Chicken Rashness - A Chicken Recipe with a Rashness!

Have you ever had one of those moments, when a most rashly invented, on-the-spur recipe actually turns out great, and then you don’t remember the recipe? Well, I had one of those just now. So why am I writing about it? Well, I had this great idea (born under the influence of half a bottle of wine, no doubt!) that if I try to write it out, I might actually recall the recipe. I don’t know the scientific basis for such an assumption, but what the heck… it’s my blog – I can write what I want, even though it is utter rubbish!

 

So here goes… the dish I hereby name Chicken Rashness is prepared thus (should serve two, but I was quite hungry!):

 

Ingredients:

1. Two cloves of Garlic, finely chopped.
2. One large leek, finely sliced.
3. One medium sized tomato, roughly chopped.
4. Salt, Pepper, whatever herbs you can lay your hands on – I used thyme, sage & rosemary – to taste.
5. Half a can of baked beans (200g approx.).
6. Anchovy paste – 1 tsp.
7. Oil / Butter – 1 or 2 tsps, depending on how healthy you like to eat. By the way, I used anchovy fillets preserved in sunflower oil for the paste, and used the preservation oil for cooking – gave it extra flavor, I’d like to believe!
8. About 100ml Water (you can use broth, if you are fancy!)
9. One boneless chicken breast, cut in half if you want – I did.
10. Mustard Sauce – 1tbsp.
11. Honey – 1 tsp.

 

Preparation:

1. In a saucepan, pour the oil / butter. When it heats up, add the garlic. Cook for a few seconds.
2. Add the sliced leeks. Cook for a while, till slightly softened, then add the tomatoes.
3. Add the salt, pepper and herbs at this stage – it releases the juices of the vegetables better. Cook for 2-3 minutes.
4. Add the anchovy paste, baked beans and water. Bring to boil.
5. As it starts boiling, put the chicken in. As the water / broth reduces, the chicken will cook. It hardly took me 5 minutes – but then again, I did not really check the watch, so if you are indeed attempting this recipe, do check for doneness! If needed, I guess you can add more water / broth, but not so much that it becomes runny or your chicken gets overcooked…
6. When the chicken is nearly done, add the honey and mustard sauce, and keep stirring and cooking till the chicken is done and the gravy has become thick.
7. Remove from heat and serve with a side of bread, polenta, rice or Yorkshire Pudding, for all I care!

 

There. I believe my idea actually worked! I think I remembered the recipe in full – or did I?! Eh well… If any of you adventurous folks do try this recipe out, do let me know if you were as enthralled by the outcome as I was. If not, I’ll know I’ve missed something… or the wine had mellowed my taste buds. Either way, we’ll know!

Cracks in the Dam

I stare at the blank pages. There is so much on my mind, yet it is so difficult to put them in black and white. My heart trapped inside my feelings… my head, rationalizing, in a vain effort to drive those bitter, scary thoughts away… conflicted, confused and yet, with all outward appearances of sanity and cheer… as if life has dealt me nothing but the best hand!

My pining increases exponentially for the things I most certainly will never be able to have… a family, someone to call my own, unconditional love and acceptance. And yet, I push away every opportunity of getting something even close to that. I am jealous of even the most unfortunate of people around me… because they have something that I can never, ever have. I realize that some people care for me and want to fill the void, but I am scared to let them. Sooner or later, I tell myself, they will drift away, and the void will rush forth to consume me once again… isn’t it better to just get used to it and mourn, than to forget it for a while and then remember it all over again?

I remind myself of a dam sometimes… when the rains are bountiful, they open the gates. Or else, the force of the walled up water will cause cracks in the walls, and soon the entire dam will come crashing down in a flood. I feel my defenses around my dammed emotions starting to crack. But I am afraid of opening the gates… will I ever be able to dam up again?

Appearances have to be maintained. The show must go on. And so I tell myself, emotions and feelings have no place here… Dam them up, and keep up the show. But then I hear whispers. Whispers that I have the best of everything. Whispers that nothing could beat owning a million. Whispers that it makes no difference that I have none to share it with. How I long to tell them that just doubles the pain. How I long to tell them that I would give all of my millions to just have someone to call my own, someone to come home to every day…

But what’s the point. Who will understand my pain anyway? Empty words, and heartfelt pity – that’s all that I will get… not enough, not nearly enough to cure my writhing heart. And so, I write. I don’t know why. Perhaps in the vain hope that someone, someday, will understand the pain hidden beneath these words… or maybe, just to open the gates and let the tears flow.

Writing About My Writer's Block

All right. I have officially developed “writer’s block”…

I have been working on this “come back” piece for ages now… thank god for e-age, or else several trees would have found themselves axed, martyred to the cause of completion of this epic piece!

Well, I have nothing to write about. No genius plots come to my mind these days, and rhyme and/or reason seem lost. I have even run out of steam with my ramblings! And yet, tonight I am determined – I will churn out something!

So here I am, writing about not being able to write any more… eggs and brickbats notwithstanding.

They say, (and I am not very sure who “they” are) pain is a writer’s elixir. Creativity is born out of pain. Of that, I have had a considerable amount in the last few months. I expected my pen to start over flowing, but nothing happened. I found myself even more clammed up than usual. A shrink would have a million explanations for that, I guess. I don’t want to face reality. I don’t want to acknowledge my losses. I am scared of the intensity of my emotions. Maybe. I really do not know whether any of that is correct. Or incorrect, for that matter. These days, I am not certain of anything.

Many well wishers have been advising me to get married. I am scared. And if they had been in my shoes, they would be scared too. If you cut your finger on a broken mirror once, you tend to handle all mirrors with more caution than usual, because you don’t want to cut yourself again. The same goes for your heart, doesn’t it? Nothing in my life works out the way I want it to. Who’s to say marriage will?

Of late, I am aware of a growing affection towards a person. And I am afraid of it. I do not know whether he feels the same way. I do not even know whether I want him to feel the same way. Neither do I know whether I want it to stop or go away. I am scared and confused. Not to mention emotionally drained and battered.

So much uncertainty and pain. In my life, my mind, my thoughts… the pain has reached an extent where it is now an integral part of me. A way of existence. I do not feel anything separately. In a way, I am numb. Perhaps that is why I cannot write. For creativity to be born out of your pain, you need to feel the pain. But I don’t. I can’t, anymore. I am numb.

There… now you know the reason for my writer’s block!

So now, maybe, we should concentrate on how to get over it. And here comes the funniest part. Pretty much wasted and jobless, I was typing out random senseless queries in the Google search engine, and “how to get over writer’s block” threw up “about 8,880,000 results” in only “0.17 seconds”! Wow!!! And I thought, well, I have the writer’s block, and if so many people around the world have written about writer’s block, why not add my name to the list?! So, what follows below are some of the funniest things I read among the 8 million results thrown up by Google… of course, I did not go through the 8 million results – more like 80, but there were more than enough funny ones among them to get me through this article!

