Tell me about it!

Western is Back with 3:10 to Yuma

2012-01-16T21:30:00.004+05:30

Literature adapted on to celluloid calls for intense scrutiny by critics and fans alike, and the same holds true for remakes of classics. Therefore it entails immense passion, guts and perhaps a gentle sense of insanity when one undertakes the risk of filming the remake of 3:10 to Yuma, the classic 1957 adaptation of the Elmore Leonard's short story Three-Ten to Yuma.

3:10 to Yuma

In the arid west, making a living by honest means seems like a distant dream- the core conflict in Dan Evans’ (Christian Bale) life. Dan Evans, a crippled civil war veteran and a rancher on the breadline is about to have his ranch seized by a local money monger whom he owes funds. To make matters worse, the impoverished rancher has a tuberculosis borne child to look after apart from a wife and a rebellious adolescent son. Evans encounters the callous desperado Ben Wade (Russell Crowe) as he and his gang use Evans' cattle as a road blockade to ambush an armored stagecoach. As fate would have it, the two meet again, this time with luck not on the side of the outlaw Wade. During an edgy conversation between the duo, Wade is captured by law enforcers, and is slated to be taken to the ‘3:10 train to Yuma’, to be incarcerated in the Yuma Prison. Crippled by debt (and crippled physically), Evans in a desperate attempt to protect his ranch agrees to deliver Wade for a $200 fee. Thus begins an expedition which is taxing for both men, physically, psychologically and even morally.

The film’s main attraction lies in the antithetical characters of Evans and Wade. Wade antaginizes and mocks, never leaving a single opportunity to provoke Evans while concurrently displaying a fondness for the latter. Evans on the other hand, despite being intimidated by the alpha male persona of Wade, battles the temptations proffered by Wade, striving to hold on to his moral values. As the journey rumbles on these two opposing forces begin to bond over honest confessions and develop an uncanny respect for each other.

Visually the film paints a plausible picture of the Wild West, reminiscent of old Clint Eastwood starrers. While at times the sequences appear to move a tad slow, the tension between the characters create enough suspense to keep the audience hooked on, with the background score playing a pivotal role in building that intrigue. Although a touching tale, the celluloid adaptation of '3:10 to Yuma' seems completely character driven, and the climax despite being an unpleasant one, seems credible enough with the prime characters finding redemption in their own twisted ways. Director James Mangold has taken the original story by Elmore Leonard and narrated it with an artfully filmed tale of redemption while retaining the age old western appeal.

Flawless performances by both Christian Bale and Russell Crowe, backed by memorable dialogues, suspenseful scenes and rousing gun-fire sequences pour life into this fable, propelling its relatability in the realms of modern classic.

©Parmita Borah Thank you for visiting this blog. Please leave your comment.

The Dewarists-Because Some Things are Simply Worth Doing

2011-12-12T08:23:00.000+05:30

Once upon a time, about the time when photography was done in BW and Coco Chanel hadn’t yet inspired women to wear the pants in the house, there was a Scottish Whisky distiller, Thomas Robert "Tommy" Dewar, 1st Baron Dewar. Tommy Dewar with his sibling John Dewar drove his family label Dewar‘s to scale meticulous heights in the souk of breweries. Noted for his remarkable skills in marketing and advertising that placed his company at the apex of international spirit industry, Tommy Dewar is mostly known for fostering the philosophy of ‘Dewarism’.

The urban dictionary defines ‘Dewarism’ as a social, political and economic doctrine, expressing the conviction that the journey of life can be enjoyed without giving up on the achieving of success. It’s a noun by the way, if you haven’t already figured out. Writings of Sir Thomas Dewar seem to affirm this delineation, since he strongly believed and propagated that success in life could be obtained without arduous work.

The concept of Dewarism has off late materialized into a euphonic movement in India, thanks to the collaborative efforts of a breed of musicians who call themselves ‘The Dewarists’. For all those interested, you can watch them every Sunday at 8 PM on Star World India. (There are a couple of reruns but I am not so sure about the timings). Cutting the chase here-The Dewarists is a new original Television series, a must watch for those with a passion for music. The show’s host Monica Dogra (famed for Shair and Funk and Dhobi Ghaat), takes the responsibility of congregating musicians from diverse and sometimes contrasting genres to collaborate and orchestrate one impromptu original song, while they stopover as exotic locations of India. This confluence of musicians strives and succeeds in pushing the precincts of fusion, muddling the balance of been and done, creating unique masterpieces designed to stand the test of time.

Since 2010, the Dewars have pioneered an unparalleled musical project that witnesses a magical collaboration between Indian and International musicians. The platform was announced in November 2010, at an exclusive collaborative performance at the Garden of Five Senses, New Delhi, where Ehsaan Noorani, Warren Mendonsa and Sanjay Divecha played together on stage for the first time.

So far, about eight episodes have been showcased, featuring musicians like Imogen Heap, Vishal-Shekhar[6], Zeb and Haniya, Shantanu Moitra, Swanand Kirkire, Indian Ocean, Mohit Chauhan, Parikrama, Agnee, Shilpa Rao, Shri, Monica Dogra, Rajasthan Roots, Papon, Rabbi Shergill, Shubha Mudgal, Swarathma, Midival Punditz, Karsh Kale, Baiju Dharmajan Hari Govind, Raghu Dixit and Rewben Mashangva. The Theme music of The Dewarists was given by Raghu Dixit. The series is directed by Vishwesh Krishnamoorthy, ad-filmmaker and front man of Mumbai Hardcore band, Scribe. The first five episodes also involved UK filmmakers Fred & Nick.

In each episode actor-singer Monica Dogra journeys to an exotic location, arranges a rendezvous of musicians from distinctly different musical backgrounds. Together they compose a track that doesn’t only reflect their musical upbringing, but also rope in the sounds and culture of the places they travel to. The idea is to allow these musicians explore a part of themselves, which had remained undiscovered until then. From the wilderness of Kaziranga to the hubbub of Mumbai, from the lush green hills of Panshet to the relics of Mysore, the Dewarists draw their inspiration which in turn becomes the flavor of their song.

My favorite tracks so far are ‘Khule da Rabb’ by Angaraag ‘Papon’ Mahanta and Rabbi- a song resonateing the spiritual arousing that happens in Kaziragna, ‘Minds without Fear’ by Vishal-Shekhar & Imogen Heap for a trance track that’ll get you completely stoned and definitely the collaboration between India’s longest standing classic rock icons Praikrama and Agnee. The song is called I believe and features some crazy guitar leads and also features the lilting voice of playback singer Shilpa Rao.

Hats off to The Dewarists for bringing back much needed deference for Indian Television! This part travelogue part music show is fresh, classy and has brilliant camera work. The show is really good. Watch it, because some things are simply worth doing.

©Parmita Borah

Husk Energy- Alternate Technology to Mega Dams

2011-12-10T10:52:00.001+05:30

Protests and opposition to mega dams are not unfamiliaroccurrences in our country. The government sees it as a progressive step and environmentalistshave repeatedly highlighted the hazardous impact such projects have on nature.While protests of lengthy duration continue to be staged by anti-dam activistsleading to the surfacing of recurrent bandhs, a group of engineersconceptualized, patented and implemented a feasible technology which, given theright kind of support could easily develop into the absolute alternate to theexisting technology of electricity generation.

Manoj Sinha with his engineering friends GyaneshPandey, Ratnesh Yadav and Charles W. Ransler, drove the inception of Husk PowerSystems with the intention of creating a clean renewable and inexpensive sourceof electricity for Bihar’s villagers, from wastedrice husk.

The technology of creating electricity from ricehusk, although very simple, has not been the subject of extensive exploration.Around 20% of paddy weight is husk, the outermost layer, also known as ricehusk or rice hull. It is separated from the rice grain during milling and isoften considered as waste leaving it to be either burnt or dumped on wasteland.Husk has a high calorific value and thus has the potential of being utilized asa renewable fuel. Much like Assam, a far reaching populace of Bihar depends onagriculture with major concentration on rice cultivation. Gyanesh Pandey, whohad been striving to create a technology to provide cheap and clean electricityto many financially challenged homes in Bihar, realized the potential of huskenergy. A diverse team of technologists and entrepreneurs got together to makethis ambitious project an everyday reality for the underprivileged masses of Bihar.

They designed and developed an off-grid system, aminiature power plant that uses gasification technology to generate electricityfrom rice husk. Local bamboo posts carry the electric wires transmitting powerdoing away with expensive underground cables. The power plant could generate upto 100 kilowatts/hour of electricity, which is just enough to meet the demandof 2,000 to 4,000 village residents. Residents pay for the electricity under apay-per-use scheme, not exceeding a monthly budget of about $1.75. Apart fromthe obvious cost effectiveness, husk energy has far fewer environmental andhealth hazards than those created by burning kerosene, wood or dung. Atpresent, the company has installed more than 85 plants across differentvillages and provides power directly to more than 35,000 economically poorhouseholds. They plan to spread rice husk power to 2000 more plants impacting 5 million people around India.

As mentioned by Manoj Sinha in an interview, thetechnology is simple enough to be mastered by a twelfth grader, therefore, an ascending curve in the installation of these plants can also delivera promise of rural employment apart from lighting rural domiciles.

