Unrequited dreams. Unkept promises.

The felicitation ceremony allowed for only one companion. It was cruel. But that attribute had been mastered to perfection by the communist government of West Bengal at that time in 1991. In their infinite wisdom or twisted worldview, they had implicitly asked to choose one amongst the parents to be with you when you were to be felicitated for your outstanding academic performance in your 12^th. (Lack of space was given as the reason !!!)

So, it was decided. The father was to accompany him. The elder one – the jewel in the crown. Outshining perhaps even the one who couldn’t be outshone. Competitive exams mastered beyond expectations. A man of exceptional intelligence – I was told later. I never did realize though, for the longest time.

The mother was happy at the son’s incredible achievement. But disappointed at having to miss out on such a prestigious occasion. The younger one was 12, barely nibbling at the teens. He promised. There would be another time. When it was his time. The mother smiled.

It was not to be. The distracted younger one muffled up. Missed the only opportunity that was. Did the mother remember? Maybe. The son never asked. But he would remember this. For life. He would also remember the disappointed voice over the phone when he informed his father that his dream of seeing both his sons attend the same college would not come true. For life.

18 years later, the father would go. No goodbyes. In that 18 years, the elder one continued to prosper. The younger one too, did spring unexpected surprises and did fine. Neither of the sons had the opportunity to express gratitude or love before he left.

The mother carried on. The younger one promised her to be there whenever she needed him. This time, he did keep. 4 years later, Covid struck. Being in different countries, with no possibility of travel, the mother felt hopeless. The elder son made it a point to call everyday. Everyday – for 2 years. The younger one promised her again to visit – the day it allowed him to travel and resolved to be there for her 75^th.

Life had other plans. Travel restrictions remained through September 2021. Destiny seemed to be unfavourable to the younger one. Then suddenly, it turned. November 2021 – a month before her 75, easing of restrictions were announced. Nudged by the wife, the younger one, despite trepidation, very afraid, convinced, planned his visit. Landed and went home unannounced. Rang the doorbell.

And saw her smiling. A smile delayed 23 years. Not a redemption perhaps but one to keep. For life. 

We, The Parents...

We tend to be a trifle more generous with our assessments on the significance of our achievements. In that context, evaluating oneself on success of parenting becomes very interesting. Afternoons presents itself with such ruminations. Like most ruminations, these are largely pointless as most thoughts without actions are. 

Every parent probably has asked these questions to themselves at some point of time:

1. Are we raising our kids right ? 
2. Are we inculcating the right moral architecture for them to become better than we are ? 
3. Are they learning the right things ? 

And finally, the biggest and the deadliest one, one capable of scorching the soul - how do we measure against our parents ? 

The problem with such qualitative questions are that they are open-ended with no definite answers. I don't know if my daughter would turn out to be a great human being - I am assuming that it is the end objective for every parent. Personally, I would be happy, if she does not turn out to be a complete wreck, is able to fend for herself without much dependence on others. However, if I assume that her worldview and initial ideas are shaped by my (my/I are interchangeably used with me & my wife as us) perspectives, then how do I expect a better moral compass to be established in her mind ? In effect, she is fighting insurmountable odds since the day she was born. 

Leaving aside her tryst with potential greatness or the complete lack of it, lets come to the question of measuring ourselves with the only experience we have had in our lives. Our own parents. Most of us would have hated our parents in our younger brighter days. Days, we fondly recall as transformative, days where our parents seemingly had no clue of what we were up to, days where they could never comprehend our behaviors and our disposition to life. Either of unbridled exuberance or unrealistic fatalism. Some of us were out to change the world ! (You see - we were supposedly the creme de la creme of the most intellectual state in India. We were to lead our country to salvation. 20 years on, the only thing most of us have managed to salvage is our own finances - but that's another story for another day) 

In those days, the common refrain and I was no exception was that our parents have no perspective. Did they understand love ? Did they understand scorn or did they even understand what 'to belong' meant ? In all likelihood, they did not. I can say with some amount of certainty that many did not. 

We were of course, hopelessly wrong. 

Our peanut sized brain, with an exaggerated sense of self-worth with no perspectives (Most of what we held as truth or beliefs that we thought were unshakable - I am sure, we have had to revisit or revise) could not, for most parts even understand that the narrative across generations remain so obvious, so remarkably similar (not same). In short, we judged them and they probably did pass, but without distinction. Then 20 years happened. Life happened. Dare I say, we grew up. Unfailingly so, some aspect of humility dawned on us. Some of us became parents. And then the fun began. It was payback time. For the generation we wrote off. They knew better not to judge. They knew better all along. They just smiled. And we had the shock of our lives. 

To say we had no clue on handling a wailing organism who cared shit about your perspectives would be a monumental understatement. I had always thought that I was fairly good at handling kids (I actually was!), would be an excellent father, imparting the right tips on the side at the right time, self-assured in handling all sorts of questions that may come my way. In the last 7 years, pretty much all of those hypothesis have been disproved. With vengeance. The first couple of years were, well - educative. And then things started coming back. My earliest memory was when I was 5. So in that sense, there was no compartitive before that. 