Funniest, perhaps, is the fact that there exists a website that “unconditionally guarantees” to break your writer’s block forever, if you buy the package offered on the site! One afternoon of your life is all that the owner asks for, in addition to a considerable sum of money, to give you some extremely well-guarded secrets that will ensure that you “never fall victim” to writer’s block again in your life! Wow! What confidence!!! Beyond that, I reserve my comments…

On the Yahoo! Answers page, someone has asked about how to get over writer’s block on a particular story, and another user has replied, “Read, write”… Yes, that’s it. Verbatim. Just that. I was stunned by this excellent piece of advice!

There was another response on a similar query on Yahoo! Answers, and I wanted to kill this user for writing, “Turn the block into a sculpture because writers block is an illusion.”… GRRRRRR…

On yet another website, the author recommended gathering topics / plots from Twitter – “find out what people are talking about” and then write about it!! Oh goodness, what a divine cure for writer’s block!

One person recommended downloading OmmWriter – supposedly, my sickly blue background of MS Word is aggravating my case of writer’s block!

One person actually suggested writing about writer’s block to get over it!!! He also suggested having a peppermint candy… strangely enough! He reckons it stimulates the brain cells… of course, he didn’t quote his source for that information!!!

Well, the effect of these articles was quite good on my writer’s block. It must be evident to you too, because I did manage to churn this out, didn’t I?! Voila!!! Bye bye, writer’s block! It seems, in my case, outrage and sarcasm work better than mind-numbing pain to get those creative juices flowing!

Oh, and for those of you who are wondering, yes, of course I found some good articles too on battling writer’s block. But taking a leaf out of them, I will write another article on them, so as to officially put my writer’s block behind me!

So long then, fellas…

Is This Love? Is This Life?

The ranting mood has returned. The bottled words and mottled feelings make their way onto the paper – to be heard and felt… not to be dismissed.

There is so much to talk about. There is so much to be resolved. But the words don’t come… somehow, the two worlds separate, and the language of one is unintelligible to the other.

Moods contrast… feelings clash…

There is so much anger… but when sleep steals over the anger-distorted features, somehow they become baby-like. And the baby craves to be held close… when the hug is withdrawn, the baby makes those teensy restless moves and coos, as if begging for the hug to come back… and it does, and the baby sleeps peacefully again. And then suddenly, the anger-monster wakes him up, and he is no longer a baby, and no longer wants to be held. Caresses enrage him, empathy disgusts him…

I get angry… I get upset… I get sad… I get despondent…

But then I remember the baby’s teensy restless moves, and the barely audible cooing that begged to be hugged… and a sudden ache fills my heart…

Such is love.

I remember the way strong hands hold me when I shiver and tremble, the way a cocoon shields me from the harsh sunrays and the cold monsoon sprays and the ashen winters… and I know what compassion is like…

A hope flares, filling me with a bright rainbow. The language of the two worlds is not different after all – it is but the same… the language of love… the paths of the two worlds have separated, but they will wind their way through until they criss-cross to meet once again…

Such is life.

An Example Set By KFC

A few days back, I witnessed an incident that made me want to write again (and between you and me, that means quite a thing – since these days I feel too lazy to wield the pen!) and here I am, relating it to you.

My mom and I had some errands to run, and in between working them out, we stopped at KFC, City Center for a snack. We ordered our usual and sat around for some time. When we were just about to leave, I noticed we had some unused ketchup sachets. I waved to the nearest person, and handed them over, saying we didn’t need them. The person didn’t quite understand my words and was about to tear the sachets open, evidently under the impression that we couldn’t get it open and wanted his help. I immediately stopped him and repeated my words – but to my extreme surprise, the guy indicated that his hearing and speech were impaired. After that, I had to gesture to him that we didn’t need the condiments, and he could take it away, and he did.

My mom and I stared after him, our hearts filled with admiration and hope. So far, we had never come across a restaurant which employed such people. We couldn’t resist appreciating the effort to the restaurant manager. He told us that the guy was in charge of managing the stock, clearing away used trays, etc. He also informed us that as a policy, in almost all KFC outlets, physically challenged persons are employed in an effort to let them lead a normal life. I was too impressed for words. And then, I resolved to write about it.

What we witnessed that day wasn’t an Indian act. We Indians, and I will not mince my words here, don’t have the guts or backbone to take such a step. But KFC is truly American in its ways, and what they are doing is something that only an American / European establishment would dare to do. This may hurt the sentiments of many a conscientious Indian, but that really will not change the facts.

I would truly love to claim, as an Indian, that Indian establishments are equally gutsy – but the fact is that we have never, ever come across any such efforts on the part of any of the high flying indigenous restaurants. They want physically fit persons to serve them, because, of course, they are worried that a person who is unable to hear or speak will piss the customers off, and that in turn would reduce their profits. A good many of them also think that such people would be of no use to the establishment. And hence, the typical Indian glam restaurant will only hire the glam girls and hunky chaps, and not even spare a glance towards the less fortunate.

Honestly, I am concerned. We Indians, while claiming to be the best in Heaven-Knows-What, actually do nothing about taking a step towards real progress. We want “equality” in everything, and yet we don’t ever really do what is required to bring about true equality. We scream for opportunities to be given to the less fortunate, and when the opportunity is really given, we scream about how inefficient the less fortunate are. We forget that that is why they are less fortunate. We forget all about equality and opportunities. We become downright selfish.

And then we say our culture has no place for vices like selfishness!

A Sight to Behold

Yesterday, while on my way back from office, I watched something amazing happen in the skies above me. I wish to hell I had my camera on me, so that I could’ve taken a few pictures of the incident. But since I did not manage to get any picture, I’m trying to recapture the scene in words.

My attention was first attracted by a supersonic airplane (the kind that leaves a trail of white smoke behind) flying from the western horizon – the smoke trail was tinged bright orange against the backdrop of the setting sun. Quite by chance, I happened to look at the eastern horizon at the same time – but to my surprise, I saw another supersonic airplane approaching the west.

At that point, I had to turn my head towards the west to see the first plane, and to the east to see the second one. But within minutes, they closed in upon each other, and I could see both airplanes together. Soon, I could see the two tiny specks, which actually were two supersonic airplanes full of passengers, hurtling towards each other.

Down below, my heart skipped a beat. Although my rational sense told me that the two airplanes must be at different altitudes, I could not stop the trepidation in my heart – what if they collided? But before I could even start imagining the consequences, the two airplanes (as it appeared to me) came within a meter of each other, then a foot and then within a centimeter of each other… And then, miraculously, they crossed each other – making a perfect ‘X’ across the sky!

Grounded on firm terrain below, two unconnected thoughts crossed my mind. One, that the ones sitting in those two aircrafts were not even aware that at that moment, they crossed another aircraft mid-air, so precariously. And secondly, at that particular moment, those people were perhaps admiring from up there how beautiful (or ugly, depending upon the individual’s viewpoint) our planet looks!