The core team of Husk Power Systems includespeople from various academic and professional backgrounds who sacrificed theircushy jobs to become social entrepreneurs with a vision. Gyanesh Pandey,Ratnesh Yadav ,Manoj Sinha ,S.B. Mishra,Rama Siva, Satish Prasadare instrumental in the development of this project.

While we appreciate the awareness and activism byour anti-dam protestors, we would suggest they consider alternate options,spread awareness about such sustainable technologies and help the governmentmake informed decisions. Being a rice belt like Bihar, Assam has immensepotential to be a test bed and gain from a technology like this. Theresponsibility of gauging the pros and cons of such a technology needn’t restwith activists or government alone- students, teachers and even sciencesocieties could come forth and collaborate to bring about such a revolutionarychange in our state.

©Parmita Borah

Dr. Bhupen Hazarika-the mortal body rests in peace, the legacy lives on

2011-11-07T22:08:00.003+05:30

There’s nothing much to say about Dr. Bhupen Hazarika that hasn’t already been said or written. As millions mourn the demise of this multi-talented Assamese legend, one can’t help but bear in mind the legacy that he has left behind.

Dr. Bhupen Hazarika
1926-2011

Although it is his baritone voice, his melodic compositions and heart rendering lyrics that has established his repute, Dr. Bhupen Hazarika had many layers to his creativity. Dr. Hazarika was a prolific playwright, actor, journalist, author, lyricist, poet, politician and a film-maker. “But there are others like him”, one would say. So what is it that makes Dr. Bhupen Hazarika the marvel that he is considered as?

To begin with, Dr. Bhupen Hazarika’s music, his collaborations with the creative and the intellectual world placed Assam in the cultural map of a global spectrum. Music, for him, like Bob Dylan, was a ballista for social change. Dr. Hazarika, intensely aware of the political dimensions of the state of Assam, composed and vocalised several thought provoking songs to voice the feelings of his fellowmen. He wrote ‘Bistirno parore', one of his most popular songs, loosely based on Paul Robeson's ‘Ol Man River,' about the travails of river Brahmaputra, symbolizing the poverty and oppression that Assam had witnessed. The song was translated to Hindi as “Ganga behti ho kyon”, much later and still amassed immense popularity among the contemporary music and classical music lovers alike. Having said that, it is to be noted here that Dr. Bhupen Hazarika derived a lot of inspiration from Assamese folk music too. He was also a crusader of sorts against a caste based social structure .His song “Dola” inclines towards a leftist tone, while songs ‘Manuhe Manohar Babe’ and ‘Autorikshaw solau aami duyu bhai’ have a humanist ring to them. Even when he sang the jovial and romantic ‘Shillongore Monalisa Lyndoh’ a beautiful rendition of the archetypal Khasi female populace, he managed to bring out the cultural gamut of Meghalaya. That was the power of his music.

He made waves in the contemporary Hindi music scenario as a composer and playback singer with national award winning Rudali, a film by Kalpana Lajmi. When Dr. Hazarika himself along with melody queen Lata Mangeshkar lent their voices to Gulzar’s lyrics, magic was simply an understatement to describe it. It’s no surprise that he was conferred a Dada Saheb Phalke award for his contribution to Indian cinema soon after. However, Rudali was not his first foray into Hindi music. About two decades earlier Hazarika had composed the music for the Vinod Khanna-Saira Bano-starrer Aarop. The song “Naino Mein Darpan Hai” with Bano on a cycle with Khanna introduced Shillong – then the capital of Assam. In the mid 1980’s he composed for Kalpana Lajmi’s Ek Pal and later collaborated with her again for the national award winning Daman. Among other cinematic ventures Gaja Gamini by M.F. Hussain is most notable. While in all these collaborations he mostly upgraded old Assamese tunes, it is hard to judge if he had become stagnated as a composer or he really wanted to gather wider audience for Assamese music.

On the global cultural radar, Dr, Bhupen Hazarika represented India in Berlin at the World Conference of Composers. He was honoured with the opportunity to inaugurate the World Seminar in Congress Hall with his own songs on the liberation of Bangladesh.

The news of his demise is still a shock to his mourners, as the clast rites of his mortal remains is being arranged. The bard of Brahmaputra’s golden voice and soulful lyrics not only did place Assam on India’s cultural kaleidoscope, but helped the greater India to integrate with this secluded segment of the nation’s geography. Today, the very utterance of North East India gives an impression of a musically affluent culture; we have the likes of Dr. Bhupen Hazarika to thank for that. This is his legacy, he is the legend.

©Parmita Borah Thank you for visiting this blog. Please leave your comment.

How to Revert to the Old Gmail Look

2011-11-03T23:39:00.002+05:30

So I am assuming that, much like me, a curious little kitty, a bunch of you have impulsively changed the Gmail interface to the "new look". No surpries if you are unhappy with that look. I, for one, hated it. The whole gmail inbox turns black and options like delete have been replaced with icons. That'll certainly need some getting used to. Either that or you can retrive the old gmail inbox look.

How to Revert to the Old Gmail Inbox Look?

Step 1-go to www.gmail.com (an unwanted detail,but I like to include all the steps)

Step 2-log in (yaaaawn...I know, I know)

Step 3-Look out for the settings icon on the right hand side of your inbox (ref: screenshot below)

Step 4-Well WTF are you waiting for? Click it already!

Step 5- Now click on the option that reads "Revert to the old look temporarily" (ref: screenshot below)

That's it. That's done. Hang on, if you want to make your gmail interface look more interesting, feel free to fiddle around with the menu options under settings. If you have any questions, mail me at parmita@easternfare.com

©Parmita Borah Thank you for visiting this blog. Please leave your feedback.

PeeKaBoo

2011-08-30T17:37:00.012+05:30

The dubori bon glistened with the rain drops that balanced themselves on the tip of the slender grass. Ba and I picked a handful each, to hand them over to the pujari who would perform puja on Deepali. For all practical purposes Deepali was my eldest sister. We’d play peek-a-boo and house parties together, but as she was our servant, we weren’t allowed to each from her plate or drink from her glass. Today was entirely different-Deepali who had been confined to indoors for nearly a week now was finally allowed to take a bath with ground lentils and turmeric. Aita had put a betel nut on her head while another old lady poured mustard oil over it. Ma, along with all the other ladies chanted the uruli, a noise that always gave me goose bumps. I clung to my sister’s skirt, as we watched the ritual and whispered into her ears enquiring what’s going on, her response was a hush signal. Early in the day, Ma had whipped my calves with a thin bamboo stick for jumping into a puddle, the sting of which was still afresh, so I decided not to ask questions or call attention to myself. My investigation had to be halted but I assumed that Deepali must have done something terrible to go through the humiliation of bathing in front of so many people.

Ba and I ran off the backyard to room where the Pujari was setting down his utensils, weird looking herbs and even cow dung. Ba had explained to me that he would mix the cow dung in milk and Deepali would have to drink it, he would also put rice and sesame seeds in water and sprinkle the mixture on Deepali with the dubori bon to purify her. I felt like barfing at the very thought of drinking cow dung, much to my relief the pujari gave Deepali just a spoonful of it, and I saw her pretend to sip it and then rub it off at the back of her head. It seemed very odd to see Deepali dressed in mekhela chaddor and sit coyly in front of the pujari and other spectators, repeating mantras that none understood, the same Deepali who’d climb mango trees, with me on her piggy back in search of ripe mangoes. I was getting bored and wanted to go out and play, but Ma had said that I wouldn’t get the lusi bhaaji and narikol ladoo if I ran away. I wasn’t ready for such a big sacrifice and stayed back. It was almost dusk by the time Deepali was allowed to eat. Her eyes lit up with an arcane delight when she was finally offered food. It began with the customary mah-prosad, fruits and chira doi, followed by lusis, a bowl of pulpy potato curry, narikol ladoo and a cup of tea. As we relished our second helping of the delicacies, Ba told me that Deepali had been eating only fruits and boiled rice in the past seven days.

Life was never the same after that. Deepali stopped climbing trees or fighting the bullying boys during Holi, she mostly stayed indoors. Ba and I were left on our own. I missed Deepali terribly despite her being around. I missed climbing on to her bosom as she took me out for evening walks, in our house parties where Ba and I played neighbors and Deepali sales representative selling pillows or sweaters. Towards the end of every month, Deepali would become very quiet and stick to one corner of the house. Three or four days later she’d be busy washing and drying all her clothes. Ma said that she was a grown up girl now and we shouldn’t bother her, she added that I was a big girl too and should stop climbing on to people’s lap-that was a punch in the gut!

