d a r b ā r i

2008-09-13T15:56:00.003-04:00

I want to do something like this real soon. Ryan did it alone, I don't mind having company.

****

I watched Woody Allen's latest movie Vicky Cristina Barcelona. It is beyond imagination how much similarity the story bears with my life right now :-). You should check it out.

2008-09-07T22:49:00.005-04:00

My new apartment is now arranged. A new life like this started afresh many years back. Then, I drowned everything in psychedelia. I am too old now. After several months, I am listening to Jaijaiwanti. It's a sad Raga for the first time. I cannot listen to Ulhas or Shahid Parvez again. The tears that did not flow till now, flow with the music. Unstoppable. My room has two Ragamala paintings - one on my right and one at the back, beside the two windows. Through which I watch the quiet neighborhood in Squirrel Hill. The cold fall breeze enters through one and exits through the other. The wind carries the tune of the bandish away, I can imagine, attenuating close by. Wish it could reach you. Wish it could bridge the disconnect that words could not meet. We do not deserve this sorrow.

Love Minus Zero/No Limit

2008-06-24T13:45:00.001-04:00

My love she speaks like silence,
Without ideals or violence,
She doesn't have to say she's faithful,
Yet she's true, like ice, like fire.
People carry roses,
Make promises by the hours,
My love she laughs like the flowers,
Valentines can't buy her.

In the dime stores and bus stations,
People talk of situations,
Read books, repeat quotations,
Draw conclusions on the wall.
Some speak of the future,
My love she speaks softly,
She knows there's no success like failure
And that failure's no success at all.

The cloak and dagger dangles,
Madams light the candles.
In ceremonies of the horsemen,
Even the pawn must hold a grudge.
Statues made of match sticks,
Crumble into one another,
My love winks, she does not bother,
She knows too much to argue or to judge.

The bridge at midnight trembles,
The country doctor rambles,
Bankers' nieces seek perfection,
Expecting all the gifts that wise men bring.
The wind howls like a hammer,
The night blows cold and rainy,
My love she's like some raven
At my window with a broken wing.

- Bob Dylan.

2008-06-23T19:34:00.005-04:00

Major phase of grad school ended yesterday, and hence time for documenting my activities, which are really few. I never imagined I would be at a stage in my career when I'd think that every moment spent not working, except spending time with an important person, of course, should have been utilized in doing useful work. Who knew that the famous line from Hirak Rajar Deshe would become so so true? But anyway.

I should get an electronic tanpura and a tabla this summer when I go to India. After I shifted to the Mac last fall, I have not been able to use the tabla software for accompaniment and that has stopped giving me any incentive to practice.

In general, people generally share apartments at the start of grad school and then move out to studios or efficiencies. I decided otherwise. Since I hardly spend time at home, I decided to save about a hundred bucks, and am moving in with a batchmate and department-mate from college who's coming here for an MBA. Will be back in touch with college a bit. Also, confining myself to only to computational linguists and machine learning people is a BAD idea.

Who knew Sohini will be a Raga that would tell me stories? It had always been Yaman. However, the two renditions of Sohini by Ulhas, both at UIUC a few years back have been THE Raga for a while. Jaanu Main Sab Tumhari Baat is definitely one of the best bandishes I have heard in my life. My association with music has mostly been just for the music, the state transitions that happen when the artist moves from one note to another, making patterns, repeating segments or stressing on phrases that signify the grammar of a Raga. That's why I like lyric-less Jazz, Blues and at times Indian Ocean. (For example, Melancholic Ecstasy is my current favorite by the band. I preferred the songs with lyrics however back in college, because I had to sing a customary Indian Ocean song at Foundation Day or Spring Fest.) But these two renditions, highly unlike all my other favorites in Indian Classical Music, makes me think of the Raga, not through the notes, but through the refrain or the Mukhda of the Vilambit.

I have several books that are lying unread. Of which, I started reading Unaccustomed Earth last week. The first two stories and very good, and I recommend all people who have visited Seattle or have heard stories about the place, to read the first one. Her narrative has improved since The Namesake. I hope to finish the book real soon now.