Although I missed the major moments, I managed to take the following picture a few minutes later, while the ‘X’ was still inscribed across the sky. The sight of that ‘X’ still makes my back tingle… What if…???

Kudos to the Fire of Brisingr

I’ve just finished reading the third book of the Inheritance Cycle by Christopher Paolini – Brisingr. In Paolini’s world, Brisingr means “Fire”. In some ways, the book does evoke a fire from within the reader. But for my part, I didn’t like the book as much as I had liked its predecessors.

But that’s not the point of this post.

I took precisely two days to read the book. And I formed my opinion of the book within two minutes of finishing it, perhaps. What struck me was, the author had spent three years to write this huge thing. And I have to admit, it is brilliant in its own way. But I (and many other readers like me), who have read almost all of the famous magical sequences (like the epic Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien, the exceptional Harry Potter series by J. K. Rowling, the Bartimaeus Trilogy by Jonathan Stroud) lose no time whatsoever in comparing the work of Paolini to the already established ones.

I did so myself when I said to myself, “well, I think Bartimaeus Trilogy was better than this…” and a moment later, I hated myself for it.

You may well ask, what’s wrong with the comparison? To that I would answer, would you compare a duck to a hen, or a cat to a dog? Just like these belong to different species altogether, so is the Inheritance Cycle different from all other works! There can’t be, and shouldn’t be, any comparison among them.

There are different genres of literature – tragedy & comedy, fiction & non-fiction, prose & poetry. In the same way, different genres can be detected even in the writings of what appears to be upon the same subject. The magical worlds highlighted in each of the works I’ve mentioned differ from each other quite starkly. There is some overlapping, surely, but that is only to be expected! After all, dwarves and elves and djinnis and spirits and spells are all, in our opinion, residents of the magical world! How can any magical world be complete without them? It is akin to asking two chemists to prepare the same drug using different compositions, when we all know that any change in the composition would change the drug itself!

This post is an official apology to Cristopher Paolini, for comparing his work to the works of others, even though it was just the once, only to myself. I think it is an insult to an author, who spends so much of his time, energy and skills in writing something so beautiful, to unthinkingly dismiss the work since it is, in someone’s opinion, “not as good as so-and-so book”.

I think Paolini has done brilliantly. I might like LotR or Harry Potter more, but I think Eragon and the Inheritance Cycle also deserve a special position among the literatures of magical worlds. Kudos to you, Christopher Paolini!

Randon Ramblings

Life is strange.

A few days back there were forty of us – now there are just 15 left.

The real estate baron… the largest in the industry… oh, cut the crap out! DLF should be named the most politically correct company.

When Jet Airways terminated their employees, there was outrage – 2000 people sacked, without any reason except their own profits, in one day? Humanitarians, politicians, high fliers from every corner lost no time in “condemn”ing themsleves hoarse.

But not so for DLF. Oh no, because DLF played their politics very well indeed. They picked on the employees one by one – or maybe two or three at a time – and asked them to “resign”. No, they were NOT terminated. And certainly not in a bulk. No one can term it a lay-off – not when they had the resignations of the employees, put in “willingly”!

Oh, how clever of them… employees were told that DLF did not want to tarnish their careers by terminating them, and the world was told that there were no terminations.

The ones being asked to leave did not get the support of the fellow members of the team, because they feared for their own jobs. The ones who left had nothing to base their allegations on – showing off their resignation letters, the company distressfully declared to the world at large, “what can we do if anyone wants to quit?”

The once bustling office now lies empty, forsaken. The ones who remain feel guilty and indecent to have survived, and the memory of the ones who were not so lucky haunts them every moment. The spirit lies broken.

This post does not make sense. Working in DLF does not make sense. The fact that I survived when almost my entire group was done away with does not make sense too. These days, nothing makes sense... and yet I have to go on living, working and trying to see sense where none exist.

Funny Side Up

2nd December, 2008

I remember having once talked about the two funniest incidents I’ve experienced in my life. I’ve finally managed to pen the two of them down here, and I must say, it feels great to be able to share the funny side of life in these times of great depression.

Incident 1

This incident dates back to the days when I was an eleventh grader in school.

As our school rules required students of the eleventh and twelfth grades to travel by public transport (we were denied the pleasure of school buses in an effort to acclimatize us to the urban public transportation system!) I was travelling to school by a public bus. The lady sitting next to me struck up a conversation, and asked my opinion about which school she should admit her 4 year old son to. I suggested a few names, and as Don Bosco, Park Circus was just next to my school, I mentioned that too. She asked me what the timings of the school were, and I rattled off the same. Since a few of my very good friends were from Don Bosco, I knew quite a lot about it, and being the good soul, told her all of it.

She heard it all, and asked me, “Do you study in Don Bosco?”

I was shocked! It was impossible to think of an average Calcuttan who does not know about Don Bosco (it’s one of the premiere schools for boys in Kolkata), and more so of a woman dreaming of getting her son admitted to one of the top bracket schools of Kolkata! I would bet anything that 99.99% of Calcuttans know that Don Bosco is an all-boys school! And I was very definitely a girl!!!

I myself have no idea how I bit my laughter back, and explained to her very politely that Don Bosco was not for girls! Later on, both in my own school and with my friends from Don Bosco, I had a gala time recounting this story.

In the times to come, I have narrated this tale to many people, and have even smiled to myself in reminiscence!

Incident 2

This was, if possible, an even funnier incident. This too dates back to the days when I was in the eleventh grade, not long after the one written about above.

I was walking down from my school to the nearest bus stop to catch a bus back home, when I noticed a lady walking towards me, looking rather confused. I stopped as she opened her mouth to speak. She asked me which school was I from. Considering the fact that the Pinks-n-Whites were from quite a famous school of Kolkata, MBG, many would consider it to be a stupid question. It was however courteous to answer the lady, and so I identified myself as belonging to MBG.

The next question took me completely by surprise! She asked me, in a rather confused manner, “But isn’t this the uniform of *** School?”

I coldly told her, “I don’t think I’d go to one school wearing the uniform of another school.”

She asked, “Are you absolutely sure?”

This time, exasperated, I couldn’t stop myself from answering back rather rudely, “I think I am absolutely sure about my own school and its uniform. Much surer than you are. I’m not off my rocker, thanks.” And I walked off.

But thinking back upon it, I have laughed my head off many a times, and till date, I must’ve recounted this tale to at least a hundred people! After all, it is a tale worth recounting – I don’t think many students have faced a situation where someone has expressed doubt about he/ she wearing the uniform of one school and going to another!!!

Afterthoughts on the Mumbai Attack

1st December, 2008

The Mumbai attack has shocked us all. It has made us all wonder, how safe are we really in this country? Or rather, is there any safety at all anywhere in the world? Maybe we should seriously consider making a beeline for the moon instead! But jokes apart, there are some things that have been haunting me, and I think the best way to get it out of my system is to pen them down.