A year later Deepali was gone. My grief knew no bounds. Her uncle had come to pick her as they had found a good bus conductor for her. Ma and Deta protested that she was just fifteen and not fit for marriage yet, but her uncle was adamant. The wicked man smoothened his moustache with his forefinger and thumb, wiping the driblets of brown tea stuck to it, grinned with his paan stained teeth and said “What if we let you keep the girl and you sell her off?” This was too much for our parents to bear. As Ba and I watched, Deepali quietly packed her bags and left with her evil uncle.
Life became completely dull after that, but not for too long. It was Ba’s eleventh birthday soon and Deta had bought her a bicycle. Ba learnt to ride it in a day and could easily carry me around at the carrier. All the kids and bullies in the neighborhood watched me with envy as Ba carried me to school on her pretty red bike. Some of the rowdy boys even passed some silly remarks like “sixty + twenty=tyre puncture”. Ba didn’t seem to care and neither did I, our lives on wheels was what mattered. Ba had written the lyrics of the Carpenter’s song “Yesterday Once More” in her diary; together we memorized it and sang to each other during our rides-

Lookin’ back on how it was
In years gone by
And the good times that I had
Makes today seem rather sad
So much has changed
It was songs of love that
I would sing to then
And I’d memorize each word
Those old melodies
Still sound so good to me
As they melt the years away

Things seemed to be in quite good shape till Ba’s twelfth birthday. Ba’s friends had come over, Deta got us a huge icing cake and Ma had prepared lusis and some delicious chick peas and paneer. I snug upto one of Ba’s friend as they all played antakshari. At times my sister would come and wipe off the cake crumbs of my face as I munched the soft and sweet delight with my rotten teeth. When all her friends had left, there was uproar in the house, everything happened in a flash thereafter.

Ma pulled out the covers of the cushion Ba was sitting on, the aunts in the neighbourhood gathered in our house. They made my sister take off her regular clothes and made her wear Ma’s old Mekhela chador while chanting uruli. She was confined to indoors for the next seven days, I wasn’t allowed to touch her or go near her. On the fourth day, a few ladies gathered at our house, gave her a bath and put her back in her room again. No boys were allowed into her room, not even deta. Outside in our lawn, there were preparations of a wedding- a pandal was set up and some local karikor were hired to cook for Ba’s wedding. Who would marry her? Would she go away and live with her husband? What if they burn her for dowry? My questions were endless. Someone told me that Ba would marry a banana plant and as ridiculous as it sounded, on the seventh day my sister did place a chain around a banana plant after a bath with ground lentils and turmeric. She was dressed like a bride in cherry colour paat mekhela chador that made her fair skin brighter. All our uncles and aunts who had come for the celebration gifted her gold jewellery, watches and fine paat silk. One of our cousins lined her eyes with kajal and painted her lips with lipstick. She looked beautiful, like a real bride, and it looked like a real wedding- the food was great, we had lusi, paneer, sira-doi and sweets for lunch, and fish and meat for dinner. I wondered when would I get to dress up like that and have a fake wedding, to which a cousin sister laughed and replied “as late as possible honey”.

Ba became very coy after that. She would sit and read or listen to music most of the time and I was left alone to play house parties and peek-a-boo all by myself. Sometimes, she would sing to me a melody composed by Bhupen Hazarika

Nijoke dekhi aaji kali, beleg bhaabh jaage
Daapun khonir moi joni hopun hopun laage
Hidina loike aasilu dekhun
Putola ghar haji, putolare koina dora nekheu je aaji
Putolabur manuh manuh loga hol je kiyo
Daapun khonir moi joni hopun hopun laage

It meant

“Everytime I look at myself, I sense a difference,
My reflection on the mirror seems like trance
Till the other day, I was playing with toys,
The doll house is no longer a part of me
Why do the dolls brides and grooms seem real?
My reflection on the mirror seems like trance ”

Once she handed Ma a note that a guy had given her. The boy had very bad handwriting, each of his letters were bigger than a basmati rice grain. The note read something like this- “Dears, How are you? I am faine. I love you. Do you love me? Yours”

Ma trashed the guy and he was never seen in the vicinity after that. Weeks later a few guys from our school started strolling just outside our house every evening. One day one of our neighbours thrashed them calling them kidnappers and paedophiles and threatened them never to show their faces in the neighbourhood.

I was growing too tall to fit into Ba’s cycle carrier, so I got my own cycle too and a new group of bicycle riding friends. While most of my friends took the bus to school, I was the proud owner of a BSA SLR Ladybird. My friends and I would often get followed by a bunch of bicycle boys from other schools, whistling, singing songs from Hindi movies and trying to pass notes into our bags. We giggled, smiled, swore at them, and some of the girls even accepted their pens, cards, handkerchiefs, and chocolates. These were also the girls who coined the term MC, not the generally accepted acronym, but Monthly Course, a thing that was supposed to bad and painful. They didn’t like to play kabbadi or climb trees like I did; they’d rather sit and talk about boys and the bra sizes. It was during one of those inauspicious days that it happened. I had returned from school and as usual rushed to the bathroom to freshen up. The sight that I saw made me shudder, my head spin, my heart thump, and my knees tremble. I ran to Ma held her and cried.

“What happened?” Ma asked
“I have blood cancer. I just pissed blood”, I replied trying to catch my breath.

Everything that happened after that seemed like a flash rewind. Like Ba and Deepali I was hiding inside a room not knowing what wrong had I done. They chanted mantras and uruli, they dressed me up as a bride, gave me lovely gifts and married me off to a banana plant. The whole world was informed about my little incident with pomp and show. The child had become a girl.
Days later as I jumped of a wall hiding from a bunch of kids playing Peek-a-boo, an aunt’s vocal chords expanded as she screamed after me in her shrill voice, “Are you crazy? You are a big girl now, behave yourself.”
My sister who had witnessed the entire incident looked at me over the rim of her spectacles and gave out a mischievous giggle. Somewhere in the background, I heard the Carpenter song play.

Lookin’ back on how it was
In years gone by
And the good times that I had
Makes today seem rather sad
So much has changed…

Glossary

Dubori bon- a type of thin green grass, often used in rituals of the Assamese Community
Ba- elder sister in Assamese
Pujari-Priest
Puja-Prayers/Rituals
Aita-Grandmother
Uruli-A ritualistic sound created by Assamese women to commemorate auspicious ocassion
Mekhela Chaddor- Traditnal two piece dress made of silk, worn by Assamese women, looks like a saree
Lusi- Indian bread fried in hot oil
Bhaaji-fried vegetables either like stew or stir fry
Narikol Ladoo-A sweet ball made of coconut powder and sugar
Mah Prosad-soaked lentils served with coconut and fruits,it is prepared only for auspicious ocassions
Chira Doi- Soaked and flattened rice grains served with Curd
Ma- Mother
Deta- Father
Paan- Betel Leaf
Paneer-Cottage Cheese
Karikor-Cook/Chef
Kabadi-A atletic game played in India

Four Souls

2011-08-14T00:12:00.001+05:30

The pink teddy bear settled comfortably in its plastic abode stared at her with its brown eyes. Meera gently ran her fingers over all the toys stacked neatly in the big pail, picked up her teddy and headed for the living room window. Placing her chin on one of the horizontal window rods, so that her face fit perfectly between the two parallel vertical rods, she settled her teddy next to her. Together, they would scrutinize the evening’s scape. Her little feet twitched as she lifted her heels and balanced herself to get a clearer view through the window. A solitary crow restlessly perched on a tree branch that extended aimlessly towards the sky; the sky was overcast, but the air was humid. Meera wondered if she should switch the fan on, but chose not to. Down below, the narrow lane bustled with humans, animals and vehicles alike. Honking cars succumbed to their failed attempts to accelerate amass the horde of humans and cows. Little children dressed in blue and white and dusty black shoes, carried their colorful backpacks and stuck to the sidewalk. A food vendor pushed his cart meandering through the crowd searching for a secure spot beside the lane, while some others had already settled and were distributing spicy chick peas and phuskas to the children in exchange for silver coloured coins. Meera took a deep breath; she tightened her grip around the teddy and swallowed hard. She cherished these moments of solitude, when she and the teddy were the silent spectators of a world that was so alive, a world that was so fascinating, a world that came to life every evening between 3 PM to 4 PM.

The doorbell rang. It must be Rohit, she thought. Meera took her teddy back to its pail, ensured that it was rested properly and rushed to answer the door. The house would soon be filled with its inhabitants and she would have to get the customary tea and hot drinks ready.

Rohit walked in, dropped his backpack on the floor and rushed to his computer. A frown practically took up his entire face, the reason being an argument with his father the night before. The agenda of his confrontation included hard hitting facts and figures. As though making a PowerPoint presentation before a client, Rohit presented the number of times his parents fought, the number of times his father didn’t show up at his cricket practice, the number of times his mother skipped dinner or breakfast and the number of times he was humiliated in front of his friends for carrying a discarded laptop bag instead of a backpack to tuitions. The bottom-line was he had terrible parents, but they could still make it up to him, if they bought him a pair of roller skates, the ones that were available in the Landmark showroom in the next block. “It works, emotional blackmail works everytime”, his best friend Nirmal affirmed that afternoon.

The result however turned out to be far from what he had expected. To counter his argument his father presented his own set of facts and figures. That included the number of times Rohit scored below 80 in math, the number of times he was found with the Need For Speed instead of his assignments, the number of times he humiliated his father by picking up fights with the neighbour’s daughter and the number of times he bunked school making his parents sit through torturous lectures delivered by the school principal about parenting.

