Reality 'n' Life

Random thoughts

2015-01-16T17:44:00.002+05:30

Even my worst critic would agree that I travel fairly regularly.
Buses.
Cars.
Autos.
Trains.
Flights.
Anything that moves.

The crowds that engulf me are families, kids, matronly aunts and jolly uncles, late 40s trudging along their arcs of life, and the omnipresent 20 some things. Dedicated. Focused.

The chatter goes on around me.
Someone is calling home.
Telling bye bye or hello to their mates, loved ones.
Business men on their bijnesh calls.
Additionally always there are office calls. More like calls from office. Or to office colleagues.
And these are always about :
Status updates
Issues
Escalations

And that one single messaging :
- I'll dial in tomorrow for the client call
- yep send me an email. I'm carrying my laptop.

These guys and girls. They are not in management roles. Not people who carry around office blackberries.
But they always carry their laptops home.
I'm one of them.

So are we ever really on leave?
Will someone die if I don't log in tomorrow?
Why should the business be impacted by one person going on leave?
That's ridiculous.
And that's the reality.

Coming home

2014-09-22T19:21:00.000+05:30

My mom used to change the house a lot. When we were kids, my mom would regularly move the furniture around the rooms, trying to see if the house yielded more space than before. It was great fun for us kids. We got to push the chairs and tables around once in a couple of months, and felt very strong. At that time, dad was mostly out of town, posted in towns far from us. Given the travel involved, and the safety issues associated with it, dad would usually visit us once in a fortnight, sometimes a month.
Now that I think of it, I wonder sometimes how it made dad feel. Coming home to a new home time and time again, at the same address and with the same people in it, but just different in little ways.

When I left home to go to college, we lived in a flat in Baroda, a city we had moved to 2 years ago. I still didn't have a hang of the city, but I was slowly getting a feel of the house. It had a basement that I studied in, a balcony out back with potted plants. And then I moved.
While I was in college, we bought a house in Baroda. The first time I saw it, it was a half constructed house, but the walls already felt of home, and it came associated with a permanent address, something I had never experienced in life.
In a few years the house was finished, we moved in, we made it home. All this while, I was in a bigger city, far far away. Every trip home I would find new additions. A new show piece in the drawing room, a microwave in the kitchen, new sheets that I hadn't seen being bought, and other things small and large that were part of the house.
Last trip, it was a new room. A room with cement walls, large windows, a fancy design. Wall color and furniture choices were the questions most discussed. This will be my room, and hence my choices are important. What should the shelf look like, will there be a low bed, or a study table, where's the best light.

What I couldn't voice , and probably will never be able to, is that I never want all this. I just want to come home and be the little me again, happy with what I painted in drawing class, feeling strong and invincible. That's what coming home should be about.

Let’s learn to Invest

2014-07-30T20:00:00.000+05:30

It’s 30^th of July. And I'm repenting why I was so lazy throughout 2013-14 and didn't care to make good investments. And as you can imagine, it takes a fair bit of brain-muscle to find the right investment, and a stronger willpower to save money and ‘invest’ in that right investment.

Why I am writing all this here, you ask!

Ah huh!

You haven't noticed the dots yet.

So I’m also repenting that I now need to rewrite a code that works perfectly alright, makes all the right noises, and generates the numbers that it’s supposed to.

But here’s the ‘Kick’. {No it's not worth a 100 crores either}

If I pass it on to you today, I’m sure you will spend 5 days understanding it, and then spend the weekend cursing me over a bottle of water. And you will come back on Monday and the code will not make any sense whatsoever anyway.

Here! Look! That’s the second dot for you.

2 dots are good enough to draw a straight line, and hence, draw conclusions. But let me give you a third dot to make life a little bit easier.

Next month, there’s going to be an inspection, the type we call ‘Quality & Compliance’. They are going to be reviewing everything. And when I say everything, I mean everything.

They will look at your desk [Is there confidential stuff lying around?]

They will look below your keyboard [You are writing all your passwords on a sticky and sticking it under the keyboard aren't you?]

They will look into your system’s history [No skeletons in that closet I hope!]

They will look at your documentation [dot the i’s and cross the t’s my lad]

And they will look at your code, its input, its output, its log, and anything else they can find.

Based on the above scenarios, I think you should clean up the code a bit. Add a few comments to describe the various sections in the code. Oh wait! Sections! Hmm! I didn't exactly write the code in sections. There was a lot of trial and error and copy and paste. Maybe you should start there. Organize the code into sections first. What? You can't pull them apart? Why? Oh, they are written that way you say? Fine by me, the audit is all yours then. Oh don't be scared boy. Maybe!!!!! Yes, right, that’s a good Idea. Spend the weekend here in office, and write the whole thing from scratch. Make sure you build it in sections, demarcate them by writing comments, add defensive codes, handle exceptions, and while you are at it, teach it to make a good filter coffee as well.

There, I said it. There’s your third dot.

Do I make any sense now?

Not yet?

Go wash your face, get some coffee, and come back to class by 11.15.

We will then go over how you should think, plan and then write programs. Got it?

“Invest time upfront, rather than jumping off the cliff and hoping you grow wings”

–Justmade Itup

Investments are subject to risks. Please store the pig in a safe place after investing.

Pageviews - 2

2014-07-07T18:38:00.001+05:30

27/9/2011 is when I did a Pageview check last time, about 3 years ago. This is what it looked like.

And this is what it looks like now.

Pichhle aath saal

What the Analyst!!

2014-07-03T18:57:00.000+05:30

Recently, I got my first opportunity to contribute to another blog. I was expected to write on a non-technical topic for a blog which is run by one of the most technical person I know of. So here's what I wrote. Original Post from The CyberPlus Blog is here. Visit the blog for some fantastic stuff.

For the first 21 years of life, I only knew the term ‘programming’. It had a mystic quality to it, the whole idea that everything and anything you saw around you could be programmed. Now, programming could be analogous/hardware based, or digital/software based. A simple example could be how your fan is programmed to rotate at higher speeds as the regulator is turned upwards, versus how your latest TV is programmed to switch channels when you press the swap or back button on your remote, retrieving data from its flash memory about which was the previous channel. I had understood this much by the time I turned 21. And I had learnt a few lines of BASIC programming, heard of FORTRAN & COBOL, of the ubiquitous C, and the scary JAVA. But that was the limit of my information on programming, and that’s where I intended to keep it.

Then, one day, I joined a bioinformatics PG Diploma course. Based on the information I heard from the faculty about the course, I was confident that I could survive by doing minimal programming, and by making sure my grades were good enough in the biology side. I didn't have anything against programming, but somehow didn't see myself writing code for a living.

As I progressed through the toughest year of my life, I slowly realized I liked writing code. But the fun I had was not in the code itself, not in making it efficient and perfect. Rather what kept me invested in my programs was the idea of the problem, and that it needed solving, and there could be multiple ways to solve it, and there could be one most efficient & perfect way to solve the problem. But being the lazy person I am, I never probably got to the point of coming up with that ultimate coded solution to any problem.