In a way, its easier dealing with less than 5 year olds. You can be dictatorial, cajoling, indulgent, manipulative (that works both ways) without much residual damage. However, something happens around that 5 year zone. Suddenly, what we have to contend with is a human being. And all that comes with being one. Its difficult to objectively evaluate your child (incredibly difficult for a father to do so about his daughter - something about those large eyes chips at you always!). Her grandparents think she is the incarnation of all that is good with the world, her teachers may think something worthwhile but such is the state of teachers nowadays that every shortcoming is rationalized, every small but obvious attributes are glorified and her parents do not know chalk vs cheese. In all this mess, the only pointer becomes, a comparative with how we were and what positions our parents took at this juncture. 

This is where it gets personal. For each of our childhood have played out differently. Having said that, there is one aspect of parenting which we seem to falter on versus our parents. That is the art of saying "No". We think we do that enough. And we do. Yet, what do we do it on ? We say "No" to more more screen time, "No" to fancy games perhaps, "No" to expensive dresses perhaps ? Our "No" is more an attempt to stem the tide. Its not a point of principle. We do not take a position that 5000 toys are not needed. Or that screen time is not advisable. Or use of public transport is a great way to commute. 

In short, we tend to give way to all of these bit by bit. And then we justify to ourselves that this is the best we could. 

• How could we limit screen time when all her friends have excessive exposure ? Would she not then be left out of her peer group ? 
• Public transport is not convenient and she will learn to deal with it when she grows up and becomes independent. How will she if we don't show the way ? 
• One toy too many - What can we do ? These are gifts. Which we propagate, perpetuate. 

So, on one hand, we try to teach them the value of things, little realizing that value is best understood in scarcity (my socialist friends are laughing!). I was told "No" for many of these things in my childhood - some due to financial reasons, some purely on account of principle. 

Today I respect that immensely. Because I realize today, that the hardest thing to do is to say "No" every time to your children. It breaks your heart to see them disappointed. Specially when affordability is not a question. To deprive your children because you feel that it is not appropriate for them to have something and to explain that in palatable terms to your child, is at complete odds with your natural instinct. In our generation, we have allowed this instinct to prevail over us, much more than required. So while we may do many things better than our parents, this one crucial element in parenting - to teach the value of not having something is the greatest casualty of our generation of parenting. 

Radhika 4

Time flies. There is nothing remotely wise about this statement. Or novel. However, the point of significance of 'time' and its mere transience is more often than lost. And with that is lost the sweetness or bitterness of the experiences we have. We later refer to them as memories.

You are close to 3 now. As you keep claiming depending on when it suits you, a 'big girl' - specially when wanting to eat spicy foods and a 'little one' when you wish to be pampered. The last 3 years have been a revelation.

I was told that parenthood is the best thing that can happen to anyone. I am still not sure on that. It depends entirely on the life one had before it.

But one thing is certain. Its an experience which is not to be missed. Its not about unconditional love. Its not about faith or trust. Not about knowing yourself better. Not about probably making a better person out of a parent. Not about continuation of a part of me. Not also about the entertainment a child is able to provide by doing nothing of note.

Its just about knowing your own parents better. Much better. In fact, to the extent of knowing themselves for the first time.

What we know of our parents when we grow up is just an aspect of their life, centered around us. They are hardly that person or were before they became parents.

The things they did for us, the anxiety that followed every time we were out of the house - its not possible to fathom the reasons for these at 18. And by the time, we have a measure of what they truly are, 'time's gone. And then you think about what you can do for them and there are no answers that can satisfy you. All seem a bit too insignificant.

And they still don't ask for anything. Probably that's parenthood.

As we enjoy ours, with you, through you, oblivious to you, we will remember the time, when you asked with wide eyed wonder about how is YOUR mother related to YOUR granny, or when you asked for an umbrella because YOUR car was getting drenched in the rain or the gleeful delight in executing a perfect fart or your expression of irritation when I cuddle you for the 50th time of the day.

Radhika Part 3

What will be your first memory ? Mine was my first day at school. The first five years has been a complete washout. Which means, right now, while you will be every bit a part of our memory, we will not be.

But something of these 5 years will stay on. In what form or fashion is not discernible yet. And we will never know. Just as my parents have not. Just as you will not, when your time comes.

I wonder what will shape you as a person. Which actions of ours, the ones we despise and we do not want to pass on, will you absorb and carry on with. Is there any hope of you getting out of our shadows ? Will you be able to look at us with clear-eyed objectivity and let us know at some point - things you have been able to filter and in the process become somewhat tolerable ? If I were to judge by history, it is unlikely that it will be a convincing victory.

Its a battle. To understand your own frailties. To accept them, to know that your parents, whom you would be looking up to for the next decade or so are as much human as you would be. Parents do not make mistakes. Unfortunately, they need to choose. And choices are like a coin toss. You win some, you lose some.

So point a finger if you must, if you have to. Only remember, that those same fingers will come back.