Clearly there was enough reason to brood and frown, atleast until his mother’s affection comes into play and he would get his way, in this case a pair of roller skates. In the end, his father would just shrug and say “”whatever, spoil that child, don’t come ranting to me afterwards”. That would be the end of the story and everyone would go back to living their lives.

The door bell rang again. Rohit instantly minimized the NFS window on the computer screen and opened a Word Document. Meera rushed to the door, but it had creaked open beating her by a few minutes. Ankur Dutta noisily dragged his feet in, each footstep louder than the previous one, his head held high over his stooping shoulders. His Peter England Shirt slightly ruffled by the long drive from his office and his tie was dragged down to the middle of his chest. He handed his laptop bag and Tupperware set in Meera’s hand and walked towards the couch in front of the Television set. From the centre table lying just a foot away from the couch he lifted the two remote controls. He pressed a button on the long black one, to switch on the TV and then a stout white one, to tune in to TLC. “God Bless TLC”, he quietly muttered as he settled down on the couch to remove his shoes. His favorite show “Lonely Planet” was on, the travelogue on Discovery Travel and Living Channel took him to different corners of the world, a dream he had cherished as a boy. He wanted to be a photojournalist and see the world through his lens. “What kind of a job is that? Trust me, you’ll end up being a wedding photographer or videographer”, said his father.

His mother sympathetically said, “What is wrong with being an engineer, look at all the perks your father gets being at BRPL? Even my Masters Degree didn’t go to waste, I am a fourth grade teacher. Isn’t that good enough for you? And who knows you may even get foreign trips, Mr Bhuyan went to France last month.”

So in that brutal jiffy his dream was sabotaged and packed off to an Engineering College somewhere in the outskirts of Bangalore, to a college where many of the kids of the refinery officials went. His parents announced with great pride that their son goes to one of the most expensive colleges in Bangalore. The donation itself was ten lakhs. Five years later he was an alcoholic engineer, eight years later he was a refined MBA, 9 years later he was a husband and a year later a father. At forty he realized that he had sleepwalked through the prime of his life, he was now a pot bellied Project Manager with a resilient but enigmatic wife and a son who was taking his first few steps towards adolescence. Life had treated him quite well, and he didn’t have much to complain except for the fact that his DSLR camera was inside the closet most of his time, and the foreign trips that he had planned never really took off.

Placing his shoes right below the lamp-stand next to the couch, he called out for Meera.

“Is Rohit home yet?”

“Yes dada”, Meera dutifully replied.

“Has he eaten anything yet?”

“No dada. He is working on his computer, doesn’t want to speak”.

There’s a packet of pastries in my laptop bag, give some to him and get me a cup of tea.

Meera carried a glass of hot chocolate and pastries for Rohit and a cup of tea and some pastries for dada. “Why aren’t you eating too? Get some for yourself”. Like a duty bound cadre, Meera helped herself to a portion of the pastries and went back to the spot near the window. The three creatures in the house munched in silence.

The gray sky growled and frowned upon earthlings. Archana struggled to keep her balance on her black Scooty pept. A heavy downpour was inevident and that meant clogged drainage, streets flooded with deep liquid filth and the crazy traffic. She didn’t expect her husband to pick her up from office, not anymore, not eversince she had learnt to be content with a two wheeler over an affectionate companion. The couple had retreated from their confrontations and succumbed to the strange tranquility of their relationship. They were so polite to each other that sometimes it felt like the eerie quiet before the climax of an Alfred Hitchcock movie. She mildly chuckled at her own thought.

The sky continued to grouse at her. She looked at her watch and her heart skipped a beat, she’d have to race against time now. The familiar feeling had become an after office ritual now. Every evening, she would sneak out of the gym’s back office and climbed down the stairs, filled with a bitter sense of euphoria, after her hormones had been drained out, her eyes avoiding anyone else’s, until she managed to reach her Scooty and breathe. She had informed her husband that she had joined the aerobics center because she wanted to learn how to dance. Seasoned by the years of his own aloofness, her husband failed to notice the trepidation or guilt on her face, just the way he always remained oblivious to the mild blush on her cheeks when she dressed up for him or when their fingers gently touched while fetching for the TV remote.

Making her way through the belligerent traffic, combating against the other vehicles, Archana accelerated her two wheeler to avoid the traffic signal. She sneaked a peak at her watch again; it was too late. She brooded for a moment and made a swift U Turn. Turning her Scooty in the opposite direction, she headed towards the Landmark showroom in the next block; it had the pair of roller skates that Rohit had asked for. She would also buy a toy or dress for Meera, the girl had been playing with Rohit’s leftovers for long.

©Parmita Borah Thank you for visiting this blog. Please leave your comment.

X Men, Truly First Class

2011-06-20T19:05:00.003+05:30

With 3D technology making huge waves in the world of cinema, it is a huge risk for any Hollywood director to make a film from the X-Men franchise in 2D. X-Men First Class dares to take that risk with no 3D and no Wolverine and yet manages to give a new dimension to all the X-Men movies we have seen earlier.

The story is set as a prequel to all the X-Men flicks and takes us to the time when Professor X wasn’t bald, and Magneto didn’t wear that stupid metal headgear on his head. Magneto, as it turns out was quite a treat in his heydays; a tragic anti-hero so to say, much like our Angry Young Bachchan (minus the redundant dialogues). For all those who follow X-Men Comics would get nostalgic to see a teenaged Mystique and a covert Beast. The other characters too are well detailed and contribute to the events that lead to the Dharmayudh and eventually the separation of buddies Professor X and Magneto.
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The look and feel of the movie has a mild retro tint to it which is actually nice. The transformation of the young unsure mutants into powerful and confident superheroes is well sketched out and well portrayed. The CGI is not outstanding, but complements the story. Some scenes although would remind you of “The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen” and “Hancock”. The script manages to evoke the right emotions at the right time and tickle the funny bones a couple of times with some witty dialogues and scenes.

The film did have some unintentionally funny moments and goof ups to. For instance The Beast’s transformation and entry felt like a low budget spoof scene. The irony of his wish to “look better attempt gone wrong” was reflected in the Halloween mask that he was made to wear in all probability by an underpaid makeup man. The scene where Professor X’s gets shot and paralyzed sadly reminded of an “Ooh! Aah! Ouch! moment”, from a pain balm/iodex commercial. Erik Lensherr a.k.a Magneto breaks Emma Frost’s neck and says she can never transform into diamond again, while we see her returning to her diamond form before closing credits.

After a disastrous movie like Woverine (reminiscent of 80’s Bollywood inspired revenge movie), X-Men First Class manages to create a completely fresh feel to the franchise. The script is crisp yet detailed, direction is simply stylish and performances of Kevin Bacon, James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender bring an amazing level of sophistication to the show. Director Matthew Vaughn ‘s deliberate choice to tell a story the old school way was a big risk. Did the risk pay? Well, let me put it this way, I took a friend along to watch this movie and she’s someone who hates superhero and mutant stuff. When the credits rolled, she asked me if there would be a sequel to this movie!

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Midsummer Night's Pasta Treat

2011-06-17T13:50:00.003+05:30

I let my hair down after a twelve gruelling hours of corporate life; smelling the damp air as my city glistened in a midsummer night’s tempest. At that blissful instant, a weird noise barged into my thoughts, it was my stomach, growling and reminding me that my last meal was brunch and I hadn’t eaten anything in the last 9 hours. It was about 00.00 hours and not many stores would be open that late to get you food @home. I opened my refrigerator and found a carrot, a cucumber, a half eaten cabbage and some tahini. (Whose pathetic idea was it to go healthy snacking? Wait a minute, it was mine, arggghh!). Anyway, snooping around for food in my own house at midnight, I managed to find some milk, mayonnaise and yaaay PASTA!!

There it was, my dinner/midnight snack was about to be ready, and I didn’t even have to use my magic wand! So here’s what I did, you should try it out.

I took a cup of pasta and boiled it with salt for about 15 minutes. Meanwhile I diced the carrots, cucumber, cabbage and some onions (which I discovered later) and fried them in extra virgin olive oil. (virgin eh, don’t get ideas). I took half a cup of milk and mixed it with mayonnaise and tahini for my white sauce. The pasta was done by now and so were the veggies. I mixed them up and used my homemade white sauce for dressing. Later I found some cheese slices and used them for garnishing. (Unconventional, but it worked.) Try it out, you’d surely love it.

If you are wondering what it looked like, here’s a picture of my dish.

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Random Find-The Unemployment Chronicles of Narnia

2011-06-16T09:57:00.003+05:30

I found this really cool blog by one of my social media buddies. Check out the personal reflections of Latoya M. Jeeter, Bachelor's of Arts in Psychology and Social Work from University of South Carolina

She opened the blog to basically tell the world about how poverty has been increasing among young adults with degrees. It also touches several topics including beauty, entertainment news, relationships, and her journey to her first semester at graduate school.

Do visit her blog and share you views with her.