Then, when time came for me to take up a job, I was recruited in a Multinational Pharmaceutical giant, for a programming position. Over the last 5 years, I have held positions of increasing responsibility in the organization. And as is true with most of these big companies, change is a constant. I went from being called an Analyst, then a Programmer, and back to being an Analyst again. And finally, now that I ponder of my future and next steps in my career, I realize that programming doesn’t necessarily make you a programmer. It is also a tool that will ensure that you can be an Analyst.

What’s an Analyst you ask? Maybe you need to watch from F.R.I.E.N.D.S! System Analyst, Software Analyst, Analyst, Statistical Analyst, Financial Analyst, you can find these terms everywhere, in every company. An Analyst, simply put, is a person who decodes the data held in a database to come up with a solution, or a proposal for a solution. This is based on the data available, and sometimes on the data projected, and is enabled by the programming the Analyst is able to do to retrieve this data and transform it into information. And a solution is what we need, what we want. It’s a pretty cool job title, and a pretty important responsibility in this world of increasing data dependency. The directions taken by the people who drive our society are information driven, and as an Analyst, you are in the thick of providing this information.

And hence, a small request to all my Analyst brothers and sisters out there. Try to write bug-free codes please.

5 Down

2014-06-08T16:52:00.002+05:30

5 years is not a short time.

Half a decade!!

If I go back in time by that amount of time, I would find myself sitting at an office desk, just like I’m doing now. Only difference would be that it was a working day.

If I go back half a decade more, I would find myself probably trying to figure out what’s my next class. That was another life, filled with books and cycles [the biochemistry types] and chemistry and hostel life. Let’s leave it there and come forward by 5 years.

I had finished my internship, 6 months spent learning office etiquette, SAS programming, document review and formal communication, all the while also realizing that it’s not as difficult as I imagined it to be. I was absolutely scared about this internship before I started. How would I cope in a place that required you to do things on time, in the right way and all this while maintaining a formal dress-code? I had conveniently ignored the fact that I had formals in college, that IBAB taught us to meet deadlines and pull all-nighters, and most of all, 16 years of education in our education system had taught me how to conform. So, unexpectedly for me, it turned out well. And in turn, they offered me a job.

And it has been 5 years since the day I signed on the dotted lines and took up a job as a Statistical Analyst at Novartis Healthcare Pvt. Ltd. at Hyderabad.

What did I manage in these 157,766,400 seconds?

Well, many of these 1,826 days were spent lazing around at home, sleeping, eating and just being lazy. But of course, there were days which were more productive.

Workwise, I managed to stay ahead in the rat race for most of these 43,824 hours. Lately, I have been falling a bit behind, but I guess that’s just the Normal distribution catching up with my life. I saw my department change names, 7 times. Then I decided to change department. 7 is a good number, you see. I managed to work with people based out of 6 countries, and more than a dozen nationalities and ethnicities. I learnt how some stereotypes are true, and some are just made up. I managed to leave the office as early as 2PM, and also as early as 3AM. At one point, I even got accustomed to people randomly walking up to me and asking me how to solve this issue and that. Never thought that day would come. Over 60 months, I realised I was a decent speaker, and also grew a penchant for teaching and training.

Personally, I managed to get through 2 relationships. Fell in love a considerable number of times, though it was mostly one-way traffic. I gained at least 10-15 kilos, lost a few strands of hair, a few feet of vision, and managed to outgrow all my old clothes. I Learnt that I could travel, and that I loved watching performing arts in any form whatsoever. For a few months, dramas held my imagination like nothing else ever had. And then for a few more, I was engulfed in photography, learning its various nuances. I also understood that I can write half-decently, but don’t have a good vocabulary or understand anything about web traffic. I have learnt how to follow recipes and how to appreciate a good drink. I have also learnt that sometimes you can let your hair down, and get on the dance floor. But what the hell! Travel, photograph, enjoy a little drama or dance here or there. And I have managed to make and hold on to a decent number of people who call me their friend, and a few who wish me well. What more can you ask from life.

Well, you do! You want more money, a nice car, a great bike. You want a fine home. And most of all, you want a companion to share this all with. But I think the once that for me precedes all this is the thirst to see the world. Luckily, I did manage to get a taste of this for 14 days in Switzerland. And as is true with all appetizers, I’m dying for more.

In true corporate style, I should now lay down a roadmap, for the next 5 years. And this will coincide with Modi’s grand vision for India. Hope we both manage to pull off a few unexpected rabbits out of our hats, and go well beyond all expectations. Here’s to the next 5.

To look back at the last 5, here are some pictures from the last half-decade of my career.
[advance apologies to everyone featured in the pictures below. if you want me take down any of these images, let me know]

Hampi, my escape!

The Diploma

Airports

Photography

Red!

Nutrition

Kerala, Lighthouse

First white hair, 6 Sept 2013

Awards

Travelling

Odd expressions

Posing

And a little bit of Google Magic

Colors in the sky

Food, before flying

For the soul

Odd stuff

With Crazy!

Covering events

Uniform

Celebration

The exhibition

Friends

Weddings

Summer days of Yore

2014-04-24T13:08:00.000+05:30

Summers, especially if you are a kid in India, should hold so much of your memories as it does. Its the hottest time of the year, and for many parts of the country, its just basically the same as the rest [My brother in Chennai would agree]. And yet, these months that come after the winter chill has vanished, and before the monsoon decides to wash away this land, somehow, manages to hold each of our imagination. It plants itself in our memories forever, refusing to let go. And I guess this time, the heat has got to my head. I can't see any other reason why I would decide to write this post. Except this post that brought back old memories..

*** I think this is going to be a long post. Leave now, or grab your glass of chhass, sit back, and enjoy ***

Summers, according to me, can be classified in many ways, some of which I display below. 150 possible combinations I see.

Classifying Summer

Now, of course I mention these because I have lived through all these. And until I made this table, it never struck me how versatile life has been.

I grew up in the state of north eastern state Tripura. I lived in three of its eight districts, and have traveled to all but one. And the thing about summers there was it was always hot & humid. Sticky, actually.

I would spend a few bored days at home every summer during the summer vacation, before we would get out of the house and travel somewhere, anywhere. Thanks to the LTCs that dad would be eligible for, every 3-4 years we would do a mega trip. The other years, we would just land up in Assam with my grandparents. So, when not bored during summers at home, I would be out travelling through India, or getting bored in a different location.

Then, at the turn of the millennium, with board exams in sight, we shifted to Modified Gujarat. In the middle of the summer, no less. The Oh So Hated humidity vanished magically from the air. And I realized soon how much I missed it. The heat was excruciatingly painful to bear, and my usual ways of coping would no longer help. When I was in Tripura, I used to spend the afternoons idling around a open window, with a book. The window would, now and again, let in a whiff of wind. And that would bring immense sense of comfort, even if there was a long powercut. In Gujarat, this didn't work anymore. The air that would travel into the room was capable of drying out your skin with such quickness that you would feel short of breath very quickly. And if you closed the windows and hope for liberation, you would be stuck in a furnace. The solution, the aforementioned chhass, and other myriad drinks concocted out of mangoes and what not. It kept you hyderated, in a constant battle against the Sun and the dry wind.