The first thought is about a rather freakish generalization that every one makes about the Muslims of our country. After every terrorist attack, esp. in India, I get to hear every one – my friends, family, acquaintances and strangers – blasting the Indian Muslims off. It’s all down to them, it’s only because of these people that these terrorist attacks happen, and it’s these people who abet the terrorists. I sympathize with the Indian Muslims, try to defend them, but no one is in the mood to listen. I can’t but help feel vulnerable. I have quite a few Muslim friends, and they are no more involved in terrorist activities than I am, and yet they come under fire, when a lot of the others, who really are involved, go scot free.

I can’t understand this urge to generalize. And that too, only against the Muslims. Every one knows that there is no dearth of Indian Hindus (or belonging to other religious sects) who would, for the sake of money, sell their country and men to these terrorists. During their meticulous planning of these attacks, are we to understand that these terrorists did not take the help of any Hindus, Christians, Sikhs or others? Of course they did. And those Indians did not feel a thing while selling off their motherland to the terrorists. And yet, it is only the Muslims who come under attack.

Why do we do this? Why are we so eager to shift the blame off to other shoulders? Why can’t we take responsibility of our own actions and say, “Yes, we Indians come from a land of traitors, where no one loves their country. It is only money that matters to them.” Not family, not love, not even religion. Because no religion endorses killing of innocent lives. And yet, we do nothing to stop it.

Is it because we really can’t do anything, or because we don’t want to do the dirty work?

Secondly, I can’t but help doubt the strength of our country’s defense mechanisms. Bulks of RDX were shipped into the commercial capital, and police was aware of it. The terrorists were staying in the city, and planning their attacks, and the intelligence did nothing. And finally, what security did these large five stars have? None.

One would think that after the episode of the JW Marriot in Pakistan, we would have learnt. Evidently not. We believe in learning through our own mistakes, rather than through the mistakes of others.

When we all were wondering how these terrorists could’ve entered these hotels and create such havoc, an acquaintance of mine pointed out a very pertinent deficiency in the security system of the five stars. They frisk the visitor, but do they check the luggage? No, they don’t. The visitor can carry anything inside – anything at all. There is no baggage x-ray system, like in the airports. It turns out that it is quite a necessary system that should be installed in the hotels. Why is it that we are thinking about all this after such destruction? Why didn’t we plug the holes before anything of the sort could’ve happened? No one knows.

But we do know that we are not safe anywhere. The railways are a fiasco. There is no one to check the travelers. If the terrorists want to blast off the Howrah or the Sealdah stations, it would be only too easy – and it would cost a lot of lives. If the terrorists want to carry RDX or other stuff from one place to another by train, no one will even detect it – because there again, no one checks the baggage. The security system is almost equally dismal in the naval transport, seeing as the terrorists had used it to gain entry into Mumbai.

Which basically means, we are not safe anywhere. Except perhaps in our own homes. Or may be not even there, as one blast on the street, caused by the very same bombs which have been smuggled in through the railways or the ships, can claim our lives even when we are in there. A terrifying fact which the media is almost painstakingly etching into our minds.

That brings me to the third thought that has been haunting me real bad. The media. Are they doing anything worthwhile? Is it any good broadcasting to the world what the government, police and commandos are doing at every stage? They are merely forewarning the terrorist outfits about our strengths, and consequently our weaknesses. The common man does not need to know the nitty-gritty of the evacuation activities, not do they need to see the gruesome details on television.

But the media also is too selfish to care. They just want their channels / magazines / papers to sell, and in their race to report the most gruesome, most intimate details of such terrorist attacks, they don’t stop to think about the security of their nation. They forget the might of the pen, and instead, glorify the sword. The media does not hesitate to highlight the worst, and neglect the best. They think that by flashing the human remains of the martyrs, they will sell themselves to the public. But they do not stop to think once of how the morale of the public would drop, what insecurity they are injecting into the public mood.

Has the media forgotten its duties? Has it forgotten that media lives to brighten up the lives of the public, and not to demoralize them? Has it forgotten that its objective is not to scare the public into reticence, but to inspire them to march ahead, irrespective of the hardships?

Having been a part of the print media before, I really feel relieved that I am no more a part of a system which thrives on the negatives of lives, and exists to wipe out the positives.

The last thought pertains to us Kolkatans. And the false, really selfish sense of security we suffer from. Post Mumbai attacks, one refrain was to be heard from almost every Kolkatan. “We are safe here. Kolkata is the exit route for these terrorists; they will not do anything to jeopardize that one.”

It shames me to think of myself as a Kolkatan these days. Because like the rest, we too think only of our own safety. We know Kolkata is a safe haven for the terrorists. We know that they enter our country through the minimally protected Bangladesh borders, mingle and stay with us, gather information through us, plan and then carry out their objectives. And yet, we are shameless enough to say that we are safe, because the terrorists do all this here. We forget that by saying this, we are actually saving our own necks at the cost of numerous other who die as a result of these terrorist activities. And yet, the average Kolkatan will do nothing upon hearing or seeing anything suspicious. He loves himself too much, even more than the brother who stays and works in Mumbai, or the friend who resides in Delhi. He doesn’t care even about his own family going up in flames in the U.S. He is just happy to be alive himself.

The average Kolkatan forgets that the terrorists will leave none. They do not target Kolkata as often as they target Delhi and Mumbai because Kolkata is dead – in terms of investment, industry or people. One day, when Mumbai, Delhi and the other cities become impregnable fortresses, learning out of the many scars that the terrorist attacks have left on their faces, these terrorists will realize that Kolkata is the most soft target – and that day, they will take advantage of this false sense of security, and blow the city up in flames. And that day, we Kolkatans will perhaps not even get the time to rue the moments when we could’ve ended it all, but we did not bother.

I wish it was not like this I wish I was not a part of a world that might go up in arms and flames any day, any time. I wish we could all join hands to do something about it. But alas… I belong to a nation of traitors. Neither will they do anything themselves, nor will they let me do anything to make this a better place to live in…

Delicious Snippets…

1st November, 2008

I’ve heard my ancestors had quite a penchant for treating their guests to delicious food, and I seem to have inherited that particular gene! I find it greatly satisfying when someone appreciates the food I’ve cooked, or even something that I’ve recommended. Here are some snippets of such incidents which have given me great joy, and the intention behind posting it here is to create a mass effect – so that anyone reading this also knows my recommendations, and hopefully, will taste them someday (although, since most of it is to be found in Kolkata, it might take the non-Kolkata-residents / non-resident Kolkatans a lot of effort to do so)!

Snippet One:
I think I’ve had the world’s most enticing, delicious and yummy fresh strawberry milkshake in a rather shabby roadside shanty in Pune. This shanty however is pretty famous in the city, and is situated on the Dhole Patil Road, right beside a massive building called The Connaught Place (that’s right, Connaught Place in Pune!). My roommate Mansi introduced me to this intoxicating milkshake, and I in turn passed the infection on to two or three friends of mine – and I noticed with satisfaction that they were as smitten by it as I was, if not more! So much so that the last time we were in Pune to collect our degrees, etc. (it was for two days only – fortunately though, it was in December, the season of strawberries!), we made it a point to have two glasses of fresh strawberry milkshake each day!