Very good friend and his significant other are moving to Singapore, and I am really happy for them. From recent stories by friends who visited the place for a conference, it seems the place has got good research culture, and is really close to Calcutta :-) Really a potential place to explore, and I hope to be there in 2009.

Will be home in a few weeks, and hope to write something really soon.

The Mudjokivis

2008-05-02T13:23:00.004-04:00

He killed the noble Mudjokivis,

With the skin he made him mittens,

Made them with the fur side inside,

Made them with the skin side outside,

He, to get the warm side inside,

Put the inside skin side outside.

He, to get the cold side outside,

Put the warm side fur side inside.

That's why he put the fur side inside,

Why he put the skin side outside

Why he turned them inside outside.

-George A. Strong

Courtesy, our Prof. Smith's office door. Also, check this out.

Words

2008-04-11T20:31:00.003-04:00

Sometimes, words are not enough. It is like child language acquisition. When a mother speaks with her child, words are not the only media that reinforce and change the baby's way of cognition. Imagine a kid learning language when speech is the only medium of communication, sans vision and touch. The mother behind a wall, or far away, just speaking. Like that, words are not enough at times. To change notions, or to bring calm, to bridge a gap.

I am watching my friend's kid grow up here in Pittsburgh. The beautiful way they are bringing the child up makes me remember the way my brother and I grew up in Calcutta. He doesn't have a family as large as mine 'cause he's away from his home in Europe, but he's blessed with the time that should be spent with a child, to make him a complete human being. His parents took him to his first concert, a Hindustani Music performance, the day after he turned one, a feat very few Indians achieve. As days go by, I realize how one should create and nurture a family, one's children. My parents have been epitomes, but I am privileged to witness other academics around me, quite like them, setting examples.

The last year or so has been transforming several things. P was telling me that grad school matures oneself at least by a decade. May be a decade is an exaggeration, but it does transform you. With thoughts only concentrating on problems, especially algorithms and learning problems in our case, our minds are pure, getting purer. The now realized trivialities that are non-trivial to people or that were important before get washed when shapes fold and unfold, transform themselves to shape up to new objects, smaller objects join efficiently to form larger objects, when your learner induces language structure or you perform machine translation.

2008-02-26T19:21:00.005-05:00

This last visit to Calcutta in January, I got a sudden and rare chance to go for the Dakshini Music Festival, which I remember attending several years ago to listen to my guruji. The last whole night concert that I attended was in New York City, the famous annual event hosted by Pt. Samir Chatterjee. And before that, I believe it was at SRA a few years back. Somehow the incident of attending this festival slipped my memory, and I did not even recollect going there. That night while having dinner at an unusual (rooftop) restaurant on Lindsay Street, my brother told me on the phone that there's this free concert possessing a potential to be good. So, we decided to land up without much planning, and all my memories flooded back.

I have been listening to a lot of Shahid Pervez recently. Especially, his Gavati is a piece with rare romance. I listened to the recording several hundred times for a few weeks during the snowy and depressing December-January period, here in Pittsburgh. (We listened to it on the less depressing CA-1 a few times recently too.) And guess what, when I reached Netajinagar at around 11pm, he was playing the same thing, live.

However, the focus of this post is not the music that we witnessed in that concert.

In the opening statement for our new joint blog, Abhik Da writes the following:

At first sight it is difficult to appreciate why Hindustani music is in doldrums. It is accessible to the masses today as it had never been before. The advent of democracy squeezed it out of palaces and stately homes, while radio, television and commercial recordings have disseminated it across regional, social , and economic boundaries.

And yet it is manifest that our musical traditions are in serious trouble. While new entrants disappoint, many established performers are content to let pyrotechnics substitute for in-depth introspection of aesthetic values. Star progeny of indifferent to downright abysmal musical competence are marketed as geniuses. And all this occurs without much protest, which is perhaps the most worrisome portent of all.