Don't get me wrong, it was fun while it lasted. A new addition happened to my life while I enjoyed these summer days. The old, angular, TVS Scooty. Red. With a stepney. This was my ride, zipping through town, to school, tuitions, ... ya that's all. It brought a sense of freedom, an end to boredom, on those long summer days. Though I would still not dare to venture out during the midday, the evenings at least were made artificially Kooler.. And of course, there were the breaks, to Mount Abu, the closest hill station, and then to Himachal, way cooler, of course.

After this, of course life moved on. Gujarat phase got over, and a new summer dawned on me. But that's a different story. At another time.

The unforgettable things out of those old summers:

Rains in the hills, rolling in from far away, in the middle of the summer season. You could hear the thundering herd roll in from the horizon, engulfing you suddenly and ending quickly, leaving you thirsty for more.
The thunderstorm of the evenings, with a rich buildup. The wind would stop, the clouds spiral up in rage, the lightning stride across the skies, and then it would open up and go on for a good couple of hours, at the end of which we would all feel cooler and better.
The plane rides and train rides that would take me to exotic destinations like Puri, Goa, Haridwar, Gangtok, Shillong, and other locations that would fill my memories and fuel my imaginations. Always loved that part of life. I guess that't why I try to get out and travel as frequently as I can.
The books, oh yes the books. The Bookfair would fill my coffers each year, and summer would be the time to go over them again and again. Also, there would be the language books from other schools. Oh yes, I used to read up the english books from other schools and other classes. My little pass-time.
The cooling agents- juices, coconut water, chhass, all came later in life. In the beginning, there was the banned pepsi, and the malai icecream from the street vendor.

Lunch @ 5

2014-04-21T18:35:00.001+05:30

The lunch was always a quick affair,

Tucked between returning from school

And leaving for the tuition on the pretty little bike.

The tiffin at school was heavier,

The evening snack, healthier, familiar.

The lunch, the ignored meal of the day.

With our feet running the rat race,

The laptop bag digging into the shoulder,

There are no more mid-day tiffins.

Mother no longer serves the evening snack,

Or maybe she does, and I'm no longer home.

Fighting off competition, and my own demons.

Breakfasts are now hurried,

Dinners gobbled up at midnight,

And Lunch, it's now @ 5.

Disclaimer:

Poem nahi hai khaas to hate to mat karo yaar,

Abki bar....... Dhurrrr Burbak!

[UNTITLED]

2014-04-11T00:55:00.001+05:30

I was right here,

Loved, even revered.

Just the other day,

I could hear her sing, see them laugh.

I would read,

read the clouds in the sky outside.

The window,

my window to the world,

the voices outside,

the cars, the buses, the squealing of the horn,

outside.

I was here too, you know,

correcting papers,

laughing, being merry.

The kids, I loved.

For my parents, I lived.

My love,

He was far away.

Yet, always close.

Love was the drug,

and now it's the poison.

I see them all outside,

with my closed eyes.

I can feel the winds changing,

the girls getting ready,

in their yellow saris.

The time to celebrate is soon,

and celebrate they will.

My absence,

forgotten soon.

But the marks will remain,

always, forever.

I am here today,

looking, not seeing.

I look with vacant eyes.

The love I see,

the sorrow washes over me.

I am here, I am now.

Tomorrow, I will be gone.

Gone forever, from their sight.

Maybe not, from their mind.

I will be loved, even revered,

right here, forever.

Towards the light....

Royal Notes - My thoughts about Queen.

2014-03-24T08:30:00.000+05:30

The midnight Phone Call.. Tring Tring....

The incessant ringing of the landline woke up the mother in the dead of the night. The daughter at the other end of the ISD call asked her, "hing ko english me kya kehte hai?". The Rajouri street dogs outside kept barking away to glory. Probably they knew the answer.

This was one of those slice-of-life moments that you get to experience with Queen, or Rani from Rajouri, India. Many more light scenes like these will keep you either laughing out loud, or smiling that slight smiling remembering the time when you did something similar.

The story of Rani takes us from the very real life of Delhi, with its numbu-pani and aloo-pakode stalls, to the bustling streets of Paris (Parieiiieeieiieieieiie ..... if you want to say it like one of the Parisians ), all the way to Amsterdam, with its boats, booze and b**bs, and then back to Delhi where she finally finds her freedom.

A beautiful film all the way through, Queen can boast of a fantastic soundtrack by Amit Trivedi who continues to mesmerize with his music, and this time even decided to sing some. Of course some songs took me back to Udaan. Listen to the full songs on youtube, and let me get you started here. The camera work and edits are crisp, though during a few scenes I would have liked a little more clarity of what was going on. The scene when the friends leave a piece of their soul on the Backpacker's Hostel wall would be one such. Though we can guess that Rani puts her wedding invite on the wall, I personally would have liked to see it more clearly. But that's how the Director wants to push this film through I guess, sometimes in your face, and sometimes very subtle. For more reviews and spoilers, there are too many websites out there. Go look them up on the internet, or as its called in today's tongue, Google them! I have just 3 things to say.

Kangana proves her mettle with this role. As expected in all her films, she has the booze on her side, but just for a few minutes thankfully. She is raw & vulnerable as always, but also has those moments when her inner strength boils up to the surface, resulting in a scene soon when we see he smiling. And man, that's a pretty face. Hoping, just hoping, that Queen is a beginning of a journey, and not just a blimp in the talent Radar that fades within a moment.
Olexander, or Sikandar, well I hope both of you don't show up in a sequel. Bollywood and Sequels don't make good bed-buddies.
Rajkumar Yadav/Rao - Boss, you nailed it. The bursts of english, the sense of achievement and ownership, and the sense of helplessness of failing to find your missing bride, well, as I said, you nailed it, Bro.

Go watch it if you haven't yet. What are you, living under a rock?

Don't know where and how? Here, Einstein! This should be helpful.

And remember the biggest lesson from the film. Save for your honeymoon, starting now. Only then can you afford a fancy one. Unless you are smart and marry someone overflowing with cash.

These were not the people you just read about! These are some Hyppie type firangs :)

Postscripts:

1. I have been getting fleeting glimpses in my head about another film, somehow related to this one. And finally it surfaced. Mahanagar, a 1963 Bengali film by Satyajit Ray, had a female protagonist with a similar steely determination.