Snippet Two:
Months ago, I was very surprised to know on a hot summer afternoon that my colleague Sanghamitra (we’ll call her Mou for short) had never had iced tea. I promptly decided to introduce her to the world’s best natural cold drink. So, in we went to Barista, and had a glass of peach flavoured iced tea each. Mou was so impressed by it that ever since that afternoon, she’s preferred an iced tea over a cola, and yet can’t appreciate the beverage served at any place other than Barista (for which she squarely blames me!), as they seem positively drab compared to the heavenly drink we had in there!!!

Snippet Three:
I had the privilege of introducing Mou to another wonderful place a few days back – the famous Nahoum’s Bakery at New Market. Ever since I was big enough to have cakes and pastries, Nahoum’s was the place my Dad took me to. Nahoum’s has given me the exquisite delight of having delicious cakes and pastries at a time when there was no Monginis, Sugar n Spice or Kookie Jar in Kolkata, and I daresay the items from Nahoum’s taste much, much better! Though we were full to bursting point when we visited Nahoum’s that day, we still could not resist ourselves from having a host of cakes and pastries, and Mou particularly enjoyed the blackforest pastry, which has been a speciality of theirs for long!

Snippet Four:
Ashish had of late been quite smitten by the kochuris (a kind of hand stretched and fried bread, quite popular in India) of a roadside hawker near our office. To my palate, the kochuris were no better than average, and so I decided to treat him to some really good roadside kochuris. And what better place than Shyambazar to look for such things?! It is common knowledge that kochuri, shingara (samosa for some) & jilipi (jalebi to some) form the breakfast of a typical Bengali on a Sunday. Therefore, one Sunday, we drove out to Shyambazar, and went to this place just beside the Duff School, and treated ourselves to some amazing kochuri, aloo-r dum, ghugni & jilipi. I had initially planned to take him to a shop just opposite the Chittaranjan sweets shop, which is by far the best in the locality, but due to some unavoidable reasons we had to restrain ourselves to the second best! The effect however was no less grand – trust me, since that morning, Ashish has not, even for once, praised the kochuris of the roadside hawker near my office!

Sharing Experiences…

It's been quite some time since I wrote about my real life here. So today, I thought I’d share two of my recent experiences – one which touched me immensely, and the other which amused me to no end! Such experiences are rare and unexpected in daily life, and therefore it feels truly good to be able to share them with the world.

September 9, 2008

My story starts at a time when I was on my way back home from Durgapur (I’d been there on an official trip). The Volvo bus that was to carry me to Kolkata was waiting to depart at the Durgapur Bus Stop, and I was sitting aboard, quite immersed in the book I was reading at the time. A small voice of a girl was barely reaching my ears, very sweetly requesting the passengers on board to buy a few packets of incense sticks from her. She reached my seat and made the same request to me, and I looked up to find a little girl of about 10 years of age, selling scented incense sticks. Since I had no wish to light them, I refused to buy any. She requested me to help her by giving her some money, which she would use to buy her school stuff. May be there was a ring of truth in her voice, or may be it was just the sweet way of her talking, but I reached into my purse, extracted fifty bucks and handed it to her.

The look on her face will stay with me forever – she was speechless. It was evident that it was beyond her wildest dreams that someone would just give her fifty bucks without even buying something from her, just like that. She looked at me for a few seconds, then muttered a little prayer, and tried to push a box of incense sticks into my hand. I refused it – I wasn’t about to use it, and I reckoned she’d get some money by selling it to some one else. She thanked me profusely for being so generous to her, and went her way. I took it for granted that I would not see her again, like so many others of her kind. Till then, there was nothing unusual about the story.

However, just as the bus was about to roll out of the Stand, the little girl came hurrying back to me, and pressed into my hands a small packet of roasted and salted groundnuts! This time, it was my turn to be speechless – I have known many street urchins, beggars and even genuinely needy children who ask for money as they have no other way out. I’d deduced that she belonged to the third category – but even so, I did not think she would be this thankful for my help! But evidently, she was a cut different from the rest… I was so touched I couldn’t even thank her properly, and before I could gather myself together, the bus rolled out, and I watched with misted eyes at the rapidly shrinking shape of the little girl by the side of the road…

October 18, 2008

The second experience is actually quite unconnected to the one above, and also very different – I’ve never had a funnier experience! (Actually, no, looking back, I think I’ve had two experiences which are funnier than this one. But more about them some other time – now to get on with the story!)

We’d been to RDB Adlabs to catch a newly released movie. The movie was a hideous disaster, and it seemed the city folks had realized it much before we did – for the hall was not even half-filled. Among our fellow spectators, some were there to get cosy with their guys / gals, some because they had nothing better to do, and some because they didn’t trust the movie reviews published in the papers (to which category yours truly belongs). One person however seemed to have found the perfect excuse to buy a ticket for the movie – to sleep!!!

I don’t know how many people noticed him during the movie, but once it was over and people started leaving the hall, they really couldn’t miss the sight - there he was, alone, with his feet up on the row in front, sound asleep as if he was on the most comfortable bed possible!!! Indeed, the cleaning staff had to shake him quite hard to wake him up, and a little later, we noticed him wander into the parking lot (although he had no car), utterly confused and most probably still half asleep, trying to figure out where the exit was!

Laughing our heads off, we imagined what the director of the movie would say to this man, if word of the latter’s actions reached him! Would the director have woken up to the fact that his movies are being treated as lullabies by many?! Or would he simply have treated such action as an extreme insult to his directing capabilities?!

Either way, I think the man proved what we so often hear in sermons and lectures – that “Actions Speak Louder than Words”!

Random Speak II...

21st September, 2007

It is time for a weekend again... not that the weekends are very exciting or happening for me... yet, I look forward to it... just to get away from the hectic office life...

Not that I don't like my office... all play and no work indeed does make Jack a dull boy... and I don't intend to be one dull woman... I do enjoy working, but something seems amiss at times...

What’s amiss? I dunno...

And I've not even tried to know...

What’s the point of cribbing about something when you already know that nothing can be done about it? Why not just accept things the way they are?

Acceptance seems so lacking in today's life... people know that cribbing wouldn't change the world, and yet they do nothing but crib... they know that the truth cannot be changed, no matter how much you manipulate it, nor can it be hidden for long, no matter how hard you try. And yet, truth is the last thing that people accept...

What am I writing this for? I dunno... Does this piece make any sense? I dunno... Is this what is called wastage of time and energy? I dunno...

But what the heck - it's my time, my website and my thoughts that I'm putting down here! Why should I even think about justifying it?

Random Speak...

20th September, 2007

My office has many attractions for me, and one of them is the view that I can catch out of the window opposite my work-station...

Lush green fields... two natural lakes shimmering side by side, some yards away... and most importantly, beautiful sunsets that can be seen only from deserted places like the one where our office is situated!