I have not learnt from the failures of my parents. Mostly because few of us know where they actually failed. By extension, you will not as well. The only thing I can think which I will try to give you, which my parents were not able to give me, would be to question the wisdom of your parents. Since each generation chooses to prioritize what to give basis their own experience, this is what I choose for you.

When you think back, your generation will consider this as a given. Trust me. For us, it was not. As incredible as it may sound to you, parents still do teach their children to believe in a universal creator. Unfair. Unjust.

Radhika - this is a gift. I will know whether this gift has been worth it. Whether my choice was right. I only hope, it is.

Radhika Part 2

It is fashionable these days for parents to write letters to their children articulating what they want their kids to know at some point of time in life. I consider myself to be extremely fashionable and hence....

Every parent would want their child to be academically brilliant, would want the best for them, would want them to be successful in life, want them to be aware of our culture and possess a system of values which they believe would hold their kids in good stead. The definitions of what constitutes academic brilliance or successful or culture or values varies is entirely another matter of debate. 

I want my daughter to be or have all of this. Yet I know for a fact, that the odds are stacked against her. And it would not be because of her. It is unfair to expect our children to be better human beings because of us. If they do succeed, it would be inspite of us.

Academic brilliance for example. Would we be fine if she is unbeatable at social science and average across the other subjects ? Most of us would find it horrifying if our children are not good at science and would probably go into a state of depression if numbers do not appeal to our kids. By virtue of being descendants of Aryabhatta, we believe its in our blood and from the moment we are born, we will start counting. 

We claim we are a lot more liberal than our parents. Yes, we are. Yet if our kids were to come to us some day and profess their love for someone of the same sex, would we be able to accept ? Not that they would care. But our true test of tall claims and openness are yet to be tested. And believe you me, it will be.

Values - this a word I love. For no other word hold in itself such diametrically radical consequences. The person who leers at a woman because she wears what we perceive as provocatively dressed, does so out of a moral value which he feels he is right in believing - that women should conduct themselves in a certain way. The value of expecting women to do so is questionable and condemnable but may be harmless if it is overridden by another value of respecting the boundaries of civility towards all humans. It is out here that, we as parents, are most likely to fail. Because even before the child charts his set of values to subscribe to, we have by virtue of our actions and attitude have already influenced his.

So my dear Radhika, I hope that when you turn an age favourable for you to think and act, do go back all the way and question us on everything we are about to teach you over the next decade or so. When I say everything, I may not mean everything. So be sure to remind us, that we did say 'everything'. Remind us that you are entitled to your stupidity and utter foolishness as we were in our youth. If that age does not come to you, then life will teach you all that is required. It is not a path one wishes for his progeny, but better than not learning it at all. And in turn, I will give you one legacy to live with. I will remind you every time, not to put up with nonsense, irrespective of whoever it comes from. Even me. Because that is the only lesson, which I remember my father teaching me.

As a woman in our country, probably, the only lesson worth remembering and pursuing in life.

Good luck & may you learn to respect merit and not experience !

Radhika : Part I

When you read this years on, if at all you do inculcate a habit of reading, I am sure you will not fully understand what a father or parents go through once they become one. You will be far too young. Too juvenile (a phrase which used to irk me no end when my girl-friends used it on me!) and fairly lacking in understanding what this all means. Trust me, at your age, your father was no different. And for that matter anyone else's as well. 

This is not a post about how your father was. Or rather what he was. By now, you would have figured that out. And it would not be a surprise if the opinion is not one worthy of a mention. All children look upon their parents in their teens as been clueless about their dreams, desires, life in general. I will not put up a defense but merely let time work its way in letting you know how wrong you were.

This post is about you and how you changed us in your first year.

We were warned that our lives are going to change in ways in which we cannot imagine from the day you were to be born. So, your mother diligently went about preparing for it. Books were lent from friends, websites surfed to give her a false sense of being ready. Your precocious father refused to do both in his ever so familiar prudish outlook stating that 'learning on the job' was his tried and tested success recipe. Then you came in. 

Too much hair. A blunt nose. Beautiful eye-lashes. Lovely eyes. Hardly a perfect creation, totally expected from an imperfect set of people. We had heard people being delirious with joy, ecstatic and amazed at the arrival of prince or princesses and going berserk on espousing the 'unbridled joy' that is parenthood. We assure you Radhika, nothing of that sort happened to us ! We were happy but scared. We were not king and queen and hence did not expect you to be either a prince or princess. Furthermore, I already had one in my life before you came in and to this day that has not changed. And in the first 21 days, the most emphatic feeling we had was one of dire helplessness and sleeplessness. Superlative adjectives expressing joy were a far cry. 

Our lives had indeed changed. From being people with avid interests in multiple things, we got down to learning about our parents. We understood what is meant by a 'bond between a child and a mother', we appreciated the efforts our parents made for us, we realized that without being a parent, our lives would have been incomplete. We would not have known why we are the way we are. We would not have known ourselves completely. 

My initial doubt about your ability to cry loudly on the day of your birth was put to rest in the month to come. You would just refuse to stop crying. Your mother and I had no fucking clue (Yes, we did use such words and some more of the choicest ones when we were young !) And you would not negotiate. Either 'my way or the highway' was coined probably keeping you in mind. But you smiled. Only when you shat ! Then, it started getting better. 