2. The songs. These 2 have intertwined in my head somehow.

From Queen:

From Udaan:

A new experience (একটি নতুন অভিজ্ঞতা)

2013-11-29T00:14:00.001+05:30

STATUTORY WARNING:
DON'T BOTHER READING, IF YOU CAN'T READ BENGALI.
DON'T USE GOOGLE TRANSLATE. THE RESULT IS TERRIBLE.
JUST VISIT THE LINKS DIRECTLY. ENJOY THE MUSIC.

এবার পুজো-এ মা আমার বল্লেন "বাছা এবার যে আমি নাচবো গাইবো আর ফুর্তি করবো। খুব ফুর্তি করবো। কিন্তু তোকে যে বাবা আমাকে একটু এদিক ওদিক নিয়ে যেতে হবে."
আমি বল্লাম "মাগো আমার , তোমাকে নিয়ে যাবো যেথানে বল। আচ্ছে আমার লোহার ঘোড়া তৈরি। "
মা বললেন "চল তাহলে , বেরিয়ে পড়ি, দেখবি আমার নতুন বন্ধুদের।"

সেই থেকে শুরু। দেখলুম মহিলারা কিভাবে মজা করে, নিজেদের মতন করে, এই পৃথিবীতে আরো কিছু লোকের ভালো করার জন্য একটু কিছু করেন।

Part 1 - এইভাবে শুরু। স্রোতস্বিনী -র পরিচই।

Part 2 - রিমঝিম বর্ষাকাল। মেঘলা দিনের একলা কাহিনী। কে তুমি , কে তুমি ?

Part 3 - ছোটোবেলা। চরুই পাখি। আব্বৃত্তি। বন্ধু তোমাএ এ গান শোনাবো বিকেল বেলাএ।

Part 4 - jiggle baam .... খাওয়া দাওয়া গপ্পো। ভালোবাসী তোমাএ।

Part 5 - কফি হাউসের আড্ডা আর নেই।

Part 6 - আমরা কি এতই আলাদা ?

Part 7 - তা তা থৈ থৈ। আএ আএ আএরে ছুটে খেলবি যদি আএ।

লুঙ্গি ডান্স , পথ ছার !
এবার হবে ধুঞ্চি নাচ।
"জয় মা তারা "

Part 8

দেখলেন সব গুলো? চললেন কোথা ? আরো আচ্ছে।
সাবস্ক্রাইব করুন। যেই লিখবো আপনার মেলবক্স এ কলিং বেল বাজবে।

"আসছে বছর আবার হবে "

Oh My Word!

2013-11-23T14:36:00.000+05:30

My Wordle

Created using http://www.wordle.net/

The Ship - filled with meaning!

2013-07-20T12:59:00.000+05:30

"Sugababes, one of the most successful all-female British bands of the 21st century, were formed in 1998. But one by one they left, till by September 2009 none of the founders remained in the band; each had been replaced by another member, just like the planks of Theseus’s boat."
- Sam Jacob, Writing for ArtReview [source-Wikipedia]

This film, with 3 protagonists going about their lives in search of meaning, starts of on a idea which is a philosophical question version of the above paragraph. Filmed in a languid pace, sometimes focusing on blank landscapes, the imagery itself evokes a sense of peace, and of purpose.
Sample this:
-"A group of jain monks are seen walking through a landscape filled with windmills, the turning fans and their shadows reminding us of how time flies by. There are no sentences spoken here. We know one of the monks is ailing, maybe walking towards his own death. And the shadows of the Kal-chakra pass over his head."
-"The sound of wind, a birds-eye view of a grassland, ruffled by the blowing wind. No characters in sight"
-"A valley. somewhere in the himalayas, a mountain stream gurgling through, a wooden bridge"

The actors perform their parts marvelously. The monk, transforming from a lean, yet healthy man - to a man on his deathbed, fasting, ridden with bedsores, and yet a steely determination in his eyes. The young stock-market player, with his empathizing selflessness. A admirable bewilderment and joy from the photographer who regains her vision. A supporting cast who fit into the puzzle marvelously. The banter between the monk and the lawyer, in the second story, bewildering, logical, funny. The daily laborer, once shell-shocked from the loss of his Kidney, and at the other time, joyous from a future filled with hope. The lovely fight in the kitchen about creativity, and our own vision of it.

The circumstances under which the paths of the protagonists cross is believable, and seems like an organic growth of the complete film.
Life of Pi left me with a lot of questions. Even now it creates discussions in our group of friends. It was splendidly made. This film, maybe doesn't spellbind you with magical effect. But it does so with its completeness of though.
Slow, and yet crisp, a must watch "Ship of Theseus".

Glad I watched in on the big screen.

My first Girlfriend

2013-01-13T14:04:00.001+05:30

She sat there, next to the window, admiring her shiny red nail.

I looked on.

She gazed outside, at the passing headlights.

I stared.

She started searching for something in her handbag.

I was inquisitive.

There was a small click.

And I heard the sound. Faint, only in my left ear. But still it was clear, over the din of the bus, rumbling through the state highways of North Bengal.

SP Balasubramanyam sang “Tum Se Milne Ki Tamanna Hai” in my left ear, and I thought ‘I have met her already’.

She looked at me and smiled. “Enjoying?”

“Yes”, I said. “I will ask dad to get me one too”.

“Yes, you should buy a Walkman, and also buy some nice cassettes. Buy Saajan, its superhit. That guy, Sanjay Dutt, he limps in the film, but he is the real hero. And Madhuri can dance so well….” She went on telling me the virtues of the superhit film from last year, and I dozed off. (Well, this habit of dozing off mid conversation will come back to hound me throughout my grownup days)

I dreamt of telling my classmates not to tease me anymore, or I’ll call my girlfriend, who had promised me to use her long nails to help me in my fight. “For Justice, For Honor, For the last starfruit/guava on the tree”…

I found out from an acquaintance almost a decade later that she had passed on to a better world, after a bout of a strange fever, at the early age of 20. That’s around the time I was close to 7-8 years old.

My first girlfriend.

Bestes-est birthday

2012-09-06T08:13:00.001+05:30

As I drove through the quickly emptying streets of Hyderabad, close to midnight, I wondered if this was going to be my loneliest birthday midnight.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not a sucker for midnight celebrations. And it's not like I have never been alone at midnight on my birthday. But there is that subtle difference between being alone & being lonely.
Anyway, as the clock pushed It's way past 11, I entered Subway to get a bite. Some friends started calling, wishing advance birthdays, as it was well past their bedtime. They candidly asked where I was, urged me to go home soon. After all, it was birthday, you ought to be home.
I ordered my sub, sat down & leisurely finished my midnight dinner. In the meantime, the.clock struck 12, and wishes poured in. By the time I left, it was close to 12.30.
I came out, and was abducted, by aliens. Yes aliens, this specific specie called "friends", who drive all over town with your birthday cake, at midnight, looking for you, just to play a birthday prank, and wish you health and wealth.
Keeping with time-tested rituals, I was picked up, hung in mid-air, kicked in the bums, and then an amazingly tasty cake was cut, half of which ended up on my face. All of this, in a parking lot. :)
Without a doubt, the best birthday ever. Doesn't matter how the rest of the day goes, this was the best one ever.
Oh and yes, now I'm just 4 short of hitting 3 decades. Wish all future ones are as amazing and surprising.