This might be true at a higher level, but what I observed that night was something absolutely contrary to what my friend notes. Like one of those SRA festivals in the mid-90s, Dakshini's audience seats were not chairs, rather they laid out mattresses on the ground. So it is a bit different from other Indian Classical concerts that we generally go to, say, at places like Nazrul Mancha or the G.D Birla Sabhaghar. My basic observation has only one salient point. The audience was NOT from the middle-class or the upper-middle classes, as we generally expect a common listener of Indian Classical music to be. We have discussed Hindustani music at various forums - in Orkut, in mail threads, at RMIC, at addas, at Jadavpur University's SCTR and so on. Everywhere we end up talking about the misery of Hindustani music, about how few people patronize the art form when a few people like us cannot listen to any other form of music. We question that how can this be possible? How can we be such a rare breed of people who love this art form SO much?

This concert transformed my idea of the Hindustani music listener with a jolt. The audience not only came from the lower middle class, but they were a from a section of the society whom I haven't ever observed in most concerts I have been to after attaining adulthood. And these people? They actually knew each an every Raga being played, they knew where the Sam was when the Tabalchi was playing a Kaida. Most of them stayed back till the last Thumri that Mashkoor Ali Khan sang in Bhairavi. You and I don't see this people when we buy a 500 rupees ticket to listen to our favorite artist at the Birla Sabhaghar.

We might imagine that the concert did not have a superb artist line up. In fact, it was the opposite. I realized that the great artists enjoy playing amidst this kind of an audience too. I listened to great music after long time, live. There were Shahid Pervez and Hariprasad Chaurasia, who are the present greats of Indian music, but from my perspective, Mashkoor Ali Khan was mindblowing. His earnest vocal style made me remember the old recordings we listen to.

I believe that all is not lost. We have hope. I saw a mother with her 7-8 year old son who was repeatedly falling asleep on her lap. I remembered similar incidents that happened nearly twenty years ago - when my mother would take me to all sorts of whole night concerts in Calcutta, when she really did not enjoy Classical music much :) I realized that Calcuttans still love Hindustani music - if people from our elite classes have started to forget this art form, the section of people whom we don't really relate to, still believe in Hindustani music with the same passion they did a few decades ago.

2008-02-17T23:59:00.003-05:00

My life has suddenly become empty for a few reasons. Since at times the void is getting unbearable, I am trying to spend most of my time at work, with friends or at least near people. I never estimated that living alone can get this painful. Probably my current situation is not very different from when I first started living alone about a year and a half back, but handling phases of depression singlehandedly can get nasty. Over and above, music - a thing that has always been a companion is not helping much. I don't know why. I tried several genres, but nothing is working.

My friend P and I were sitting at the empty Masters' lab yesterday, trying to do our individual research work, but often indulging in the adda whose time has been reduced to bare minimum over the past year or so. Most of his close friends in town are graduating soon and will be leaving proximity. However, his finish too is within eyesight, and his struggle has to be fought only for a couple of more years. All my friends on the other hand are leaving after their respective Masters degrees and I am the sole one staying back for a PhD. I have not a freaking idea how I will survive. May be yes, the next two years will be spent with P, drinking on weekends or taking drives to New York. But what after that? I feel too old to meet new people, to make new friends. Think much before you decide to do a PhD friends, it is a huge sacrifice to make for the prime years of your youth. For Indians, males especially, times can get real tough because of our unique situation as a grad student in this alien world. I am not very surprised at the attrition rates at all. Not many can endure these long years of excruciating pain. You either do it for yourself, for someone else or pretend that you are doing it for someone else. For me, it has now become the first, and it is becoming harder every day.

Kaash

2007-12-24T23:42:00.000-05:00

Time for Ghazals again. After nearly three years. I am completely in love with the following.

Kaash Aisa Koi Manzar Hota
Mere Kaandhey Pe Tera Sar Hota

Jama Karta Jo Main Aaye Huye Sang
Sar Chhupaney Ke Liye Ghar Hota

Is Bulandi Pe Bahut Tanha Hoon
Kaash Main Sab Ke Barabar Hota

Usne Uljha Diya Duniya Mein Mujhe
Warna Ik Aur Kalandar Hota

You can listen to it here. Poetry by Tahir Faraz, sung by Hariharan. Traces of Raga Jog from the fifth line. It is insanely pretty.