TBC

Indian Cricket : Going Backwards

Don't let them fool you. We have hardly made progress in cricket post the golden era of Indian cricket when Tendulkar, Ganguly, Laxman, Dravid, Anil played their part.

This assertion is likely to ruffle many feathers. They will be quick to point out that India is the No. 1 Test team in the world, that we are World Champions, we were T20 champions. I will contest each of these claims, not from a factual point of view (these are irrefutable truths!) but by questioning the basic premise of each.

We are world champions : Yes. We are. In a tournament played in India.
We were T20 champions: Yes. We were. Hardly a form of game which tests skills and even though we boast of the biggest/richest T20 league, our performance of late has been at best okay and at worst unmentionable.
We are the No.1 test playing nation in the world: Yes. That did not come overnight. It took years of toil, single minded focus from a captain who wanted to win abroad backed up by a team of delightful professionals. And we were not defeated when we went to England and Australia. For the first time since 1986 and 1979 respectively. We broke new ground. We have let that go.

Today, we have again come back to the same situation we were in the mid nineties. We were tourists who were expected to score a century or two and not offer much resistance to defeat. We were tigers at home and sheep abroad. We still are.

England currently has the best bowling attack in the world in Test matches. Followed by South Africa. For once, Australia would be a distant third. Against each of these countries, we have drawn won a test match, let alone win in their country.

When you forego all the good work you have done and go back in time then there is fundamentally something wrong. And there is no cause for rejoice. We should wait for that day when our overpaid rookies and overnight heroes inspire us to win in all conditions consistently. Till then, let us hold our celebrations at bay and watch some other sport.

Doing Well

This is a common refrain that is heard nowadays in the neo-rich world : "He has done well for himself". I am not sure why it rubs me the wrong way and invariably irks me. The obvious implication of that statement is that the person in question has been a professional success. Basically he has been able to accumulate quite a bit of wealth, one which the person would try to subtly underplay, yet simultaneously, mention certain snippets of his life to give out the impression of being wealthy.

I am unable to comprehend why making money should be counted as equivalent of "doing or done well". One reason could be that I have hardly made any ! But keeping my own predicament aside, whatever happened to having a complete life where it is important to take a look at one's life from the prism of collective rather than the individual? This obscene expressions of wealth, of projecting a perception of being not left behind, of belonging to riches and trying our best at not even remotely been in the near vicinity of the have-nots is perplexing.

Probably this indirect projection of snooty arrogance is the cause of why usually money is looked down upon. This is where middle-class societies with its value system used to play a pivotal role in balancing such impulses. Since the middle class does not exist anymore, at least no one wants to be part of it anymore willingly, our concept of what should constitute a life "done well" has become twisted and hopelessly unidimensional.

I wonder what we would have said of Mohandas or Narendranath or Subhash or Medha ? Did they do well ? Or for that matter, who by dint of being satisfied with life would be bracketed as being unambitious or not been driven - the conclusion for these poor souls are unflattering. The crime, nowadays for been satisfied and consequently happy is to be pushed in the periphery or the zone of insignificance.

I am a staunch capitalist but this unbearable focus on finance causes me to re-think and makes me think that with wealth, there should be a mandatory lesson in humility and perspective. Probably a slap once in a while on their nice rounded backsides could be another alternative!

Growing Up

My assertion to the title of the post is contrary to the general perception. While the calendar states I am somewhere close to 30s (and this is a conservative view, I am taking) but the mind refuses to accept the stark reality.


Like Shahid Afridi I had decided to pause on turning 18. I somehow found that age quite comfortable. In fact, some of the best times I had started from that age. A little earlier perhaps. But for the sake of not been extremely far from the truth, lets assume that to be 18. So, while the years went by, the sprightly young dynamism in me never took a backseat. I did choose to laze and while away the time I had and I spent most part of it yearning for the attention of one lady I had sort of taken a liking to, but other than that the amount of time I had I spent it with gutso and an energy that, now, I cannot even fathom I had.


In short, I had no time. There were exactly 42,351 things to be done. Life was trying to keep pace with me. And failing every day.


Now, from that time on to this day, I have missed the days in between. I mean, till about 23 (now, I am talking about the calendar age), I can recount every damned thing I did. I remember the emotions I felt pretty much every moment. The question is why ? Probably its because of the incredible people I had in my life at that time. My friends.


Today, I have pretty much lost all of them. It is an unfortunate reality which someday I will need to accept. And move on. While the relationship may still be strong and when we meet, it may still be magic. But what is lost is that daily grind of being swayed by unusually useless things, of just talking about life. Of sharing. I do not know what joy they have by pursuing a life which will provide them with unimaginable prosperity. Maybe, that is the only thing to live for. The telephone conversations keep the thread intact but does not allow it to fly.


Maybe, after all of this, I am still yet to grow up. I possibly, never will. Do I want/need to ?