And for all of you who couldn't get a bite of the cake,

The search is ON!

2012-08-25T21:46:00.001+05:30

So it's finally official.
I have achieved a feat reached by millions of men before me, and which will be crossed by trillions who will walk this earth after me.
I will very soon be expected to take late night calls, and make calls, to a girl. And both our parents will approve of it.
Very soon, I will be mandated to go on a serious diet, and loose some weight.
Discussions on clothings, home, furniture, kids and honeymoon destinations will probably be the order of the day.

If you haven't guessed by now, well, you are an idiot.
And yes, the rest, you guessed it right. I will be getting married sometime, hopefully in the near future.

No no. No girl has selected me yet. Neither have I.
Actually I have not even met any of the potential matches, filtered through the family checks and filters.

What's official though is that the Search is on. And I have dug up some of the check criterion:
Dad: should be stay at home girl.
Mom: should be a dancer, and a bong.
Naani: shouldn't be from a Muslim family.

And naani has now told me that I should start looking.

So world, the search is on.
For MY PERFECT BRIDE.
Join me, participate, refer, and who knows, you may win yourself a ring side view of the GREAT INDIAN WEDDING TAMASHA.

CYA ALL.

Cops, You Magical Creatures!

2012-03-23T19:12:00.000+05:30

Over the last few years of my stay in Hyderabad, I have covered various localities and numerous roads. The traffic is bad sometimes, gives the rash drivers and sometimes the oddly demarcated roads. There are some terribly senseless traffic signals(The one near Pedammagudi temple for instance), and some breaks in road dividers that take away the whole point of having dividers in the first place(A break every 10 mts).
And of course, there's the bad policing.

Cops mostly sit in their cars, vroom around their beat areas, and signal at any stationary vehicle to move so as to not block traffic, or because it's late in the night. The cops manning signals and crossings are mostly on the phone, or chatting up his senior on the bike. The cops at the checkposts(Like the ones near Hi-Tech city area) are mostly invisible, or reading newspapers, or drying their laundry, or on the phone.

Sometimes it really makes me wonder. Who briefs these guys? What is their duty? Why is it that suddenly sometimes, for an hour or too, maybe on a weeknight, they are very active. What is their logic when they stop vehicles and check papers and licenses. Especially 2 wheelers. If I intend to recce an area, and have some antisocial activity in mind, won't i do it better from the safety of a car with tinted glasses? Especially in a up scale area? Where a loitering cycle-wala will look out of place? Maybe I'm wrong and the cops know more. Maybe. I just hope they do.

Another common scene is seeing 1 cop at each crossing even at the peak hours of traffic flow. Struggling with the surge of vehicles, his whistle overshadowed by honking cars(Damn! Why do people honk even when there's no place to go?), the cop usually just stands there, letting the traffic deal with itself. Looking all smug and tired, the cop would usually pick out his phone and stat calling someone(Hopefully for some help).
But then come a day! A twist! The Chief Minister's Convoy.

In last 3 years, I have seen changes at the top executive post of this state, and I have seen them disturb my peace very often. Well, of course, the Big Man has to travel. In his convoy of 10-12 cars. Of course I understand. And he has to block the traffic for ages before he arrives. Security reasons. I understand. Today's world. Tough. Dangerous.
What I don't get is a simple fact. How, and where from, do we deploy '1-cop-per-15-meters' both sides of the road, for 5-6 hours which encompass the CMs travel time? Where do these cops, (mind-it) super efficient they are in handling chaotic traffic, where do they go once the CM is gone? Are they special group, who barricade CMs paths? Only called into action wherever the CM goes? Or they are just everyday cops, who show up and work well, when the CM comes? If the last case is true, Mr. CM, please follow me everywhere I go!

Paan Singh Tomar - A Review

2012-03-11T02:39:00.002+05:30

Just came home after watching this movie.

Yes, it is great.
The director kind of continues from where must have left of during his days on the 'Bandit Queen' crew. The vistas of Chambal ki ghati come out very similar to how it showed up in the older film.
Irrfan again packs a punch in his portrayal of a common man, though in this case, this common man is not just anybody of the street.
A son of chambal, a military man, who joins the military sports team just because there is no limit on the food ration for 'sports people'. He's not scared to say the right thing, and actually snubs his superiors calling them good-for-nothing. Punished and sent to the Military Physical Training facility, he gives up his pet event, the 5000 mts race 2 months before a Defense sports meet, because he empathizes with his coach. He takes up Steeplechase instead, a event he had never heard of before in his life. And wins the event in the 13th National Games, setting a national record. Cut to the Asian games, where he is handed spikes moments before the event, that he takes off halfway through his first lap, and eventually loses the race. His heroics though win him adulation and fans, one of whom even gets their picture taken. When he is not allowed to join his batallion during the 65 war, he tell his superior 'take away all my awards and let me go to war', such is his dedication to protecting the nation, his Dharti Maa. He convers this rage to efforts, and wins the gold in the International Defense Sports meet, competing with kids half his age. But this is just as long as the good times go.
A family feud for (what else but) land makes him quit his Military job, and return to become a agriculturalist in his village. But life in the Bihaarr is not peaceful, as the family feud takes ugly turns, and after pleading help from the District Collector and the cops, and see his crops cut up, his son beaten up, and his mother eaten to death, Subedaar Paan Singh decides to take up the gun. As he reminds us many a times in the movie, "Bihaarr me sirf Baagi hote hai" and "Baagi koi khud se nahi banta". He builds a gang, mostly members of his own extended family, raises money by kidnapping, trains his crew, and kills his enemies. Emotions run high in many of the scenes, and it is in these scenes, like the once in which Paan Singh kills his elder cousin, that we see the tormented man he has become. As the movie ended it left me with a lot of thoughts.
When does one cross the line between sanity and insanity? Something that a person wouldn't even imagine ever in his life suddenly becomes his choice for way of life.
How a person goes from not caring a bit about a sport to a world class sportsman to a gun carrying bandit, hiding the angst of never fighting for his country and the bitterness of leaving a sport behind that gave him a name.
What's right? What's wrong? Who defines? Do the decisions stand the test of time?

But I digress.

The film is brilliant in its making. There are small details that are taken care of. The usage of music is great. And the dialogues, wow the dialogues. "Beehad mein to baaghi rehte hain, Parliament mein daaku."

Go watch this film to see a meaningful hindi film in a long time.

Yaaron, Dosti, Bari hi haseen hai

2012-02-22T18:04:00.001+05:30

A group of 2 boys and 1 girl had just got off a overnight bus. They looked around the busy highway, as if in search of a familiar sight.

Dressed poshly, they looked like kids out of college, maybe into their first jobs. Minimal luggage - plastered with airline tags, signaled towards busy feet and travelling habit. The girl carried a cuddly pink blanket. Cute.