The iDesh and the iSahana

2007-09-16T18:33:00.001-04:00

I was severely against the iPod. It is overpriced, or at least was. I had the same opinion about the Mac until recently when few friends bought the thing, I was impressed and the perspective changed.

Finally, after getting bugged by the old Dell for more than six months, I bought the Macbook Pro yesterday; needless to say, the thing is sexy. And, guess what. They were giving an iPod free with the Mac, for students. I still think that the thing is overpriced. However, I never had the feeling of Nikhil Banerjee playing Desh in my ears while walking out of school for coffee at a break between work. Or Ulhas singing Sahana. The feeling is beautiful, and embarrassingly enough, probably I have started liking the gadget.

Trip Home

2007-09-02T12:46:00.000-04:00

Back from the trip to Calcutta. Right now, there is no reservation in stating that it's undoubtedly the best city in the world. New York is great, but Calcutta is Calcutta 'cause it's home, and its people make the difference.

There was an initial phase of shock because I went back after two long years, and had forgotten subtle things. Right after the day I reached home, went out in the evening to meet one of my oldest friends. I had forgotten that there might be a sudden pedestrian or a cyclist popping up from nowhere right in front of your taxi, or two rickshaws trying to overtake each other with an ambassador speeding at you from the other direction on a 15 feet wide lane in Behala. That the Tram Depot is a mess, where nobody pays any heed towards the West Bengal Traffic policeman, there is no place to stand on the road, no taxis agreeing to go to your destination, and you might have to walk through a waterlogged Diamond Harbour Road from Taratolla to Behala on a rainy day.

Then there are places like the Kalamandir where still there are weeklong shows on Malhar with the nation's best artists performing only variants of a class of Ragas, or Olypub where the waiter brings your bottle of Kalyani Black Label and holds it infront of you to feel the temperature before he opens it, the Chicken ala Kiev and the beef steak, Someplace Else where I first tasted Long Island Iced Tea. Hot Jilipis with Muri in the morning, the Kochuri place near Choddo Nombor, Gariahat, Golpark and Jadavpur, a play at Gyan Mancha or a hour long chat with the taxi driver surviving the endless jams between home and Naktala, the once frequently traversed journey to my guruji's place. The snippets bring back floods of memories, ones that pull you back from your American comfort to the life led for 22 years with a jolt, to the dusty, smoky city that's called Calcutta, and your belief that the city is the best gets reinstated.

Changes? Yes. There are more pubs, more malls, more multiplexes. More flyovers, and even more number of cars. Some people have more money, and more have less. Taxi fares are at a minimum of one hundred rupees; however the superfast train fare to Kharagpur has decreased by three rupees. Because of the conversion rate, amounts spent seem to be meagre, but 2 popcorns and 2 cokes at Inox cost two hundred bucks, which is ridiculous. People laugh at vain attempts of humour at the screening of Heyy Babyy, the Marwari businessman beside me wipes off tears at senti scenes and I feel left out. T3 is brilliant. The roads near Rajarhat are fabulous, with yield signs featuring pictures of cows.

What has not changed is the warmth - my house, the 17 member family and old friends. The study with all walls covered by bookshelves, the 13 year old tanpura, waking up with the brother doing his riyaz, the colossal amount of cooking effort everyday put in by my aunts, the Chittagong dialect of my grandmother, the neighbours, watching the rains through the windows, the smell of wet ground, the everyday football match at the para ground.

I wondered why people wanted to return back to Calcutta. Met an old graduate from my hall on the way from Frankfurt to Calcutta and his was such a case. Similar was the story heard about another Bengali from AT&T Bell Labs who works for PWC in Sector 5 now. These stories sounded weird. However, I know now why they relocate back to the city. At this moment of hangover, I feel like going back after my degree to the city, even though there's no corner there that would let me do what I want to achieve at work. These people suffered from that feeling, permanently. They gave up their golden jobs to stay close to their roots, be with their family and wanted their kids to have a childhood that they had themselves.

I am torn apart between two very different kind of lives; probably this happens to everybody after trips to India, and the feeling wears off gradually. I just wish I could have gone back more often.