Sunset of Day 1
The sunsets are different every single day... no two sunsets are the same... the hues that fill the heavens range from red to orange to pink to purple to gray to teal.... you can actually see the skies changing colours... within a matter of two or three hours, it transforms into almost a dozen different colours!!

You can also see the sun disappearing into the horizon... a rare thing, because in a Metro like Kolkata, one doesnt usually get to see the horizon... for most of us, the sun disappears behind a jungle of concrete slabs that house our fellows...

Sunset of Day 2
Just felt like sharing these pictures with you all... I truly found these sunsets amazing, and their beauty cannot really be captured on the lenses... but I still tried! I daresay, these pictures do not portray even a quarter of the beauty of the real thing – but then, something is better than nothing!!

Sunset of Day 3
Someone commented in office, that sunsets shouldn't be pictured, or watched... sunrises should be. But I think to miss something so heavenly as this is simply a sin. And the new sunset that I watch each day tells me that I am right!!

How Those Funny Office Romances Start…!

21st August, 2007 The subject of this post will perhaps never read this, but I don’t see any reason why that should hamper the object of my writing this piece! So, here I go! Some things happen in life which are least expected, and which hit you like a bolt from the blue… at times the resultant shock is unpleasant; at times, it is thrilling. And at yet other times, it is simply unexpected! My tryst with this colleague of mine falls pretty much in the third category! I took first notice of this guy when a couple of my other female colleagues were plotting his marriage with a girl somewhere, somehow known to them. The poor guy and the supposed bride were both blissfully unaware of these dark schemes, but that did not stop my colleagues from having a good laugh behind the poor guy’s back! Soon enough, however, the “poor guy” noticed that he was being the butt of some unknown joke, and quite naturally, did some grave thinking on the matter! In doing so, he took a few facts into consideration: a) the gang of females who laugh at him consists of only one girl who’s nearer to his age, b) she’s supposedly single, and c) she tries her best not to giggle so blatantly at him, and even looks a bit abashed when the others do so. And hence, he deduced that the joke must have a better half, and that the better half must relate to this particular girl (who was quite oblivious to this reasoned decision of his)! Poor, unlucky me… to be dragged into a matter where I had virtually no part to play!!! The moment, however, this glorious conclusion had been reached, I found myself being given a bit of extra attention, and tentative smiles. For the first few days, I merely looked my confusion. What had happened all of a sudden, to make me worthy of such exclusive gestures? What did I do? And then, the realization of his glorious conclusion hit me! I did not have a clue about how to convey the real situation to him. Confused and flabbergasted beyond all measures, I resorted to ignoring his tentative gestures. This time it was his turn to be confused. He had, apparently, confidently assumed his conclusions to be true. Hence my flat refusal to acknowledge his gestures confused him for a good measure – if I was interested, then why did I not show it even when he was encouraging me?! In the mean time, I tried informing my female colleagues about the plan going all awry, and before I knew what had hit me, the joke had turned on me and him! The guy, unnaturally sharp that he is in such matters, noticed me blush and look extremely abashed more than once while my colleagues were having a gala time at our cost, and his assumptions turned to belief! However, since there were no acknowledgements yet from my side, his gestures gradually reduced, and finally came to naught. But it seemed to me that our eyes were (and still are) invariably drawn to each other! On countless occasions have I spotted his eyes on me, and many a times I do take to returning the stare as well. I can’t deny that my eyes also do go looking for him, for no apparent reason! I also can’t deny the fact that I do enjoy those occasional run-in’s with him, or that I too flirt with him if I get the chance!!! Quite obviously, such things don’t go unnoticed, do they?! Especially not when there is a good measure of jokes and talk already going on in this matter! I know the two of us don’t mean a thing to each other. I’m sure we both know we aren’t right for each other. I can bet none of us are looking to start anything more than a fling. Truth is, we don’t even like each other. And the bigger truth is that at this age, we are still falling prey to “puppy loves”! If you care to analyse the episode, the whole of it actually began because the good natured humour of my colleagues instigated it! Where there was nothing, a whole story was made out and a whole new sentiment was implicated. And that made all the difference! Because people talked about us, we took notice of each other, and because we started taking notice of each other, people got talking! Now you know, my dear readers, how exactly do funny rumours start in the office, and end up becoming true stories! How ironical, ain’t it!!

Random Ramblings Again…

7th August, 2007 I have fallen into one of those bouts of depression again. And alarmingly, this has been the longest in the past few years… I behave normally with everyone, laugh and joke and do all that I’m supposed to do, and yet, a thick, dark cloud gathers in the corner of my mind… a cloud full of sparkling, shimmering tear drops… But those tears are hidden from all… because if they spill, thousands of questions will besiege me. What are these tears for? What has upset me? Which dream of mine is shattered? And I will have no answer… How do I explain the hopelessness that shrouds my mind every now and then? How do I tell them about the aimless wanderings of my heart? How do I possibly make them imagine that happiness is what is missing in my life? To the eyes of the commoner, I should be a very happy young woman! But I am not… I do not have what my heart desires the most, I cannot do what my heart tells me to do, I fail to comprehend the melody of the songs sung by my heart… I am a slave of the mundane practicalities of life… I have everything, and yet, I have nothing. And so, down my cheeks do the teardrops roll – silent, discreet, covert, afraid of bothering the world… Sometimes I long for a companion, who’ll let me cry without question… who’ll take me in his arms, and instead of wiping my tears away, will let them flow… so that the tears can finally wash away the sadness that grips my heart… Sometimes I long for a companion, who’ll not question my sadness… who’ll delve into the depths of my sadness and not into the supposed reason behind it… who’ll understand that the only way to slay the sadness in me is to make me truly happy and content… Sometimes I long for a companion, who’ll not seek to kiss away my troubles, but will help me listen to my heart, so that the troubles go away on their own… Sometimes I long for a companion who’ll give me the fulfillment of love… But such a companion doesn’t exist in this mundane world of practicalities, does he? It is but a mere shadow and a thought that I am chasing… a wild dream… Which really means that I am doomed to my sadness and tears forever… there is no escape, no ending, no silver lining to the dark clouds that gather in the corner of my mind, no bright light at the end of the dark tunnel, no first rays of the sun at dawn to look forward to after a long, lonely night… The misery will go on till it consumes me, and the long, lonely night of sorrow will never give way to the pink dawn of happiness…