Obviously they were new in town.

The other side of the highway suddenly cried for attention. 2 pairs of hands, waving frantically, trying to capture some eyeballs. 2 boys appeared, running, walking, half falling, but constantly moving their hands, and cutting across the crowd of people and automobiles.

5 pairs of eyes met across the traffic, there was silent signal transfer, and then a flurry of movements, as both groups moved towards each other. The 2 boys, protectively guarding the girl in the centre, who just wanted to cross the busy highway on a run.

The road is crossed, a battle won against the rash drivers and the incessant traffic, and the two groups meet on the non-existing footpath.

Big hugs. Group hugs. Twinkle in the eyes. Hi-fives. The joy of meeting pals.

Standing 5 feet away from them, at Alwin cross-road, I missed my friends.

Guys and girls, you out there, who came in my life and made my life the way it is, beat me up when I deserved it, and were my pillars of support when I needed it, I miss you all. Maybe I don't call too often. I never send emails. Maybe I don't even wish u on your birthdays.
BUT!
Believe me, I miss you all.
Enjoy this ode to friendship, My friends.

Didi

2012-02-09T02:37:00.001+05:30

Last year, on Feb 7th, I got a call in the middle of the morning, that went on to change my life forever over the course of the next 7 days or so.

Munidi called me to ask me to come to Agartala, as Tinidi was admitted in the hospital, and was in a comatose state. I didn't know what to do, and booked travel tickets for 9th Feb. I had to go. After all, she was my sister.

Munidi and Tinidi are my elder sisters, and cousins as they may be, they are closest siblings I have. I have very fond memories of times spent together during my growing up years, planning our next day, next week, next year, and our far-in-the-future life. We were inseparable. Also, Munidi and me, the elder ones in our respective families, shared common traits - heavier builds, bookworms, etc etc, and Tinidi and Kutu, the younger ones, had similar features. We were a great gang. :-)

On the fateful morning of February the 8th, 2011, Munidi, in a broken voice, called me and told me it was all over, that I can cancel my tickets, and there was no need to travel.

The moment froze. I can't exactly remember what happened. But I found myself standing next to Durgamcheruvu, a lake near office, with a colleague, trying to make some sense of what was happening. In a matter of maybe 30 seconds, I had experienced death, loss of a loved one. But I don't think I cried. I was shocked, sad, but somehow that wasn't equal to tears streaming down my cheeks.

Only after a couple of days, when I reached Agartala, my Agartala, that the truth slowly started dawning on me. Uncle and Aunt, shocked, sobbing, like little children, trying to cling on to memories for support. Munidi was suddenly all grown up, handling the house. It was a mad house. People dropped in at any time, sit, try to talk to uncle and aunt, who broke down each time someone walked in. After some time, I felt like locking the gate and not let anyone enter the house. I sometimes went around town, met friends of Tinidi and Munidi, who were helping with all arrangements. There was so much to do. Death didn't bring peace. It brought struggle, grief, and a pile of work. In the valentine season, in the season of love, we were out completing tasks deemed necessary by death.

There is one person on this planet who, I think, can tell me the exact numbers of seconds passed from THAT fateful moment. I am damn sure he kept count, at least for the first few months. Maybe even now. He is living his life, not the way he expected to, but he's going along. That's whats expected out of him, isn't it.

The last time I met Tinidi was in 2009, I was on a short trip to Agartala, and she introduced me to him. She was shy when she told me about him, and she wanted my approval. My approval. I was younger than her, by years. She had known the guy for about a decade, if not more. They had been 'going-out' for years. Everyone in the family knew about them. But still, she wanted me to approve. It was sweet, and tender. That's how much I meant to her, I guess. Well, I had her talk to my girlfriend when I was in a relationship. I guess we meant that much to each other.

We didn't talk often. There would be a phone call in months, an email, a greetings card sometimes. That's all. I wish I knew her better. I wish.

Goodmorning, Friday the 13th

2012-01-13T12:30:00.002+05:30

So, it was Morning of Friday the 13th.

Down-under, The Aussies were giving us a good beating - more like beating our bats with swinging fast deliveries, and we were soon 4 down.

I have been listening to music on Saavn for the last few days. It's good. So today morning, I clicked surprise me, and came a playlist.

And it played - "Itni shakti hame de na dataa, man ka vishwas kamzor ho na".

Kinda matched the match situation.

But then, my brain went into a Friday overdrive.

Literal Translation of the lyrics:
Give me enough power O Lord,
So my belief in you never wanes,
So I always walk on the right path,
So I never make a mistake.

How a statistician will interpret it(Probably)
Give my TEST enough POWER, my DATA,
So I can accept my Alternative Hypothesis,
Let me DESIGN as best as I can,
So I can cover for all mistakes during CONDUCT.

What do you think?

Art-y Times

2012-01-11T00:30:00.000+05:30

Last few month of 2011 have been, well, very Artistic!

No! No! No! I didn't display my creativity and torture people. (Did take some pretty cool shots though! And got praised by a lot of people too! CHEERS..)

- The Hindu Metroplus Theater Fest 2011
- The Interview -
After Kiran Madam left, didn't go for any plays. This was the first. Thanks to Abhishek for the company.
And what a story.
The story of a fresher being interviewed by a part-eccentric part-innocent rotund balding boss, who's sleeping with his sexy Assistant on the side, and by another employee who sees himself as the next to ascend the throne.
Starts with a lot of funnies, but as we end the performance, the darkness from the corporate corridors suddenly looms larger, and scarier.
But most of all, the contrast of the first and the last scene, left me spellbound.

- Quadir Ali Baig Theater Fest
- Adhe Adhure -
Disturbing, very disturbing. Lilette Dubey, Mohan Agashe and the rest of the cast play a family in the 60s, struggling through the joblessness of the father and the son, a runaway elder daughter, and a misbehaving school-going daughter.
From time to time, you feel like you understand the characters, and just when you are about to close their file, there's a new chapter that emerges. You feel sympathetic towards the struggling mother for some time, and then suddenly she transforms. As the shock of the transformation subsided, I was left with a nagging question.
"Is it unfair, for a mother of 3, to seek some comfort, some solace, some independence, from the life she creates for herself and her family, over a couple of decades? Will it be wrong if she flies off, leaving everything behind, to have a better life?"
Commendable performances by the cast, especially Dr.Agashe in a multitude of characters portrayed with brilliance.

- Noti Binodini -
Beautiful use of screens, lights, projections and music, along with multiple actresses playing the same character - made this a memorable performance.
The sometimes-painful story of one of India's foremost professional actresses from the theater world in early 1900s, based on her autobiography, was performed by a talented cast in front of a spellbound audience. The standout moments of the performance were the transformations/transfer of Binodini's character to the various actresses, pulled off with precision between astonishing lighting, music and set-changes with an ease that only comes accompanied with talent.