SiCKO

2007-06-26T23:55:00.000-04:00

People, go watch SiCKO by the main man, Michael Moore after it's released on Friday. I watched it a couple of days before - a pirated version, but don't worry will watch it again at a theatre to wash away my sin. The movie is INCREDIBLE. Bowling for Columbine was touching, but this one is Moore's best till now. The freaking guy went to Cuba on a boat with three 9/11 rescue workers and a cancer patient, and got free medical care that their own country denied them. I found the movie more touching because of a recent experience of the health care system of this country. It is ridiculous. The total expenditure for an appendicitis surgery costs about $60,000 here if you are treated outside your insurance's network. If you are inside network, the cost is around 10% of that. And since CMU's standard plan sucks, I had to pay $1600 out of my pocket. It hurts because I earn so less. However, I am better off coz the university is the mediator. Watch the movie to witness what happens to the country's less well off citizens themselves, who buy insurance only to realize in their deathbed that their treatment is not covered on most occasions.

Status

2007-06-12T22:55:00.000-04:00

So these are the things happening in life recently. Went to New York again and met the best of friends after AGES and without intentions, the stay was governed by searching for good places to eat and only to eat. Worked my butt off till the last week of May to compensate for the trip to India that was about to start on 1st June. Shopped like crazy, bought fridge full of chocolates and 4 days before the trip, had to rush to the emergency at crazy hours of early morning because of stomachache only to discover that I need an immediate appendicitis surgery. Got released crippled, a day before the flight; canceled tickets because of blood clot risk only to know that the money will be refunded after 6 months by airline. Then discovered the bloody insurance from Carnegie Mellon covers only 80% of costs, and then flurry of bills have been arriving totaling to $1500, as yet. More might arrive. Now, trying desperately to buy tickets but none are available at cheap prices because of peak season. It's been two years now.

2007-05-23T15:52:00.000-04:00

In fear of the great Rimi, I decided to do this tag passed on by the Peep, amidst great busy-ness. So here it goes.

1. Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it:

Left side of left foot. I was about 5 years old and a parar uncle was double carrying me on the front rod of his cycle. I inserted the foot into the rotating spokes, and got 7 stitches at the local clinic without bloody anesthesia.

2. What is on the walls in your room?

Nothing at present. I am planning to get some Ragmala paintings from India very soon.

3. What does your phone look like?

It is an old Motorola flip phone that Cingular gives for free. Check this out.

4. What music do you listen to?

Mostly Hindustani Classical Music these days. Sometimes I listen to The Allman Brothers Band, some BB King, and other blues. Some jazz too. Some Rabindrasangeet and Suman.

5. What is your current desktop picture?

A desktop picture eats up a lot of RAM. I don't keep any picture on my desktop hence.

6. What do you want more than anything right now?

Some significant amount of work done, that won't be mediocre.

7. Do you believe in gay marriage?

Yes.

8. What time were you born?

4am in the morning.

9.Are your parents still together?

Very much.

10. What are you listening to?

The sound of an N-th year PhD student typing on his keyboard.

12. The last person to make you cry?

Don't remember.

13. What is your favorite perfume/cologne?

It is getting immensely irritaing.

14. What kind of hair/eye colour do you like on the opposite sex?

Black.

15. Do you like pain killers?

I think Peep inserted this question in the tag. I don't.

16. Are you too shy to ask someone out?

Very.

17. Fave pizza topping?

Seafood, at Villa Pizza, S Craig Street.

18. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?

I would prefer a drink, some coffee which I am going to get after I finish this.

19. Who was the last person you made mad?

Heh heh. I have lost track.

20. Is anyone in love with you?

Many girls, nobody's owning up.

New post

2007-05-15T18:37:00.000-04:00

.. in Anahata.

Another trip

2007-03-26T23:02:00.001-04:00

...to New York comes to an end. I'd decided that the trip had to be one where I'd do stuff that I can't do in Pittsburgh. Hence, watched "The Namesake" and had muchly missed Indian Chinese food on Lexington Ave, opposite the favorite Handi. The latter brought relief from the Chinese food that I eat nearly every day - at Asiana, Orient Express or Lulu's. Although Mira Nair moved Gogol's family from Cambridge to New York and limited time led to the elimination of details present in the book, I liked the movie. Primarily because we identify with the plot. Tabu and Irfan Khan put in a lot of effort in speaking with an English accent influenced by Bengali phonemes and intonation, but the frequent Bengali dialogs weren't that Bengali. But, that's fine.