The Unemployment Chronicles of Narnia

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Unrequited

2011-05-24T14:43:00.005+05:30

I am barely awake and yet she urges me to be ready for her, restless, looking deep into me with an enigmatic ardor in her eyes. Her slender fingers are all over me, tickling me, trying to turn me on. I wish to tell her “Hold on honey, what’s the rush? Give me but a minute or two.” I chose not to, for reasons solely that I’d understand. I give in to her demands, getting ready as per her wish, keen to please at her behest.

She stares at me, with words unspoken, questions in her emerald eyes which she knows I would always answer. I look at her and see her creamy white face, her luscious lips breaking into a smile, her ample bosom gently bending towards me. It takes me the might of a monster to refrain myself from reaching across and tugging her towards me, making fierce love to her that would make her useless to any other mortal. But I am not someone who gives in to the tease.

I know how to keep her waiting as well. Each of my hangovers cause her the same piercing pique that she puts me through. For sometimes, I don’t feel cared enough and do not wish to be her genie succumbing to her every wish. Every time she turns me on, she seems distracted, her mind wandering off into the mundane bustle of her life. She would be concerned about reading her emails, shopping discounts, movie tickets, news and weather and all of that. Honestly, that doesn’t sound like a romantic encounter at all. If she wants to be with me I want her all to myself. This isn’t a one way street, girl. I am done being your genie in a bottle.

And yet, everytime she demands, I am obliged to give her what she wants. Infact, now, right now, as she digs deep into me I do but eagerly give in. I give her all the dirt she wants, all of it. I play her music and share her gossip, tell her about the news and play her favorite games, savoring every single moment that she spends with me. You would understand if you were me.

It is time for her to leave me again. I cannot help but groan. This isn’t fair. I am tired of her selfishness. “Hang on I didn’t say that. I am sorry. Please don’t leave me dear”, I try to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen. She may not miss me till she visits me again, but I will, very much. She blankly lets me know that it’s time to leave. Reluctantly, I do what I dread most. I give her my options-

Lock Computer
Log Off
Shut down
Change Password
Task Manager
Cancel

Although I secretly hope that she chooses CANCEL, she goes for Shut Down and lulls me off to sleep. I am about to drift off, but I know she will be back. “See you later senorita”, I quietly tell myself. She’ll be back.

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A Good Cause

2011-03-29T17:52:00.014+05:30

The runway was set, strategically illuminated to highlight the couture and contour of the attractive clotheshorses that were to walk on it. The crowd was yet to settle in, take their respective hierarchical rows of seat, preset by the magnitude of either their fame or bank balance. The ones with a greater degree of reputation or notoriety got passes to the front row with the best view while the hoi poloi settled for the seats at the back. Homo sapiens of all shapes and sizes showed up dressed in their finest and in their best behavior (which was subject to change depending on the amount of alcohol to be consumed that evening). They had all assembled to support the designer for a great cause.

Wine glasses were sneaked into the green room to mollify the anxious models as the designer and choreographer crossed their fingers. Some of the finest hand-woven silk had been cut and sewn to lure the biggest buyers in the fashion industry, to rid them of their excessive wealth. The models had been flown in from various corners of the world scouted over a number of prestigious beauty pageants and reality TV shows. Everything had to be just perfect. It was in support of a good cause.

The ensembles were yet to be showcased, so the bustling throng scattered around; some in search of their seats, some to network with the rich and famous, while some to strut in front of the constellating media posed like a firing squad. ‘What are you here for? The glam kittens cheerfully responded, “Aww, the designer is a very dear friend of mine…and ofcourse, it for such a special cause. I am here to support him.”

A segment of the privileged media entered the green room and repeated the rehearsed questions. The models answered, “Oh, you know, the designer is such a wonderful human being and this is such a good cause. So I am happy to support him and raise funds.”

‘Who are you wearing?’ they’d ask. The painted faces replied in their acquired accents “Aww, you know so and so!” The answers varied from known to lesser known to completely unknown designers.

The ramp was soon on fire. Under the psychedelic lights walked pleasant looking men and women in glitters and shimmers, to the rhythm of a catchy trance loop. The onlookers tried their best to keep their faces straight and desires down as they checked out the aphrodisiacal stunners.

The DJ rolled on some popular numbers to kick off the after party. Hips shook, legs moved, smiling faces engaged in fanciful wining and dining, blew air-kisses and exchanged pleasantries. Much to his delight, the designer’s prayers were answered. Everything went as planned. The charity gala was a tremendous hit. He could taste the success as he made his way through the cheering crowd holding hands with his show stopper. He could feel his feet tingling with joy inside his embroidered shoes.

Almost everyone who came to support him shelled out generously for his great cause.

The guests started to depart and one of them whispered into another one’s ear.

‘So this was fun. What was this all about again?’

‘I don’t know. I think some disease or poverty, or maybe something to do with some natural disaster’.

‘Eh! Never mind. Another one starts in half an hour. We gotta rush if we wanna make it on time.’

The story was inspired by an FTV coverage of an Indian Fashion event.

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Being an Assamese-Tell me about it!

2011-03-22T17:56:00.006+05:30

First of all, we are Assamese, not Bengali.

We are Assamese, not “Asami”, infact in Assamese the word “Asami” means Convict.

Our state is Assam and it is in the North East of India not North India.

Call Centers are not the only places we work.

Don’t call us Chinky or Chinks, we don’t like that!

We do not consider snakes edible.

We do not drink only tea throughout the day!

No, we do not store or sell dope. Those are just dope addicts, could be from any community.

Bihu is also a festival, not just a dance.

We do not live only in huts! Concrete buildings are available in Assam.

Our houses are not built inside jungles.

You might not be aware, but yes, our land was mentioned in Mahabharata. It was called “Pragjyotishpura”.

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assam news, people of assam, cultural stereotypes, racism, about assam, information on Assam, assam news, Assamese Songs

The Smut - a short story

2011-03-21T11:58:00.004+05:30

(Original - 'Elaandhu' by Nalini Prova Deka in Assamese language. Translated by Parmita Borah)

A breezy spring afternoon calls for a lazy nap. Mukul’s mother stretched herself on the bed, relishing on a mouthful of betel nut and paan. Her son was in the city hospital owing to his wife’s child delivery, which left Rantu, his other child in the care of his grandmother. Little Rantu kept his grandmother on her toes and she was exhausted. Rantu was asleep at the moment and she thought she could steal a little sleep meanwhile.

In the pleasant warmth of the daylight, Mukul’s mother let her mind wander off aimlessly. She remembered the day, Mamoni, her daughter in law came into her life. She was naive and shy yet bore great poise. It was at Mamoni’s insistence that she forbade a bunch of her own prejudices. Caste, religion, rules, taboos, they all held much less value in her mind then it used to. She missed her, worried about her. The local Dhai used to handle all deliveries at home in the past. Why does one need to go far into the city for a thing as simple as child birth?

“Are you there, Mukul master’s mother?”. She felt she heard someone at the door. Her son was a teacher at the local school. So everyone in the neighbourhood addressed her as the teacher’s mother, something she had gotten used to.

“Is that Mahim’s mother? Well, why don’t you come in?”,she called out. Mahim’s mother walked inside and stuffed a piece of betel nut and paan in the already reddened mouth.

“So how is Mamoni doing? Has she had the baby yet?”

“Well, not yet. Apparently, Mamoni is suffering from something called anemia, something fatal.“

“Oh well, anyway, I came here to talk about something else. Have you been invited to the wedding reception at Kanak’s?”

“Oh yeah, sure, that had totally slipped out of mind. Once Mukul is back is back, I’ll ask him to make a quick visit there, otherwise, his folks would be upset.”

At that point, Mahim’s mother moved closer to Mukul’s mother and almost whispered in her husky voice, “Did you know that he married someone from a lower caste? It seems they didn’t ask a lot of people from our neighbourhood because the girl is not a Brahmin. We atleast would never compromise on that. You know what sister, sometimes I feel even you have changed a tad bit. That righteous daughter in law of yours, she has washed the whole village’s brain including yours. No one seems to care about caste, creed and even religion anymore in this place.”

Mukul’s mother retorted immediately. “Oh come on! Now that’s not entirely true. I have picked a Brahmin girl for Mukul. I was impressed with her academics, but I wouldn’t have consented to the liaison if she were from a lower caste. But, Mamoni is a good natured literate girl and thinks like that. I won’t have you folks criticizing her. I do not distinguish her from my own daughter. She has liberated me from my narrow mindedness and I have stopped following some illogical customs under her influence. Otherwise, have you seen me going against our practices ever?”

“Hmmm… If you say so sister! I know I have done my lot by marrying my sons and daughter to people of respectable caste like ourselves. Anyway, I better hurry home. I have to get ready for Kanak’s wedding reception. They have hired a chef from the city or so I have heard.”

***

The sound of the bell from Mukul’s bicycle jolted her back from the thoughts that Mahim’s mother left her with. Her son’s weary face was covered in exhaustion. Rantu who was up by now, ran into his father’s arms and asked for his mother. The toddler was away from his mother for three long days and badly craved for her. Mukul’s fatigued body and mind was not enough to comfort him. His mother took Rantu in her lap and enquired about Mamoni.

“Well, we had a daughter”.

“Well, now you have one of each. Why do you look so sad?”

“Did I tell you that Mamoni has anemia?”