Lost Love

My first brush with him was when I was twelve. Way too young to even understand with intensity any of the emotions he could invoke. Yet Abhas Kumar Ganguly or known to most as Kishore Kumar has had a profound impact on my early years.

I was besotted by the haunting aspect of his voice and was completely taken in by his ability to transform the mood I was in just by listening to him.

Koi Hota Jisko Apna...
Aye Tum Yaad Mujhe...
Kiska Rasta Dekhe...
Yeh Laal Rang...

These were my favourites. In the next 3-4 years, not an evening would be spent without my Philips two-in-one blaring his songs. Mother would just not figure out why I would listen to such tragic and fatalistic songs ! Of course, in that there was a reason. And as in most cases, the reason was a woman. That is however, another story for another day.

Today, I cannot quite fathom why I loved those songs. The only word that comes to my mind is 'inexplicable'. I do still remember the context but what I find absolutely deplorable or incomprehensible is what is it that appealed to me so much about them then and what is it about them that I am indifferent to them today ?

The answer is not in the songs. Maybe the answer is me. An unfortunate and sad fact of life is that I have grown up. And though I am still every bit the hopeless romantic at heart, I cannot by any stretch of imagination feel anything when I hear these songs.

It is a love story gone sour. We are still friends and we will always be, yet somewhere we have lost a chord. While there are still many such nuggets which tug at my heart, but that is nothing compared to the passion we shared. Maybe, this is how it was meant to end. That I be replaced as the most obsessive follower by some other 15 year old of the day and me looking back and wondering how I could have loved so much.

15 years - that is what it took for me to lose one of the most endearing part of my childhood.

Give and Take

Whenever I wonder about the balance of life, I am quite simply nonplussed. If the basic assumption is you reap what you sow, then what or how much you give finally should equate out to what you get. Yet, that hardly seems to happen. You look around and see that absolute nitwits for whom the word 'bastard' was possibly designed get away by being lousy S-O-Bs while the inherently good and decent ones get the stick.

But this is not about them. It is about the countless times when you have given everything you had to people who have hardly ever stopped to glance at you and thank you for what you have done, and appreciating how much they mean to you and got nothing in return. So much so, that at one point you wonder where do you go from here. What else do you need to make them appreciate you and then you realize that whatever you do, it will not happen. For they are too oblivious of you, too consumed with their own considerations.

It hurts. And you are filled with a sense of wastage.

The other side of the coin is more interesting and more poignant. Many a time, while we are pursuing our set of interests, we commit the same error - an error of utter neglect towards the ones who have given us their love and undying attention. For those, your smile might be the most important thing they look forward to. Maybe, you do smile but not with them, but at them, at their all too apparent folly at the things they do to be with you. In short, you trivialize and insult their emotions. Yet, looking at it purely objectively, they are the ones who deserve you the most. And they are the ones who have been left high and dry.

So, how does this equate out ? Does this ever stop us from making the same mistakes again ? Does this make us more sensitive and teach us to appreciate love as and when we see and feel it ? The feeling of deja-vu is not one which is gratifying irrespective of which end of the spectrum you are at and in both cases, you should be more careful of losing out on the wonderful touch of love because of your inability to appreciate it.

Devdas's Glorification and Parvati's Pain

From the time I read this classic I have always been overwhelmed by its principal protagonist. Devdas, epitomizing the suffering of an unrequited lover. Love has the potential to destroy a soul. And Mr.Chatterjee's words ensured that when you finish the novel a part of you cries with him. In a lonely death yards away from the house of his beloved.

Yet, as I think now, I cannot help but feel that Sarat-babu was too biased and completely oblivious to the plight of Devdas's love interest Parvati. We are never allowed to feel any empathy for her. Saratchandra does not do justice to her. Never for a moment does he delve into the psyche and silent moments of anger, frustration and deprivation which Parvati must have felt.

It is assumed surreptitiously that being a woman, she has accepted her fate and moulded herself and directed her mind to meeting the wants and desires of the household which she was married into. Her aspirations of a life of love with the person she loved, her anger at Devdas's seeming cowardice at not being able to take her with him and the frustration of being with another man, completly shutting her of all the magical moments love can bring is never put forth.

We see that Devdas suffers. His pain, unbearable, finds temporary solace in Chandramukhi and in alcohol. His torment is glorified and Sarat-babu, incredulously puts a white veil to this by implying the purity and intensity of his emotions through his act of abstinence from having a transactional relationship with the courtesan. Implicit also is the assumption that once married and too occupied in her household activities Parvati is happy - for happiness for the woman was defined as having access to wealth and position in lieu of her husband. Ironically, the state of mind or of the heart was never considered for Parvati. The glorification of Devdas and the utter neglect of Parvati and her ordeal, which any woman is likely to go through in such a situation is unfair deserves to be questioned.

Over the years, as I have been exposed to emotions of various kinds, the unfairness to Parvati has made me think. Think about what and how much a woman can endure. Think how little we know of them, how we have, maybe unconsciously pushed their emotions to the fringes and how naive we are when we claim to know them.