The idea that I had about kids of Bengali parents settled in the United States was mostly shaped by this book by Jhumpa Lahiri. I reiterate that the book is extremely moving but would say that the impression that one gets after reading the book about some things, is biased. I make this comment because I got acquainted with a bunch of people here in Pittsburgh who are settled in this city for a long time, but they have handled the problem of culture clash between the two generations very efficiently. So much so that their kids, after dealing with their American side of life, have performed in Tasher Desh, Shyama, Chandalika and Mayar Khela during their formative years. Rather than being irritated at their parents' requests or commands to participate in these events, they have enjoyed being part of them. Being brought up in a very rare culturally rich environment, and in Calcutta, even I have not been part of so many instances of Tagore-related events, the poet being the very marrow of Bengali culture. Can you imagine that I went to New Jersey with a bunch of kids (who learn Bharatnatyam) to sing with them for a 30 minute TV program on the nine Rasas present in songs of Tagore? I haven't even done this in India before. The rare realization that things are not so bleak probably makes his trip to the city extraordinary. Like all previous ones.

Intersection of people in the East Coast, people who read my blog and people who are interested in Indian Classical Music - don't miss this event, a whole night concert featuring Rashid Khan and Ulhas Kashalkar among others. Think of attending it as a reason to visit New York City again, or the other way round.

Untranslatable

2007-03-06T18:10:00.000-05:00

2007-02-19T17:24:00.000-05:00

New post in Anahata, the music blog.

Pan's Labyrinth

2007-02-03T13:34:00.000-05:00

Watched Pan's Labyrinth yesterday. As it has been expressed by nearly everyone else I know already, I won't reiterate about its magnificence. Have been watching a lot of films lately, but none of them left a mark as indelible as this one. del Toro has merged the many parallel folds exquisitely in his plot; however, at the end of the day the story has emerged to be a heart aching but beautiful and surreal fairy tale we rarely get to see in contemporary films. A must watch.

Banker to the Poor

2007-01-23T17:53:00.000-05:00

Following a pointer from here, I discovered the above video a few days back. It is an exclusive one hour interview of Mohammad Yunus, the 2006 Nobel Peace Prize winner from Bangladesh. I am moved, overwhelmed after watching this interview by Charlie Rose, who isn't as obnoxious as the Cartier-Bresson video that belongs to the same series.

During the span of the video, Yunus talks about the evolution of the Grameen Bank, that started with 42 villagers borrowing 27 dollars in the '70s to a current 6.61 million borrowers , among whom 97% are women. This is just one of many statistics that astonished me. The conviction that Dr. Yunus portrays during the show is awe inspiring. His story of coming to the United States as a Fulbright scholar in the late 60s, returning back to East Pakistan during the Liberation War, developing a complete understanding of the economy of Bengal, and realizing how rural life works in our villages is an ideal tale that should be repeated a thousand times to "successful" people from the subcontinent.

I would recommend all of you to watch this video.

Serenity

2007-01-17T13:07:00.000-05:00

Image by Rik at the Sundarbans a few days ago. Where is this tranquility when I look at river Ohio meet the Allegheny? The country boats brimming with people, the sunset, the less blue tropical sky. I miss the belongingness.

Clock

2007-01-11T06:53:00.000-05:00

I need assistance in getting my body clock back to normal. This habit of fitfully sleeping is screwing normal work behavior, and am waking up with horrible moods at strange hours. Like I came back from school yesterday at 2, had lunch, slept till 7, went for a small party, had some tequila shots there, came back home expecting to wake up some time late in the morning because of the booze. However, I am up suddenly at four in the morning, having nothing to do other than reading Wiki articles and using the Instant Messenger. If I go to school a bit later, will be feeling so sleepy at the middle of the day, that I will have to come back home like yesterday, and then wake up bang at the erstwhile peak hours with a nasty mood. I need to reform.