- Hyderabad Children Theater Fest
- A special Bond -
Based on short stories by Ruskin bond, a fun story about a small child sent to holiday in the seclusion and quiet life of the mountains, only to find out it's not that secluded, nor is it very quiet. Railway tunnel guard, Leopard, Monkey, Ghost, genial grandad, New crazy-ass friends, Gardener, Aunt, her friend, and the husband. Filled with wacky interesting characters that made the duration of the play look too small.

- The Hindu November Fest
- Zeb and Haniya -
Breathtaking songs in languages I don't know. They enjoyed the singing, and the crowd had loads of fans, someone wanted to take the flutist home with her. The melodies, fusing world music with sufi tunes, and some very strong messages left us all wanting more.

- Adrishta -
Fusing Carnatic with Hindustani, and fusing instrumental sounds from both genres, creating magic. Heard some new instruments and fell in love all over again with classical music.

- Remembering Panchamda -
A decent concert, covering a truckload of Pancham-Hits. But the most I liked was the instru--mental medley, the crazy chanting for the bassist, and when the singers did their own unplugged interpretations of some tracks(not something the purists liked a lot, but hey, Pancham wasn't a purist, was he?)

- The Times Fest
- Indian Ocean Live -
Any description needed for the music?
Made even more special by the open air venue, closeness of the stage, rough-stone-cut stage, and presense of by sweet brother with me. The pics taken at this concert put me in touch with one member of the band, so hopefully next time around, i get to take some closer shots :-)

- Zakir Hussain Live
At Choumahala Palace, tucked away inside a non-descriptive doorway near Charminar. Beautiful ambiance, lights, and evening. The opening was a little too much to handle (went on for too long, had loooooooooooong tracks to play), but they were a good bunch of performers. But all was forgotten and forgiven when the master came on stage. Now I know why he's so famous. Not oonly does he play the Tabla like magic, he has an attitude. Funny, Familiar, and yet Tough. Waiting for my refill during the Shakti concert now.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Office Events and Photography

- Photography class and Photowalk
Saurabh and Mahesh taught us some nuances about photography, and then took us out for a morning shoot. great experience.

- Independence Day Celebration
My first official office shoot. Well, didn't go that well. Pics came out bad. But then, that's how we learn.

- Documentary and Talk on CONSERVATION by Bikram Grewal

- Jhankaar 2011
Second time shooting in the office, great moments, great performances, and if I may say so myself, great pics. People loved them.
I did too. :-)

- End Year Party 2011
Dance Dance, Click Click, Fun Fun. :-)

- Family Day 2011
The last fun filled time of the year at work, all colleagues, with their families, showing off the office. Some clicks. Was loads of fun.

- Glimpses of Suburbia
My new project. Lets see how it pans out.

2012 awaits.

LOU

2011-12-22T07:15:00.000+05:30

I still remember the simpler times.

During the fresher's orientation week in college, people were called onto the stage, to say 'I love you' in different languages - under the guise - "we should say this to our parents everyday".

The phrase I love you comes from a culture very different from our current cultural understanding.
In India, pyar, ishq, mohabbat, prem, bhalobasha, etc. always have romantic connotation. Unlike in English, in Indian languages, we don't have separate phrases like 'I love you' and 'I am in love with you' which tell us two totally different stories - the first being a general statement, and the second being romantic in nature.

But in India, a 'love you' is always taken as a romantic gesture, and somehow, a 'like you' has also moved into the cupid-zone. This makes life so difficult.
If one follows the English way, and proceeds with making statements of love and like, he would be totally misunderstood on multiple occasions by numerous people - that he's smitten with the girl in question. So what should a guy do? make statements like - 'i love your hair' 'i love your dress' 'i love your smile' - but never i love you, because that's inappropriate. you can't even say i like you, because that defines that you are on your highway to love-land.

I still remember the simpler times. Only if i was still in school would life have been better. These kids totally understand and behave well to these terms and statements, unlike the grown ups.

Morbid Thoughts

2011-12-14T01:15:00.000+05:30

Couple of days ago, I was driving my bike on my way to work. It was about 10.30 in the morning, bright and sunny.
I had to take a right turn at a round-about. Gave the indicator signal, made sure there was nothing coming towards me around the circle, and turned. A kid, who was sitting on the side of the road till then, decided this to be the time when he wanted to cross the road.

Run! Screeching tires! Swerving bike! Angry glaces!

And I was on my way to work.
Suddenly a thought struck me. What if it was not a boy, but a truck? What if I hadn't braked at the right moment? Would I be dead right now? Or seriously injured lying in middle of the road?
Then what?

How long would it take me to get to a hospital? (Well someone would call 108, right?)
How long before someone I know hears what has happened to me and rushes to the Hospital? (The Novartis ID card I was carrying has the office number. Someone would call, right? My mobile has most recent calls. Someone would try them too. Of course, in case my mobile survives).
When will my parents hear about this?
How will they react?

I have no idea why I thought of all this.
But I did!
And I'm getting such morbid thoughts pretty frequently nowadays.
WHY!

Being A Bong

2011-12-02T18:16:00.001+05:30

~ Blatantly Sourced/Plaigarised from the comment (by Anirban -who sourced it from a chain mail - so hopefully no copyrights infringed here)
on this fabulous post on Bong Identity by no other than the GreatBong himself ~
(Another priceless piece on The Bengali Identity can be found here)

This is for all the proud Bongs and those who can have a hearty laugh at themselves..

Overview:
There are two kinds of Bengalis that I know. Probashi or Expatriate Bangalees, a fairly large and diverse group about which I can’t write as I am one of them. And Bengalees who are from Kolkata. This group is incorrectly known as Bongs, as they are merely a subset. However, this is the only group which matters. Gokhale told of them, long years back, “What Bengal thinks today, India thinks tomorrow.” To which Rene Descartes responded, “I think (today), therefore I am (Bengali).” Like all other Nobel Prize Winners, Oscar Awardees and most successful Indian cricket captains, Rene Descartes was also a Bong (this fact is not known outside of Kolkata).

Physical Description:
The Bong has a large head, glasses, glistening hair and dark skin. Older Bongs develop an ample stomach to balance their large heads. This happens by the age of 25. They smell of Keo Karpin or shorsher teil (mustard oil). The average life expectancy is 65 years. What is even more impressive is what they do in those years. Outside Kolkata, regardless of weather, sex or age, Bongs can be seen in Monkey Caps. This is a must-have accessory as well as a sign to recognize other Bongs. The Bongling can often be recognised in either over-sized or under-sized school uniforms. The Bong mother’s second biggest fear (See diet for the biggest one) is that the “porer bochor o lomba hoye gele abar notun skirt kinte hobe!!” or “Next year, if you grow taller, we’ll again have to buy a new skirt!!” Thus, the school uniform is selected to last at least three years. Thus the uniform sits as conspicuously on the Bongling as the plumage of a macaw.