Today, when I hear of heartbreaks and stories of lost love and broken relationships, I remember Parvati with her dignified reconciliation to her situation and the weakling that Devdas was - unable to cope up with the failure at love. Makes me wonder, who loved and lost more. Devdas, having given vent to his feelings or Parvati who kept quiet and led a life without ever having the avenues to express and only her own heart to talk to.

Saumyajit

There are some who will bring a smile to your face the moment their thought crosses your mind, there are some whom you would not even remember after a brush in an evening while there are some who would earn your respect by the sheer weight of their personality but there would always be one who would change the way you think leaving an indelible imprint on your mind, on your life.

I don't know whether Saumyajit has changed my life. Now is not the time to be the judge of that. Maybe, 20 years later, when I start doing a post mortem on my life. But surely the association which started about 15 years back has transformed my thoughts, recalibrated my principles, allowed me to break the greatest barrier known to man - to unshackle the mind and allow it to be free.

I was batting in an absolutely trivial match in my locality where it was a question of life and death to win or lose when I saw this book with a white cover with a rose on top which said "Love Story". At 17, when your life is pretty much on a diet dished out by parents based on the foundations of their moral and ethical fabric, the word 'love' was meant to be uttered in hushed tones, the word 'kiss' used only while cuddling babies and 'sex' meant only checking boxes in forms where you had to specify gender. So, on looking at that book with wide eyed wonder, my exclamation caught him off-guard and he straight away shoved it in my hand. A bit hesitant, I enquired the likely reaction of my parents if they were to catch me reading such a book, to which his nonchalant reply was to first ask them to read that!

That was the book. I had not read anything like that before. It was an appetizer to a sumptuous never-ending meal. After that, at periodic intervals, I would ask him what to read and would have some of the best times of my life poring over his recommendations. And then discuss them with him. His method, or an agenda, I doubt if there was one, was to just throw up a question and let me be with that. In one discussion I remember having being critical of people indulging in sex with reckless abandon, only in pursuit of physical pleasure. His response was "what is wrong with that?" To this day, I do not have an answer to that and possibly this question was the genesis to me thinking about everything and questioning all till I found an answer which would either have a rational backing or an emotional one.

And then came the movies. An ardent follower and admirer of Hollywood, this was a dessert which I had not had an exposure to. That words have power, that melodrama may not be the only method of expression that grief and love has a refined intensity which is much more endearing and intoxicating is something which the movies of the 50s and 60s have made me realize.

What this exposure has inadvertently done is to make me a trfile snooty and utterly dismissive of people who do not read or watch stuff which you wont even remember a moment of barely a minute after you have finished it. I seem to have lost some of my humility in the process but what I have gained in the process is many times more gratifying.

So here is to Saumyajit. May all of the 'spidermans', wherever they are, always have a Saumyajit at some point of time in their life - maybe not to change them, maybe not to do anything but just maybe to make them realize that the liberation of the mind is the greatest instrument of experiencing the divine taste of freedom.

Parents and Children

I know all of what you do are meant truly for our well-being, that the intentions are absolutely noble and you only have our best interest at heart. The problem is what constitutes as a virtue to you or rather a vice to you might not be one when you look at it from my perspective. If you let your apprehensions and prejudices and inhibitions and more importantly your value system dictate what I should do or should not, then you are fundamentally destroying everything you have tried to inculcate in me.

YOU have taught me to be independent, to use my ability to think and weigh and choose accordingly what is right or beneficial for me. YOU have given what you had to give and if I, today, are at loggerheads with your value system or your conventions and I desire to chart out a path that I think suits my disposition, then YOU need to stop for a second and allow yourself to trust me against your wishes. Before you jump out of your skin and use the typical parental rhetoric of me being insensitive and how things used to be in your time.

Because if you do that, then I need to remind you in all humility that your time has passed. Just as mine will maybe 20 years from now on. Just as my children's will be when they are 50.

Your children are NOT expected to abide by your system of morality. Because times change and through that changes many things. One of them, particularly in the context of our country is that, the glorification of sacrifice as an instrument of expression of undying love and intensity has given way to being selfish in pursuit of happiness. If it could be had today, it should and will be had today. The second would be a just and necessary utter disdain for what will become of society if we are to be hedonistic. While I appreciate our eternal commitment to hypocrisy in every sphere of life, when we criticize others inspite of having lovely skeletons in our own cupboards, this concern about society forgetting who constitutes them is perplexing. Why not for a change think of our own happiness and fix ourselves first before taking such an honourable job of fixing the society?

Now, why do I still rant about YOU and not just screw it and go ahead? Because I want you to be part of the time when the world appears to be a beautiful place to live in. And hence, I yield. Every time. Hoping that someday you will look at it from my end and try to out-think yourself and allow me to be me. You are important irrespective of whether you can take a call on my life - you are the one who has given it to me.

We are not at war. We shall never be. And if you intend to remain rooted to your conservatism and your ideas, then as a worthy son, I have to do what you have always taught me to - stand up for what I believe in even when I see you warming the opposition bench, for I cannot allow you to let me let go off something which I know for sure is right and let you realize that in hindsight, when we have lost the most precious resource called time.