Shadow Lounge

2007-01-05T16:31:00.000-05:00

Shadow Lounge remained undiscovered till yesterday, till my neighbour A took us for a promotion treat. What is surprising is the fact that it's a five minute walk from home and we were unaware of its existence. Though East Liberty is kinda scary, we dared to go there 'cause it's at the fringe of Shadyside and not quite in the dreaded neighborhood.

In Chicago's John Hancock Building, there's the 96th floor cafe where they sell interesting drinks and I tried one called the "Sky High Martini". It disappointed me, considering the setting and an extraordinary view through the glass walls. However, a Watermelon Martini that I had at this informal lounge was delicious. There was some amateurish rock music that a primarily African-American band was playing live. The voice of their female lead singer was attractive though and the loudness of the music after long time amplified the intoxication that wouldn't have been much after only two drinks.

Paddy da tried a Manhattan, and it turned out that it was the barman's first one. A blue lounge at the back of the bar had a psychedelic setting, with Lost in Translation being projected on the white walls. I went to check that place out and caught a glimpse of the stunning Scarlett Johansson. The guys played an LP of Floyd covers sung in a Reggae style. Money and Us and Them sounded good, but the Reggae effect on Brain Damage literally damaged the song.

***************

Ray

2007-01-03T05:27:00.000-05:00

Peril is over and I need to get a life soon. I realize that understanding someone else's code is far more difficult than writing one's own stuff. 'Tis natural, considering the fact that it's easier to express a feeling rather than analyze somebody else's complex thoughts, that too, not expressed in a human language. (Out of context - but I remember one of the universities' application form contained a textfield asking to fill up the languages I knew, including programming languages. The combo ended up with Bengali, Hindi, English, C and Java.) However, after struggling through all the filth, it feels good. Though Thanksgiving was not so far back, it seems that I spent times with close friends ages ago. Things are getting back to normal however, the empty lab filling up with people coming back from vacations, the university doors not requiring a card swipe during the day, the Starbucks reopening and the shuttles plying. The weekly jam meet at the College of Fine Arts will restart too. It isn't snowing though, which is sick.

Another thing to look forward to are the Classical Flute classes starting next semester, where we've been invited to present some guest lectures. It would be interesting to observe the undergraduate music majors listening to a form of music that they are not much aware of.

Return

2006-12-28T04:21:00.000-05:00

Sometimes boredom does set in, and one tries to format old stuff; that's why this change of garb. To erase apathy towards routine, an old acquaintance of mine once formatted his operating system and ran 6 complete circles of scholar's avenue to start life afresh. I tried to emulate, but did the former only, conforming to social norms. Today, I have too much data on this machine to back up, hence decided to rather reform the blog, which was quite a part of life a while back.

During breaks, I used to listen to music. These days, I have transformed that habit to make the flow continuous with efforts of not concentrating much on the notes. Rather, assumption lies in the fact that the subconscious does process information in another thread. During old days in winter months, waking up involved a competition of who could catch hold of the Anandabazar first - me or father. Often I emerged as the winner because of his absence during the bazaar hour, but got pre-empted with his return, only to be satisfied with the less glamorous Statesman. However, there wasn't alienation from current affairs. News along with a breakfast of bread-butter, Cha and a supposedly nutritious banana was digested before the morning started. Today the sources have changed to Google News, personalized from a perspective. That's how I have started to spend my breaks, choosing from numerous information sources, letting attention wander away to Wiki articles, and then to blogs even though I have ceased to exist in this domain.

Among many posts read recently, I came across this one today and though there aren't many words between the reader and its subject, there were enough thoughts that created invisible connections, making it remarkable. It is coincidental, but the song talks about a community through whom I have known vaguely what Christmas is, often through the Calcutta-16 area and through similar songs and films. Memories swarmed when weak associations were amplified on visiting the empty but magnificent St. Paul Cathedral just across the university on Sunday.

I try to distinguish between the degrees of alienation that I feel from the ongoing celebrations and that Mary Ann or Samson would perceive if they were here. I cannot. They are however, outsiders in the society that I left back. I cannot fathom the dynamics of man and what he calls home. Perhaps, my understanding of belonging to a place and what I think of home is transforming.

On another note, have a great new year.