“Yes you did son. Is she alright”

Mamoni had lost a lot of blood during the delivery and was on the verge of death. I couldn’t reach there on time. So my friend Rahman, whose wife was also admitted in the same hospital, offered to donate 3 units of his blood. Fortunately their blood groups matched and Mamoni would be saved. I just feel bad that it wasn’t me who could do the needful during the crucial moment. I am very grateful to rahman though. Infact, he even arranged a taxi for Mamoni’s return.”

The words from her son’s mouth felt like a jab n her gut. She could not believe what she had just heard, a Muslim man’s blood in a Brahmin lady’s body? She shivered thinking about the amount of ridicule and humiliation her family could be subjected to. Muslim blood-they could even be ostracized.

***

Mamoni restlessly rolled on her bed, her fatigued muscles sore from labour pains. She had just fed the newborn baby and put her to sleep. She desperately tried to rest but the noises from the courtyard, pierced through her mind. She heard the faint voices of the ladies who came to enquire about her health and bless her child. The discussion topic of that forum was completely different altogether.

One of the ladies said, “she has passed some BA or something, but does that really count when one marries from a lower caste?”

“Not just that”. Another one joined in “Besides, that newlywed lassie is completely shameless, so I’ve heard. She had jelled with Kanka’s folks from day one and had even visited the Puja Mandap for blessings.”

“Another shrill voice spoke out. “You can’t trust people to do the right thing these days. They all have forgotten their custom’s and values. Even, our Ramani, his wife is from a lower caste. They say that she is educated and all. Do you know what I believe in? If she is not from a high caste she is not worthy of our kin at all.”

Murmurs of approvals followed. Mamoni, who tried to ignore this conversation, could not hold herself back. She lifted her sore body out of the bed and walked straight towards the women.

“With all due respect ladies, I understand that you are accustomed to your own set of ideologies. However, don’t you think that we, as humans evolve? We have evolved from apes to man, from eating raw meat to discovering fire and from walking distances to inventing wheel. In that case, don’t you think that we should strive to reach higher than thinking about castes and creed?”

A mild pause settled among the women folk as each one composed an argument in their minds to shoot back at her, their expressions revealing complete displeasure at the intervention. Before anyone could answer, Mamoni, started again.

“People have walked on the moon, and yet all you can think about is caste. While you keep talking about castes and creeds, a Muslim man saved my life yesterday. I was on the verge of death; had it not been for my husband’s friend Rahman, I would have been dead. I could see the day today, because he donated me blood at the nick of time.”

The stunned silence that befell was exactly what Rantu’s mother anticipated; she knew that was not the end of it. The village womenfolk cursed and verbally lambasted the mother/daughter-in law duo. Bearing a Muslim’s blood in her veins was outrageous, unthinkable. One of the cursing ladies spat on their courtyard and declared them ostracized. Mahim’s mother an old family friend and a close friend of Mukul’s mother came in to the rescue.

“Sisters, it is probably not as bad as it sounds. Mamoni could be cleansed with holy water. Mamoni, honey, add cow dung in your bathing water and your soul will be clarified.”

“Yes, yes! Cleanse her soul.” A throaty voice responded. “Mukul’s mother, we are leaving immediately. We will only be back after you have bathed your daughter in law in cow dung and have a Brahmin pundit perform a Puja in your house”.

Mukul’s mother heaved a huge sigh of relief. Despite her love and admiration for her daughter in law, she only hoped that Mamoni held her words back and things would have been the same. Her daughter-in law however, couldn’t digest it so well. Mamoni watched them walk past the bamboo fence, the homogenous mixture of Brahmin and Muslim blood boiled inside her veins. She wondered… How long?? How Long???

***__***

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A Moment of Endearment

2011-03-01T16:17:00.005+05:30

She looked no more than nine and appeared no less than a bushman at her arrival. Her head was covered with a pile of disheveled hair, crust resting at the corner of her eyes, her teeth stained by regular consumption of muddled water and her skin stretched dry from constant exposure to sun and dust. Standing near the apartment’s entrance, with great dignity, she tried to conceal her vulnerability of being in a completely new place. She was fatigued by the tiresome bus journey she endured with her uncle, yet her pride stood in the way of the much deserved rest that her fragile body craved.

“It would be alright” said her tear stricken mother “You’ll get a good house to live in and good food to eat”. She hated it all the more. She’d rather starve and bear the cold than be ripped apart from her folks. Her parents knew better. A tea garden laborer’s daughter didn’t have any life; poverty and starvation hovered over their lives. Life in the big city meant a full stomach, warm clothes and a little cash, perhaps to spare some of it for her siblings.

The city didn’t appeal the little girl who was being offered as a domestic help to an urban, nuclear family. Her heart bled for the lush green tea gardens where she enjoyed her humble existence in the loving company of her infant brother and new born sister. She refused to drink a sip of water or bite a morsel until the lady of the house coaxed her into doing so. Her employer was in desperate need of a caretaker for her own year old daughter and tried everything in her might to make the girl comfortable. Her previous babysitter was about sixteen and tried to elope with a boy and so, was sent her off to her guardians. Therefore, pre puberty was a mandatory criterion for this next recruitment. Her uncle had assured the lady that his niece took care of her siblings back home and hence, could easily take care of a toddler. She on the other hand, hated the very sight of this new baby who reminded her of her own brother, who was, in all probability yearning for his big sister and wondering why had she abandoned him. Her uncle patted her head and took off. Her employer followed him outside to pay the dues.

She was left alone and felt much at ease. She took a few unsure steps, looked around the house and was stupefied by the majesty of the two bedroom apartment. The bedroom was the size of their entire hut; the TV was nothing like the one she had seen in the village. The kitchen had a long box and she felt a cold puff as she opened its door. Her attention was soon caught by the baby’s toys- soft, supple and colorful. She could play with them all day.

As she nervously browsed through the toys, she felt her frock being tugged. It was the baby, offering her a soft toy, displaying the only two teeth that it had. Twinkling eyes and innocent chuckles accompanied the gesture. Despite her rage towards this little one (for separating her from her own kin), she couldn’t help but notice, how incredibly adorable the little angel was. Engulfed in a bucket of guilt and grief, she felt the drops of her plight trickle down quietly from her eyes across her cheeks and gently rest on her forearms. Like a reflex, her arms stretched wide open and the baby bounced into her warm embrace.

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The Cursed One

2011-02-16T15:57:00.013+05:30

The golden rays of the morning sun melted her oval face. She smiled and stirred in her sleep as he gently caressed her face with his knuckles. He had never felt more fulfilled, more complete till this moment. The last two hours had been incredible; he made love to her till the last ounce of his existence and she took in his ecstasy with all her passion. They just lay there, silent, motionless, letting the world pass by, relishing in the beauty of that moment. He starred at the ceiling listening to her long deep breathing, fighting to stay awake, savoring the little time that was left of the encounter. Soon it would be time to leave …

Slowly, she raised her torso as if unwilling to get up, turned her face back and smiled at him. He stretched his hand out trying to grab her and bring her down towards him but she was not an easy one to catch. She had never been. He got up behind her and reached for her again, but she managed to pull away. They held each other with their eyes, till she dropped her gaze, picked up her clothes from the ground and dressed herself up in a jiffy. He followed her league. She sat in front of the mirror to fix her face and hair as he kept starring at her reflection. They both smiled at each other again. He had never seen anything more beautiful.

She picked up his watch and wallet from the table top and handed it over to him. He strapped his watch to his wrist, took out two thousand rupee notes and handed it over to her. It was time to leave… or maybe it still wasn’t. Before she could get away, he drew her towards him, grabbed her with his firm grip and planted a warm wet kiss on her lips. Their carnal engagement was interrupted with a loud knock on the door. His heart missed a skip. This wasn’t supposed to happen. No one knew he was here. He released her and let her answer the door. The knocks became louder and more frequent.

The moment she opened the door, she was dragged out of her house by two hefty women. They hit her head and slapped her hard across her face. A TV camera unit recorded the whole incident as the women cursed and yelled at her. They looked into the camera and spoke into the boom mike that the woman in question had a loose character and was turning the entire apartment into a brothel. They pulled her hair, tore her clothes and continued to kick and gag her. Apparently, the media channel had promised the social activists a spot in prime time.

He heard the commotion getting bigger and bigger.He had to act quick. He looked through the keyhole and saw that the watchman was witnessing the ruckus as well. He made a small opening with the door and signaled the watchman to come over. The watchman caught his eye, came closer and stood in front of the door covering the door opening with his back. He slipped a five hundred rupee note into the watchman’s hand and the watchman immediately knew what to do.

The other residents had gathered around to witness the hullabaloo so it was easy for them to flee from there unnoticed. The watchman’s huge body acted as his shield as he quietly walked out of there. He looked at her once before making his final exit; she caught his eye and held him captive with her painful gaze, but said nothing. Her misty eyes bled her heart away. He dropped his gaze.The watchman led him away from the crowd and successfully shoved him out of the impending catastrophe. He walked out of the apartment, got into his car and sped away. He dared not look back, but her aching eyes still stared deep into his.

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Internet Acronyms that you should know about.