Realizations

There is nothing profound in any of these. Yet over time, all of these have been buttressed repeatedly leading me to believe that there might be some element of truth to all of these. These are my realizations collected over the last decade or so:

There is a poet in everyone. Its only a function of the surroundings and the inspiration which is the foundation of great creation.

If you are selfish, you won't have friends but life will be convenient for you and you don't have to make considerations at your own expense.

Goodwill is an asset but one which hardly gives you any tangible benefits.

When someone loves you, you will just know it and once you do you will never mistake it for anything else in life. It will cease to be an impostor and will welcome you with open arms.

Whether life is beautiful or a sack of stone bags is purely a transient state. It takes one moment to change everything. Either you come crashing down or you rise up in exultation. Whichever way, it is at the least, always interesting.

Sometimes, a look is enough. Much much more than a hundred words exchanged. Sometimes, one word might be more powerful than all of what we have spoken since we learnt to speak. Sometimes, silence can be deafening.

The only thing which I have always carried with me and which I cannot live without are memories. They are my greatest friends and my sworn enemies.

Heartbreaks are essential. Without them, you lose out on one of the most important learning of life. They teach you to be sensitive and humble. They make us know that we are fragile and worthy of love.

The joy in the voice of your friends who are happy for you is something to cherish. It is then, that you feel that all the time spent being with them might have been worth it.

My Grandparents

For most part it was a one-sided affair. Contrary to the general rule which has governed my life, out here I was fortunate - supremely fortunate. When you are loved without preconditions, and only loved and hardly chided or disciplined and even saved from the occasional justified wrath of your mother, then you know that you are lucky.

Till about a very long time, I really did not think much about my grandparents. Except for the fact that Dadu would offer all kinds of incentive to have me at his place and Didimoni would mesmerize with her mind-blowing culinary skills. And I, oblivious of what I meant to them, in ignorant cruelty, did not have time. Too engrossed in my own life, too proud of my youth and energy.

They were a strange couple. My Dadu was a typical chauvinistic patriarch. Sensitive but dominating, sensible but conservative and one who abided in almost all cases strictly by the prism of duty, responsibility as laid out by traditions. Didimoni was love. There is no other way to describe her. A beauty in her younger days, she had a smile all through the back breaking work she did all day. Not a complain. Not an indication of irritation. Fully and utterly committed to the one person who was her world. Dadu.

Dadu died when I was in college. Didimoni died today. She was dead the day Dadu ceased to exist. The transition from a bubbly, jovial woman to one who was alive merely physically having lost the will to live was shocking. To me it was painful. Having never seen her, being at the mercy of another, having always seen her as upright and capable, it hurt.

It made me realize that the terms of love and respect might not always rest with equality, that being together in peace needed nothing except faith and unflinching support, that a successful life is not measured in any other terms except the smiles you bring about with whom you are.

In my adolescence, Dadu tried with all his persuasive powers to teach me the strength of poetry. To no avail. Today, if I were to single out one single impact of him in my life, it would have to be the ability or propensity to appreciate creation, to read, read more and learn and assimilate. Maybe he did not have the power to implement it in his own life, maybe he wanted me to be a better man to be able to do what he could not - I would never know.

But together, they both were there, with me, when I had those stupid frequent fever, when I was spiritedly broken by jaundice and when I did well in my tenth, I think I have never seen anyone so happy for me - not even my parents.Is it just coincidence that of all what I have done so far, that day would unarguably qualify as one of the happiest one in my life.

As Didimoni goes to the pyre today after years of struggling to die and be with Dadu yet stoically living, possibly to meet up with the woman I am going to marry or possibly just because she had to, I have lost something more than the only two persons in this world who called me 'Tipai'. The name is dead from today. And what remains is a man richer by all of those times and poorer to some degree by that elusive and precious thing called love.

An Interesting Year

What started as a year of melancholia finally turned out to be a very interesting one. One of my best friend got married. Consequently, it pulled the curtains on the one and half years we shared a flat. Since our disposition was eerily similar, both being of the laziest sort, we had an amazing time. Staying with friends is such fun.

Then came the months of serious introspection. One of despairing boredom, of steady restlessnes, of getting sucked in to the finality of a job which allowed my brains to rust in its stupendous glory. In the midst of this, happened the trip to Lahaul, Spiti and Chandrataal. I am thankful that I made the decision to go on that trip within a span of 2 hours. It surely is the best place I have been to so far in my life.

August was a month which was unkind. I realized I spent three decades on this earth without anything to show for it. And suffered the first bout of a mid-life crisis even before I reached it ! At the onset of September, things started getting brighter. Joined a job, where I met new people, new perspectives and the brain was put to use after a very long time. Felt, I belonged.

And then, surreptitiously, almost imperceptibly came an email, which as I realize now, was the
first corner my life was about to turn. Initially, as is the case with me, skepticism ruled the roost. Some phone calls later, I sometimes felt like asking myself the question which I have been asking for quite some time then - "was this it?" But then, experience in its wisdom, had taught me to brush aside such thoughts. You don't score till you have scored.