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: An Experience

27th July, 2007 [Spoiler Alert: Plot Details Follow! Please don’t read if you don’t want them revealed!] When I first got my hands on the book, there seemed to be a magnetic personality inside it – I just could not take my eyes off it, and I was dying to start reading it! Once I started reading it, I could not stop! I forgot hunger, thirst, rest… I even refused to answer nature’s call! At that moment, I was irresistibly reminded of a dialogue of Ron’s in the Chamber of Secrets – there are books which are jinxed, so that once you start reading them, you just can’t stop!!! Stuck in pretty much a similar situation, I was wondering if JKR has a Magic Quill, or an Elder wand with which she jinxes her books! I finished the book in ten hours flat. I just could not stop, I could not resist. Dark, dangerous and painful – the journey I undertook with Harry was definitely not easy. Each death made my eyes sting, every turn of events made me breathless, and the various revelations through the book made me gasp. Hedwig. I never, ever thought Harry would have to lose her. The pretty snowy wise owl who’d been with him through thick and thin during all these years! She was so much a part of the journey that her absence pricked… Remus and Tonks… right after the birth of their son… leaving only young Harry to look after the child as his Godfather. That brought tears to my eyes. But, when I think, perhaps Harry will indeed be the best Godfather for Teddy Lupin – being an orphan himself, I’m sure he’ll never let Teddy feel the same way. I definitely did not think Fred Weasley would leave us all – how could the boy, the one who made all of laugh, leave us with tears in our eyes? I thought we’d seen the worst when George lost his ear… Snape. I always knew he was not with Voldemort. And somehow, it felt so unfair that he never got to prove his true loyalties. And it felt even worse to know that he died, not while saving the world from the Dark Lord, but because Voldemort did not give a damn about his followers. A small part of me was hoping Dobby would not die. It was so pathetic that no one could do a thing, and Harry just had to watch him die, in front of his eyes. So befitting that Bellatrix Lestrange got the death she deserved, after Sirius and Dobby. I was also hoping that Harry would keep the Elder wand and the Resurrection Stone… master of the Deathly Hallows, master of Death… Though he already is immortal in our hearts, yet, the fact that he would be immortal in JKR’s world was so desired… of course, when I truly analyse Harry’s character, it was highly unlikely that he’d keep them for himself. Kreacher’s transformation was so welcome! I could not believe my eyes when in the penultimate scenes, Kreacher was found to be leading the house-elves of Hogwarts in the war against the Dark Lord! And R.A.B. – somehow I always knew it’d be Regulus Black. Figured it out when I finished the Sixth Book! The Horcruxes – Slytherin’s locket, Hufflepuff’s cup, Ravenclaw’s diadem, Tom Riddle’s diary, Marvolo’s ring, Nagini and Harry – amazing, truly amazing! And the Dark Lord could not use anything of Griffindor’s, because, of course, what better thing to destroy those Horcruxes with than the sword of Godric Griffindor! How truly extraordinary, and how very JKR! She comes up with the unthinkable, and like a skilled worksman, entwines it with the unimaginative! Harry’s journey was tougher than one can imagine… but we, the ones who’ve also undertaken the journey with him, felt no less pain. With each of the characters passing away, I felt tears gather in my eyes. It was like losing a family member. When they dueled with the enemy, I felt my stomach clench as though my own loved ones were risking their lives. It was a breathtaking, painstaking seven year journey that we all undertook, JKR! Thanks for this amazing experience. Just like you, we also feel so relieved that it has ended at last, and yet, sorrow overcomes us when we contemplate a life sans Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger and the whole lot of them, not to mention the amazing life of rule-bending at Hogwarts! Could you please give us another series about James Harry Potter, Albus Severus Potter, Lily Harry Potter, Rose Ronald Weasley, Hugo Ronald Weasley, Teddy Remus Lupin, Sinclair Draco Malfoy and of course, Professor Neville Longbottom at Hogwarts? Please??? Just to make us feel that “all was well” indeed?

Been Rambling Again...

15th July, 2007 I wonder – aloud at times, silently at others… This place, this metropolitan city, which has been my home ever since I was born, seems to cage my spirit these days. It hurts. There was a time when this jungle of hard, concrete structures used to be home to me. But now, I call that home. That city where I’ve just spent five years of my life. Why is it that I feel stifled in Kolkata? Why do I feel as if something is amiss? What is this strong desire to break free? Which shackles do I want to break anyway? Pune was beauty… it brought me close to Mother Nature. Pune was freedom… I could do what I felt like. Pune was simple joys… it allowed us to live for the day. And Kolkata? Nature is unavailable here… there are no hills to climb in the city, no sunsets to admire by the lakes, no greenery filled temples to go to… Freedom is an alien word… every move is to be measured, every word is to be weighed, every action is expected to take into account the equal and opposite reaction… Joys, if any, are no longer simple… Sometimes aloud, silently at times – I wonder… What is it that I’ve lost? What is it that I am searching for? What is it that makes my heart ache? I’m with my family, my loved ones. I’m working in one of India’s biggest, richest, most famous brands. I’ve good colleagues and a superb boss. I’m earning a handsome amount. I’m planning for my future – house, car and all the luxuries that one can think of… and yet, I am unhappy?! When I sit and ponder, I feel I’ve lost the one thing that is the most important of all. The one thing, without which everything tastes bland – love. Pune taught me how to love with unrestrained passion. Something which Kolkata never has, and never will allow me to do. There are so many things to think about – love simply does not find a place among them. I wonder – silently at times, aloud at others… In today’s life, true love is naught but a compromise. It is just a give-n-take relationship, where both lose something to gain something – a business deal. Marriages are not made in Heaven any longer. They’re made right here, for considerations like money, status, and so many other things. “The boy is well-settled, and he’s the only son – there’s no harm in going out once. If you don’t like him, we’ll search for someone else!” If that someone else doesn’t suit you, then there’ll be a second someone else, then a third and a fourth and a fifth… some will be well-settled in the US, some will have rich parents, some will have some other plus point… what they all will be lacking is “love”. To put an end to the relationship with the man of my choice was my decision. I did so to make my family happy, and his too. But from where I’m standing today, I feel I had murdered my own happiness. I throttled my dreams and my hopes with my own hands. And that’s what I miss today – that love, companionship, happiness… something that, I know, will never come back to me… As much as I cry, as much as I scream my lungs out to ask him, “Come back… Please come back…” I know he will not. And nor will all the things that, once upon a time, used to make my day. I’ll continue to lead the rest of my life in this cage. I’ll never get what I’m searching for. Because true love happens only once in life, when you are not too busy counting your profits… And if you lose it once, it never comes back. Such is the price we pay for not listening to our hearts…

“Kid”- ish Blues!!!

