blood, the same blood which had once massacred many and enslaved many more of the same race that his more-than-a-handful adversary represented. So, he humbly chose to let him know what he expected him to be: a bloody terrorist, a despicable Afro, a mother****er, and a brother to a fallen woman.

But for the person, who came from a family which had to flee its native country under extenuating social circumstances, and had to live with the tag of an immigrant in a western European nation from the day he saw light, the racial angle was a bit different. Growing up in a poor Parisian suburb, life was never that easy for a youth like him with an uncertain national and a precarious religious identity. So he strove for excellence, the pursuit being relentlessly fueled by a burning desire to dissuade the barrages of insults and apathetic treatment meted out to him by the uncouth Parisian slums, the notoriously racist Juve dressing-room, and the arrant arrogance of Madrid suburbs.

He left behind a blaze of glory with his skills over the years, and the poor Muslim boy was now a hero, and almost waiting to be elevated to sainthood. Almost. As the very final moments of his battle against the cruel adversities of life that he was cursed with drew near, he stood on the threshold of eternal glory, after having brilliantly led a side that was written off as a loser before the very first bugles of the battle were sounded, to the verge of a most remarkable victory (?).

Time was beckoning as he saw a montage flow past his eyes at a dizzyingly fast pace All those years of sweat, blood, tears and humiliation were at last enough, he thought, to have answered all questions that society put forth him in the past thirty-four years. He thought he had cemented his place in the hearts of men: a place of honor, of admiration, of reverence.

He was sorely mistaken, as M.M. showed with his astute verbal skills. The helpless soul inside him could take no more, after having being proven wrong. He protested with a token exhibition of disagreement and despair. Some thought of it as the tirade of a savage attacker.

Alas! He was proved wrong again. After all, a person with his lineage is not supposed to reason, to dissent, to disagree, you know…

Now he is permanently ensconced in the seat of a tainted hero- a man with exceptional skills and misplaced values. But unfortunately, dear Yazid, the people who judge you, who challenge you, who abuse you are not even worth a peck of dust.

You mesmerized us mortals with you artistry. You fought like a lion and led like Moses.

You showed us the virtues of patient sufferance and dedication. Finally, you showed us how to be a man.

You have always been, and shall always remain, the Hero.