November and December were at the very least, interesting, which actually colours the entire landscape of 2009 and tilts it to such an extent that the earlier memories fade into inconsequence.

It was in November that I met her.

We spent a day discussing dreams and life and feeling comfortable in our own space. There was a flow, a certain sense of fluidity and then the question kept coming back. By the end of the week, I knew I was getting into serious trouble again.

I had vouched that I would never be in a position where I have committed myself to play the stroke only to get caught at the last moment. But then, life has other plans. In spite of all my inclinations to hold back, I just could not. Just went with what I wanted to do. Being in different cities just added to the spice. Never before in a single month have I gone through such a plethora of emotions. One of upheaval, at times bitterness, moments of pure joy, moments of total disregard for the repercussions my actions were to cause and yes, of course, of hope. I said things, which I myself could not believe I could. I almost invariably found the right words to express exactly what I felt.

It was in December when winter felt like spring. Warm, sunny, bright and glorious.

I have no idea what lies in store in life. Whether ours will be like Richard and Francesca or Robert and Francesca. But for the first time, I truly feel alive. Wanting the next day to come with all its anticipation, its unexpectedness, its possibilities. Wanting it to be not just another day where I mark off my attendance but a day where I smiled without a reason, where I heard another - without a reason and understanding fully what John Nash meant when he said "It is in the mysterious equations of love that you find all the reasons of logic"

Goodbye 2009 ! Welcome 2010 !

Ah ! Finally...

Why is it that I feel that this makes everything right? Everything. All of that I have been through, all of those small battles which I lost and those big ones I did not win.

Why is it that I am not scared but excited about something I do not even have an iota of an idea but assured of the outcome?

And why on fucking earth do I keep on smiling for no rhyme or reason staring into blank space, thinking of nothing, just, just feeling happy? Idiotic.

Restless

What do I want and what do I need? Till I was 23, when most of the decisions of my life went by conventions, I did not have to think. Life was superb. Apart from the occasional pangs of insecurity, I was happy. Thought less. Enjoyed stupid movies which I absolutely abhor now. Played sports to my heart's content. Loafed around with friends. Could not have had a better life.

The last years have been, for the lack of a better word, weird. Every year, I have had to decide on something or the other. Which would be quite defining. Significant. In almost all of those decisions, my life could have taken two different paths, different trajectories and different expectations.

I made the choices. I am responsible for all of them. But till about three years back, I never thought about this question. The answer may lie in a single word. Peace. And how do I get it? I don't know.

The later half of the twenties has been exhausting and a test of my mental strength and a time for serious consideration of values and of facing up to some hard-hitting realities of life. At the very least, it has been quite tiresome. Hardly exhilarating. Hardly like the life I had. I am consumed with a certain degree of restlessness - an unharnessed energy. Sometimes, I think, given a conducive situation, I can simply hurtle myself headlong into something and travel at breakneck speed towards - maybe oblivion, maybe glory.

But for what?

If I was a man of limited capabilities and limited ambition, I think I would have been supremely happy. At this juncture, I need to know whether I have it in me or I am just another in the crowd who would be happy with what life has to dish out rather than trying to extract something out of life. The restlessness is palpable. My friends can feel it. So can I. They sense a bit of urgency hitherto unknown in me. I, on the other hand, sense a lack of purpose. I have to break free, but from what - is a question I cannot seem to find an answer to.

Till that time, let me continue to rust in my world of illusions and increasingly keep on pushing the accelerator till I slam into a wall. To break it or to get broken. Either of them will serve the purpose. Happy in death or ecstatic in life.

Burning Fingers

I have hardly learnt from my mistakes. And I seriously doubt whether I ever will. But for some strange inexplicable reason, I cannot seem to do things otherwise.

Actually I refuse to play by the rules of the game. Specially when it comes to a woman. There are strict guidelines to adhere to. Certain things are acceptable while certain things would surely spell disaster. Naturally, I have an affinity for beckoning disaster.

The first and cardinal rule of the game is that you should never reveal your cards till you are sure of a win. Experience has taught me that this is something I should not try much to experiment with. But, as is always the case with me, I simply do not believe in conventions. So, if you let her know, that you indeed have a stake and that you might actually be thinking, then you have most likely shot yourself in the foot - or the heart. Yet, I choose not to hold myself back.

Foolish. I know. Stupid. I agree. Yet, can you find fault with either my intention or my intensity? Do those count ? I don't know. Someday, I hope it will. To the right person. If ever, there be one.

The other rule of the game is to hold the moment by the scruff and push it through. Never allow time to think. Apparently, it takes away the spontaneity and makes it a rational process rather than an instinctive one. And rational choices are hardly interesting choices. But choices nonetheless. Yet, I choose to allow time. For only if something stands the test of time, only then the exploration is worth it. Only then, would it be immenseley exciting to look at life and live.

Ridiculous. I would think so. Idiotic. Maybe. But will the wait ever be worth it ? Am I actually romanticizing something or is there an element of reality in it? For, the waits have always been long, agonizing, draining and ultimately futile.

The best part is a burnt lost finger can only heal. Otherwise it was already burnt.