08th July, 2007 “You look so kiddish!”, “You just don’t look your age!”, “I can’t believe you are that old!” – I am pretty used to hearing such comments from people around. (I refuse to take it as a compliment; you’ll understand why if you read any further) And quite obviously, I hate it! Try as I might, I just don’t seem to crack my “baby” image… so much so, that my office colleagues openly address me by pet names commonly given to babies, and my boss calls me her “bachcha” [which means “baby”]! What’s more, there are two more colleagues of mine who are of the same age as I am, and yet, it is only me who is subjected to this ignominy! Let me relate a few recent events which have made me squirm and blush madly, and which have prompted me to write this, to my readers here! EVENT 1: Thanks to the non-stop rains that had submerged Kolkata in the past week, and the water-logged streets that I had to wade through on my way to office, I’d been wearing a short skirt to office. Once I reached, I’d change into my usual trousers. All this, I tried my best to accomplish without getting noticed by my colleagues! Unfortunately, I never quite achieved it! The worst was the day a colleague of mine and I entered office together, but he didn’t acknowledge me. Later, he apologized by saying, “Oh, I was wondering who this little girl is! I really didn’t recognize you!” EVENT 2: A session at the beauty salon was long overdue, and the first chance I got was well utilized towards the same! The Salon that I usually visit is the most famous in our locality, and does a lot of Bridal make-up. And this is the season of marriages in Kolkata. Quite naturally, the “brides” get the first preference, while customers like yours truly have to wait patiently for their turn to come! Hence, what usually takes me three hours at the Salon, took five long hours that day! Now, the quiet person that I am, I chose not to complain and patiently make do with the slow service that I was getting, with a smile. After about four hours, one beautician (the one who had ushered me in) suddenly realized that I was still at the Salon. She exclaimed, “Arre, yeh bachchi to subah ke dus baje se aayi huyi hai! Khaana bhi nahi khaaya hoga isne! Jaao, kuchh le aao is ke liye! ” [Arre, this little girl has been here since ten in the morning! She’s not even had lunch, I’m sure! Go, get something for her!] Within seconds, the entire Salon was busy pampering me, getting me something to eat, something to drink, something to fill my supposedly hungry stomach! And soon, there was a plate of chocolate cream biscuits and a bottle of Pepsi in front of me! All the other customers, including the Brides and the other customers who were also waiting for their turns, turned to look at me, surely wondering whether I was the daughter of a premium customer or of a VIP (surely they could not be thinking that I was either, because I “don’t look my age”, remember?!) I was squirming with embarrassment. It took me another hour to get out of there, and within that hour, I was nearly force-fed the biscuits (by repeated questions about why I was not eating, and if I wanted a different flavor!), had been urged to eat a few more biscuits at least five times, and was asked ten times whether my hunger’s been satisfied!!! And all because, I, according to them, was a “little girl” who should not (or cannot) stay hungry and thirsty! What a sticky and awkward situation!!! People spend so much time and money trying out the many tips on “how to look younger”. I wish someone would tell me “how to look older”!!!

Some Anecdotes…

28th May, 2007

Myriad experiences await us in our daily life, be it in our school, college or office. Each of us come across some strange situations, some weird people during the course of our lives, and the strangest or the most arresting of such situations deserve to be shared…

So, I bring to you today some experiences from my real life! All these incidents occurred somewhere between April and May 2007, so they are mainly related to office life.

Anecdote 1:
In Kolkata, traveling to office during peak hours can be quite a headache – much like the locals of Mumbai and the buses of Delhi, public transportation vehicles become overcrowded, and passengers nearly hang on to the vehicles for dear lives. One very common mode of traveling here is the auto rickshaw. Legally, an auto rickshaw is supposed to transport only three passengers at one go. Typically, they transport at least four commuters, and at times the number rises to six! While three people sit in the backseat, the extras are accommodated in the front seat beside the driver. It can be imagined what the situation looks like!

However, this being the common story, no one really minds, and guys and gals sit in the front seat alike without being too fussy about it.

One day, when I was coming back from office, two guys and I were sitting in the back seat of an auto. Along came a “damsel in distress”… not getting an option of choosing a comfortable back seat, she promptly asked one of the guys to shift over to the front seat!!!

Now, I happen to have a very expressive face! If I’m not carefully guarding it, my face reflects exactly what I am thinking or feeling – and this woman’s behaviour shocked me! I must have gaped at her with as much disgust as I could muster, coz the guy, before obligingly shifting over to the front seat, gave me a half-smile – as if to say, “yes, lady, such women still do exist!”

I could not help but pierce the “damsel” with an extremely sarcastic look, silently telling her, “I’m so ashamed of you”. She too must have read my expression well enough, coz the look of indignation on her face could not have been triggered by anything else!

Once upon a time, such behaviour would be condonable and in fact be deemed a common occurrence. But no working woman does it today. I have seen women in sarees sit in the front sit without batting an eyelid, because that is the order of the day, the need of the hour.

In today’s world, when Kolkata is one of the leading metros to proclaim equality between men and women, such things are indeed shameful, esp. when it comes from a woman herself. If we women cannot stop asking for such special favours, we will never be able to achieve the goal we are looking at, and men will be quite justified in saying “And then they say they are our equals…!!!”

Anecdote 2:
I always thought motherhood brings the ultimate maturity to a woman. However, this incident showed me that it’s not always true!

On my way back from office yet another evening, we were stuck in a usual traffic jam near Ultadanga. Standing right beside our auto rickshaw was a Tata Sumo, which appeared to be working as a shuttle. One of the occupants of the car was a young woman aged about 30, with her kid (he’d be two year old, at max).

The woman was comfortably sitting near the window, and she’d sandwiched the kid in between her and another commuter beside her. Quite predictably, the kid was too bothered by the heat and humidity (the car did not have the AC running) and was howling pitifully… Sitting in the auto rickshaw, I, being a bystander with no particular experience of rearing kids, was wise enough to realize that the kid should be placed near the window, so that he’d get some fresh air… His mother, however, either could not understand that, or was too selfishly reluctant to give up her own comfortable window seat.

It was, however, her next action that totally dumbfounded me. In order to pacify her son, she took out a cell phone from her purse, dialed her husband’s number, and held the phone to the poor kid’s ears, asking him to speak to his “Papa”!!!

The fellow commuter sitting beside her commented upon the same thing as I was wondering – is luring the kid with a cell phone the answer to his discomfiture? Or would it have been much better to take his fancy clothes off, and take care of his woes by simply putting him next to the window?

Anecdote 3:
A colleague of mine recently related his own sad story of heartbreak and personal loss… He’d got an opportunity of studying in a premiere institution (the same as mine, actually – that’s why he related the story!) but for taking that up, he’d have to leave Kolkata and go stay in Pune for five years.

When his then girlfriend got to know about his plans, she told him not to go away because she’d be left alone here; and upon hearing this, my colleague cancelled his plans, tore off his tickets and changed all his plans!

I was used to such stories in films and fictions… When I heard about this real incident in the life of a real person, I just could not help blurting out, “how stupid can you get?”

People might think I’m against compromises of any kind, and many of you might tell me that adjustments are necessary in all relationships. But I beg to differ. I totally agree to the first part – every relationship is based on some compromise or the other. But where this compromise comes willingly, more often than not the compromising party does not mind or regret making such a compromise. But when one party asks the other to make a compromise, in my opinion it reveals pure selfishness. The party making the compromise in such a situation, more often than not, feels deprived and neglected. He/she feels that he/she is the only one making compromises in the relationship; and when such a feeling creeps into the mind, the relationship almost always fails.

As did my colleague’s. He is not with the girl any longer.

Today, as he looks back upon those days, I’m sure he stops awhile and thinks, “what did I gain by such a compromise?”