2011-02-15T18:59:00.000+05:30

LMAO, ROFL, LOL and all those fancy jargons all over the internet. Sometimes it gets a little tough to cacth up with those Facebook and Twitter lingo, doesn't it? Yeah, Tell Me About It. Anyway, made my own search and found these acronyms very popular over the internet and thought would share it with all of you. I found them in wikipedia, by the way, and uh uh I wont tell you which page, find it yourself or read my post.

So here you are, the ultimate list of acronyms to get you all happening on all those social networking sites.

Complete List of Internet Short hands:

@=At

♥=Heart (can also be typed as S2)

0wn4g3=Destroying an opponent

1=One, also used to express an exclamation mark

1337=Elite (one of the best)

2=To, Too or Two

4=For or Four

ALOL=Actually Laughing Out Loud

AFAIC=As far as I care, As far as I'm concerned

AFAICS=(chiefly Internet slang) as far as I can see

AFAIK=As far as I know

AFAIR=As far as I recall, As far as I remember

AFK=Away from keyboard

Aight=Are you alright, Yo

ASAP=As soon as possible

ASL?=Age, sex, location?

AYBABTU=All your base are belong to us

AYFS=Are you fucking serious?

AYH?=Are you high

B=Be

B4=Before

Bb=Bye Bye, Goodbye

BBIAB=Be back in a bit

BBL=Be back later

BBS=Be back soon

BD=Big deal

BRB=Be right back or Bath-room break

BRT=Be right there

BTW=By the way

C=See

CSWS=Can't Stop, Won't Stop

CU=See you

CUL=See you later

Cuz=Because

CWYL=Chat with you later

CWOT=Complete waste of time

CYA=See you

CYS=Check your settings

da=The

dat=That

der=There

DIAF=Die in a fire

Dunno=Dont know

FAQ=Frequently asked questions

FFS=For fuck sake

FML=Fuck my life

FOAD=Fuck off and die

fr00b=idiot, someone who has done something wrong

FTL=For the loss

FTMFW=For the mother fucker win

FTUW=For the über win

FTW=For the win

FWIW=For what it's worth

FYI=For your information

G2G / GTG=Got to go

GAGF=Go and get fucked

GAL=Get a life

GFY=Good for you, Go fuck yourself

GG=Good game, Good going

GIYF=Google is your friend

Gonna=Going to

GTFO=Get the fuck out, Get the fuck off

H4x0r=A hacker

HAND=Have a nice day

HS=Holy shit! Holy smokes!

HTH=Hope this helps

IACL=I am currently laughing

IANAL=I am not a lawyer

IANARS=I am not a rocket scientist

IC=I see, In Character

ICYDK=In case you didn't know

IDGI=I don't get it

IDK=I don't know

Iggy=Igloo

IIRC=If I recall correctly

ILU=I love you

ILY=I love you

IMHO=In my honest opinion

IMNSHO=In my not so honest opinion, In my not so humble opinion

IMO=In my opinion, In my humble opinion

IRL=In real life

ITT=In this thread

IYDMMA=If you don't mind me asking

JFGI=Just fucking google it

JJ=Just joking, Just kidding, Just playing

JK=Just joking, Just kidding, Just playing

JP=Just joking, Just kidding, Just playing

JOOC=Just out of curiosity

K=Okay

KK=Ok Cool or Ok Kewl

KL=Abbreviated form of "kool" or "cool." Can also be a question, meaning "Are you ok?"'

Kwl=Cool

L8r=Later

LQTM=Laugh quietly to myself

LLAH=Laughing like a Hyena

LMAO=Laughing my ass off

LMFAO=Laughing my fucking ass off

LOL=Laugh out loud.

M8=Mate

MF=Mother fucker

MOFA=Mother fucker

MODAFOKA=Mother fucker

MOFO=Mother fucker

MYOB=Mind your own business

N00b=A new member (insult)

NLS=Not Life Safe

NOYB=None of your business

NP=No problem

NSFW=Not Safe For Work

Nub=Variation of "noob"

NVM=Never mind

NWS=Not Work Safe

O=Oh

O3=Out Of Office

OGC=hand

OGC=Man Jacking Off

OIC=Oh, I see

OJ=Only Joking

OMFG=Oh my fucking God

OMFL=Oh my fucking lag

OMG=Oh my God! Oh my Goodness! Oh my Gosh!

OMGWTFBBQ=Oh my God what the fuck barbecue

OOC=Out of Character

OP=Original Poster, Original Post or Overpowered

OT=Off topic

PEBKAC=Problem exists between the keyboard and the chair

PFO=Please fuck off

Pic=Picture

PITA=Pain in the ass

Plz=Please

PMSL=Pissed myself laughing

POS=Piece of shit, Parent over shoulder

PPL=People

Pr0n=Pornography

PTTL=Pop to the loo

Pwn4g3=Intentional misspelling of "ownage"/Player owned.

R0x0r=Someone who 'rocks' (compliment)

RL=Real life

ROFL=Rolling on the floor laughing

ROFLMAO=Rolling on the floor laughing my ass off

ROFLMAOL=Rolling on the floor laughing my ass out loud

RTFA=Read the fucking Article

RTFM=Read the fucking Manual

S=Abbreviation for lol (from the binary value of 101 = 5)

Shudda=Should have

SMH=Shaking my head

SO=Significant other

SOS=Same old shit

soz=Sorry

srry=Sorry

Spl33=Expression of pleasure or happiness

SSDD=Same shit, different day

STFU=Shut the fuck up

STFW=Search the fucking web

sup=What's up?

sup homes=What's up, friend?

SWW=Sorry, wrong window (typing in the wrong box)

Teh=Intentional misspelling of "The"

Thnx=Thanks

Tho=Though

TIA=Thanks in advance

TL;DR=Too long; didn't read.

TTFN=Ta ta for now

TTYL=Talk to you later

TTYT=Talk to you tomorrow

TY=Thank you

TYT=Take your time

U=You

W00t=Expression of elation, excitement, extreme happiness

W4r3z=Illegal software

Warez=Illegal software

W8=Wait

Wanna=Want to

WB=Welcome back

Wd=Well done

WDUWTA?=What do you want to talk about?

Wile=While

WOOT=We own the other team

WTF?=What the fuck?

WTH?=What the hell?

WURSC=Wow, you are so cool

XOXO=Hugs and kisses

YCM=You copied me

Ye=Yeah or Yes

YMMV=Your mileage may vary

Yo=Hey or Your

YSVW=You're so very welcome

YW=You're welcome

Dig That!!

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Blogging is best learnt by blogging… and by reading other bloggers-George Siemens

2011-02-11T18:36:00.007+05:30

How I started blogging? A blogger’s journey…

Not that anyone cares right now, but I am writing it down, so that people who would be eager to know about me would have something to Retweet after I become the next digital media Moghul, just in case . So here’s how it goes, I started blogging in the summer of 2007 and I created my first blog on blogger.com. Every second person was talking about it and curiosity led me into giving it a shot. Initially it was trial and error and repeat. Besides, I had no clue on what to write so I mostly tried out different templates and fiddled with the designs.

The content on my blogs, don’t even ask about it. My blog became my online diary where I would mostly bitch about people that caused me stress. There was no style, tone or uniformity; and the only common elements in all the posts were typos. I posted my phone numbers, my contact addresses and committed every possible stupidity I could think of. Thankfully, it didn’t take me very long to realize how stupid that was and I stopped that immediately.

The next phase was window shopping. Visiting every possible opensource and creating a blog there. The blogs had negligible or useless content except for a few, where I posted my un-reviewed short stories, poems that never rhymed and a couple of movie reviews. (I have no qualms in stating that I took pride in all of that). Meanwhile, I had started working as a freelancing writer for a career related blog. Writing at a professional level, gave me some idea of what desirable content was. Slowly, I was able to figure out content that fished me a few comments. Few more curiosity led web exercises and I came to know about SEO, Keyphrases and those web jargons which are very helpful and essential for a blog’s success by the way.

Post this came the social media phase. That was and still is the best part. I am addicted to it like anything and posting updates form a core part of my everyday routine. But more importantly the collaboration aspect of social media is what allowed me to reach out to a greater global audience and make friends with fellow bloggers and people with similar interests, which led to a significant increase in my blog’s visibility and familiarity. (I will be sharing some ways to collaborate your blog with other networks shortly).I had also realised that having a single blog with good content is more important that having multiple useless blogs. Collaborating the single blog across multiple platforms always has an edge over having multiple blogs (unless all your other blogs are content rich)
Although my blog tries to spread its roots across many domains, I have been able to give it a few uniform directions. Today, in my blog, you will find mostly stuff about social media, SEO, SMO, Collaboration, movies I like and why, books that I read and why, social media, SEO, life inside the corporate jungle, funny anecdotal stories apart from regular random ramblings like these. I hope this post inspires many others to start blogging and those who already have to continue doing so with full vigour. Like George Siemens says-Blogging is best learnt by blogging… and by reading other bloggers.

blogging, collaboration, how to blog, what to blog about, Social Media Influence, parmita borah, how to make a great blog

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All I need to know about Twitter I learned at Kindergarten

2011-02-10T13:40:00.001+05:30

I discovered this presentation in slideshare while looking for Twitter tips and tricks, and the presentation really made me think twice. Rigth from basic to ethics, it talks all about Twitter.Have a look at it.