Early Years :
While most Bongs are born with innate talents in singing, dancing, painting, film-making, cooking or embroidery, their creative talents are honed even before they can start speaking. Frequent meets are organised between infants and their successful ancestors and other relatives. MA degrees (preferably from Cambridge, at least from Presidency or Jadobpoor – Jadavpur University) are displayed over the cots. The infant is exposed to the best of Bengali thought – Marx, Bentham, Kalidas, Tolstoy, Chekhov*. This increases the sizes of their heads and the height of their ambitions. Similar examples, though rare, can be found in European tradition as well, like in the case of Mozart. In India, however, Bongs have the sole preserve on such activity during infancy. Soon, when they grow up a little, their characters are honed in the best of schools. Here, I am not referring to the South Points, La Marts, Don Boscos and all. They are important in the nurture a Bong child goes through. What is even more important are the schools the Bong child passes through before school and after school. Many a Bong child wakes up at five o’clock in the morning to attend swimming classes. After one hour of swimming, he attends tennis coaching before rushing off to one of the South Points, LaMarts etc. mentioned above. School finishes by two or so, from where he scoots along to Singing/ Instrumental Music/ Dance Classes, then tuition (for at least three of all five subjects). He rounds off the day with coaching on either Debating or Quiz. Many a Bong mother will carry the child along through this day, feeling equally energized. This behavior is again not restricted to Bongs. It also seen within kangaroos in Australia who rush along from one clump to another bush.

Growing up:
Soon the Bong attains adolescence, doesn’t find friends of his age (since everyone is competing for the Nobel Prize or the Indian captaincy) and finds intimacy in conversation in his/her parents and poems of T.S.Eliot and Pablo Neruda. When school ends, they move on to the good colleges – Presidency, Xavier’s or IIT Kharagpur. The best of them, though, move straight to Joo (Jadobpoor). However, in recent years, Dilli (Stephen’s obviously) is becoming the preferred destination for some escapists. In colleges, they decorate their rooms with books or portraits of Robi Guru (Tagore). On the opposite wall, men would have posters of Che/Maradona and women would have Enrique Iglesias, thus expressing solidarity with Latin American culture. All of them share equal interest in the Bong-Rock (Bhumi, Chondrobindu, Cactus, Usha Uththup, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple).

Later Years :
Bongs mature early. Critics have said that they grow old early, but that is nothing but old hat. Years of toil and Eliot would obviously bestow wisdom. The reason they look older is because the sole purpose of a Bong’s life is to win the Nobel Prize or the Oscars (and in recent years, captain the Indian team). With great responsibility comes great age. Add to it the chlorine in the swimming pools and you know why Bongs grey prematurely. As far as their mission in life is concerned, they have been very successful at it. Every Indian Nobel Prize winner has been Bong. So have the Oscar Awardees. And most successful Cricket Captains. And Bipasha Basu. Once Bongs have kids though, their mission on life changes. The only raision de’etre for them is making sure that their progeny achieves the heights that they could (or couldn’t). Hence, they are mostly found outside of schools, colleges and tuition classes, with mats (madoors), mugs (of chaaa) and mouthfuls of goppo.

Diet:
Diet is as important as Robindro Shongeet. There’s nothing that a Bong can’t eat. However, they prefer protein over other food groups. The largest source of protein for them is fish, then meat, and then mishti (sweets) made from milk. More than fish itself, it is the knowledge of fish which is coveted and enjoyed. Carbohydrates are tolerated if they are fried in oil or if it is accompaniment to fish. Luchis (somewhat like a Puri), Telebhajas (pakoras) and Phuchkas (Paani Puri) are the favoured source of carbohydrates. The young Bengali though invariably always has Farex, Lactogen and Waterbury ‘s Compound. As far as they most important meal of the day is concerned, please do note that what dieticians have been saying in the last few years, Bongs have known for centuries. Breakphast/tiphphin is an occasion where the entire family comes together, to watch the office-going Bong male and school-bound Bonglings eat. The Bong woman’s biggest fear is that “Shokale bhaat dal mach bhaaja na kheye beriye gailo” or “In the morning, He went out without eating rice, dal and fish fry.” To round off the calories, Dal is often accompanied by aaloo bhaate, aaloo bhaja, potol bhaaja and various other heartily fried stuff. Not for the faint-hearted.

Mating and procreation:
A few Bong end up being in relationships, which lead to love marriage. This is sometimes shown in movies and song. However, most do not have any such social malignancy and end up marrying the woman of their mother’s dreams or men of their father’s choosing. This results in mixing the right genes for the next cycle of Bongs.Love marriage, by its very nature, is random. It sometimes results is tragedy, like marrying into another country (like India ). Hence, it is avoided, wherever possible.

Social Life:
Adda, robindro shongeet and cha. Repeat. Do note that the young Bong doesn’t have a social life (at least not till he wins the Nobel or gets a Government job). And phootball. the Bongs have had an illustrious history of achievement in football. Every para (neighbourhood) has stories of when they won the World Cup at the expense of the next one. The last time it happened in my parent’s para was in 1986, when Argentina won in Mexico. Diego Maradona, who looks Bhodrolok enough, give or take a few lines of coke, or a few sprigs of grass, scored famously using his hand, a skill which he learnt in Kolkata.Over the last few years, Brazil has been gladdening the hearts of the many Zicos being born in Kolkata after 1982. The only team which is not Bong is Germany as they play with more efficiency and no creativity, which thus not support adda. Do not ask of a Bong ever doing anything of substance on the phootball field, as then the Bong will keep you occupied about Jakarta, 1962. “Chuni Goswami je Ball tule dilo PK ke. Match-er aagei bolechilo, “Ekta Ball debo. Daam kore maarish. Gol hobe”. ”Chuni Goswami put a ball up for PK (Banerjee). He told him before the match itself, “I will give you one ball. Hit it with a bang. Goal will happen.” Obviously, it is also the crowning moment of Indian phootball.

Habitat:
While you may find a Bong in other places (like occasionally in offices), the best time to observe a Bong is in his natural habitat – the best of colleges, the best of schools, the best of coffee houses. It is here that he will tell you about Balzac while she will recite poetry with gay abandon. To mix in with the Bong, apply Keo Karpin to your hair and carry a jhola……and dont forget the thick glasses. Hopefully, they won’t notice your small head. Do not worry about not knowing the language, as the Bong likes being heard more than hearing.

Famous Bongs :
Many famous Bongs have been referred to in this extract. Hence, this section is used to debunk that big myth about Big Bongs. People believe that Bong men can’t be hunky……. …., or carelessly famous. If so, then what about Abhishek Bachchan (via mother), Saif Ali Khan (via mother), John Abraham (via girlfriend), Hritik Roshan (via grandmother) , or Sonia Gandhi (via cat…. seriously, she’s from Kolkata).

Bongs in Literature, Film, Art:
Everywhere you care to look.

Closing Word :
Being Bong, at the end of the day, is a state of mind. Or, a case of being discovered by them.