All I need to know about Twitter I learned at kindergarten

View more presentations from Steve Wheeler.

The presentation is available here.

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Remove Twitter from Facebook

2011-02-08T12:20:00.004+05:30

So, like many of you out there, I too thought that linking my Twitter and Facebook and all the other social media accounts would be a great idea. Truth be said, it isn't! Infact, it gets annoying especially when all your retweets, replies,chats and #hashtags gets updated on Facebook. First of all, most of the updates don't make any sense to the Facebook users because the lingo is completely different. Second of all, 15-20 updates in 5 minutes doesn't go down well with your friends. I am glad none on my Facebook friends have removed me from their list yet. I wouldn't blame them for doing so.

So, here's what I did. If you are facing an issue like mine try this.
Step 1- Home>Account>My Account>Settings
Step 2-In the Settings Tab under go to the Privacy link and click on Manage
Step 3-After that click on Apps and Websites
Step 4-This will take you to the applications and websites that your account is linked to.
Step 5-Click on Twitter and if you want you can remove it completely from your account
Step 6-OR, you can go to edit settings and remove access.

I have attached some screen shots for your reference and will be uploading some more shortly. Hope this helps.Click on the images for a larger view.

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Back from the moribund

2011-02-07T09:15:00.004+05:30

A long hiatus since Christmas! Like I mentioned in all my updates, the holiday spirit was delivered to me in a glass, on the rocks. So the hangover, as you can imagine stayed on a little longer. However, with the liberty to tweak Arnold Schwarzenegger’s three famous words (Terminator fans should know what I am talking about), I do gladly announce “I am back” (where’s my Ray ban damn it!). And trust me, despite my hibernation I wasn’t lazing around. Although on my online and social activities went for a toss, I was infact digging up some good stuff, which might be of some use to you. Like I always tell my boss “I wasn’t sleeping, I was meditating.” ;)

Anyway, here’s a quick update of what I had been upto. I fulfilled my long cherished dream of making a crappy clichéd horror flick; it had to remain short, or else the effect would go off and shoes would be hurled upon my fragile frame. Anyway, if any of you want to spend five expendable minutes of your precious time, click here to watch my short paranormal movie Uninvited

Moving on to some cyber Gyan, I’ve recently attended a social media workshop conducted by Kapil Nakra from a company called Digital Vidya. My social media knowledge is not that bad, but the workshop helped me in a great way. I’d like to share some of the interesting binges I took away from the workshop.

LinkedIn-I was always under the impression that LinkedIn.com was a site for boring, bespectacled corporate guys. I had negligible presence there apart from an updated profile and few testimonials. I was stunned to see people active on it 24/7. Apart from creating and expand your professional network, linked in a great place for interactivity. For starters, linked answers is an application just like Yahoo answers, where you can post your own questions and respond to others if you know the answers. Apart from getting immediate and relevant responses to your queries gets you visibility. My profile’s views went up threefold after I became active in Linked Answers. The trick here is to send your question via email to all your contacts, if they cannot answer your query they forward it to their contacts and so on. Everytime someone answers your query her/his contacts would be able to view that giving a boost to your profile. Skills, events, polls, blog links and creative portfolio display are some useful tools too. I would urge all of you to go the “MORE” section and explore it for yourself. (Screenshot attached)

Hootsuite-Hootsuite.com is serious salvation for all those social media addicts whose office or college networks have blocked your favorite social media sites. Hoot suite is your ultimate social media junction. It is not a social media site, but rather a dashboard of multiple social media websites. You can maintain multiple profiles, you Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Wordpress and other social networks via web, desktop or mobile platforms plus track campaign results and industry trends to rapidly adjust tactics. I came to know about it only very recently, but Hoot suite was launched in Dec. 2008 by Invoke Media, and its users include governments, artists and organizations like The White House, Martha Stewart Media, SXSW and Zappos!!

Klout- Now this is another very useful thing if you want t leverage social media. Klout is the standard, infact analysis of your influence in social media. For users who follow a few familiar people on twitter or Facebook, this may not hold much value, except for you know, feeling good about you. But for the “geekpreneurs” who are looking at marketing possibilities of social media, Klout gives you a detailed analysis of your social media influence. It uses over 35 variables on Facebook and Twitter to measure True Reach, Amplification Probability, and Network Score. You would be able to discover your engaged audience who actually spread the word on your behalf by commenting, clicking or retweeting. Moreover, you can also check other users Klout score and find out how influential they are. By following and interacting with them, you can generate a more influential follower base too!

Read more about Klout. Click here.

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An Assamese Song

2010-12-27T13:46:00.000+05:30

Jodi Ketiyaba Okole (Acoustic) - an original composition of Jitul Sonowal covered by Jim Ankan Deka.

Assam (Photographs) - a compilation of beautiful pictures of Assam. Background music by Jim Ankan. Song - Mon Doley (Assamese).

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Humor has it.Facebook and Twitter updates

2010-12-23T16:49:00.009+05:30

I do admit to my eternal shame that I too like many of my counterparts desparate to get noticed on social media , googled for Facebook updates. The results that came up were impressive. I liked a lot of them, copied and pasted a bunch of them and got truckloads of feedback. However, there was high pitched voice somewhere inside me that admonished me for not being original. So, on a jobless day, during this pre christmas/holiday season, I decided to sit down and pen down a few thoughts.I mean how hard could it be?If others are doing it so could I. This post is a result of such a jobless hour. Feel free to use it on your Facebook status messages and Twitter updates or even disagree with my one liners. I am just trying to be funny, I don't have to have the last word.

Mommy said “Ofcourse you’d be happily married when you grow up. *Conditions Apply.”

Q. Where did the Chimpanzee find his bride?
A. Matrimonkey.com

You need Creativity to come up with a feasible excuse for reaching office late; you need Innovation if you show up late everyday.

Employer-First Mistake-Process Map.
Second Mistake-Case study
Employee-First Mistake-How stupid are you?
Second mistake-Fired!

Your wife always looks prettier from the neighbor’s window; your husband always sounds more romantic from another city!

I would have understood my boss better if life had subtitles.

A woman knows it’s time to work out, when her waistline exceeds her bustline.

It took me entire high school to get my spelling and grammar right, Microsoft Word ruined it in a day.

A smart employee pretends to work; a smart employer pretends to pay.

The Christmas spirit is all over me. It was delivered to me in a glass on the rocks!

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Top Ten reasons to quit your job

2010-12-22T15:05:00.002+05:30

Except for a few lucky bastards, it’s is extremely common to hate the job you are in, isn’t it? Sometimes it seems like the Devil had cherry picked your bosses and clients to torture you death; and sometimes just like James McAvoy in the movie Wanted, you would like to smash your boss’ head with a keyboard and walk out of office. McAvoy however was inspired by the sexy assassin Angelina Jolie to call it quits. The increasing dependency in a job, financial or otherwise makes it really difficult to think beyond your professional life. What would it take for you to realize that “This is it. It’s time to move on”? Here are a few suggestions from me.

You wake up in the morning and realize that you had spent the night before with Angelina Jolie –shooting people. You could totally pull of the McAvoy act after that!
You accidently found Stanley Ipkiss’s (Jim Carrey) Mask. That would hold a better future for you than having a job!
You gifted free stationeries from your office to your girl/boy friend on Valentine’s Day.
Your salary can afford only DVD rentals not movie tickets at the multiplex.
You are so stressed out that you aren’t even motivated to excuse yourself to the loo.
Your boss “delegates” you to pick up his laundry and groceries.
You look at a donkey and wish to trade lives with it.
Your hot colleague sitting next to you just announced that she got engaged.
Your leadership skills training includes activities like teaching your juniors how to make coffee and use a copy machine.
Your Swami/Guru avatar on Twitter fetched a million dollar donation from an American Devotee!

Also Read

Best ways to turn a guy down

Top Ten Out-of-Office replies

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A professional love story

2010-12-21T12:28:00.001+05:30

Dear Ms Priyanka,

I am very happy to inform you that I have fallen in Love with you since the 14th of October (Sunday).
With reference to the meeting held between us on the 27th of July at 1500 hrs, I would like to present myself as a prospective lover.

Kind Regards,
Karthik
Recruitment

The reply...

Dear Mr Karthik,

Our love affair would be on probation for a period of three months and depending on compatibility, would be made permanent. Of course, upon completion of probation, there will be continuous on the job training and performance appraisal schemes leading up to promotion from lover to spouse.

The expenses incurred for coffee and entertainment would initially be shared equally between us. Later, based on your performance, I might take up a larger share of the expenses. However I am broadminded enough to be taken care of, on your expense account.

I request you to kindly respond within 30 days of receiving this letter, failing which, this offer would be canceled without further notice and I shall be considering someone else. I would appreciate if you could forward this letter to any other refernce if you do not wish to take up this offer.

Thanking you in anticipation,

Yours sincerely,
Priyanka
HR Executive

** I do not own the copyright to this article. Just found it on the internet.

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