Year of Running, Volunteering & Writing (1)

Sunset at Jaisalmer

There are some quotes which are etched in your mind & one of them “What seems to be an end is the beginning of something new!” I have quoted this to many of friends when they are in between relationships / jobs etc. As a new year dawns this quote came into my mind as I booted up for my morning run on Christmas eve. At 45, what new can happen? Can one start something new? Why do I need to start something new anyway – life is good?

Some time back I had read Mark Zuckerberg learns 1 thing new every year, it was an interesting thought which stayed with me like the quote above. It’s challenging yet simple. It’s one thing to make a resolution of ten things & another to say “I will master this 1 thing” so in 50 year I will be master of 50 things.

There are lots of things I want to do in life. Difficulty (for people like us) is to choose & then dedicate ourselves to it. My guitar sojourn ended 3 years back when the guitar which Pawan my boss lovingly bought in 92 broke in pieces in 2012 after travelling with me for 20 years. There are 3 blogs many half written stories/blog posts / poetries / memoirs strewn over my hard disk. While my heart beats for education I haven’t stepped into a class to teach those who need it the most but cannot get it. While I run daily the thought of marathon looks a daunting task.

How long do we live? No one knows – there are so many deaths around me & that the law of probability does not hold good. Pessimistically maybe 75 years. So, that’s 30 years ahead for me. As my nieces who were born this year will step out of their college I step into another world.

As I reflected on that – I thought with Mark’s logic I can do at least 30 things. But then I am not Mark. So I choose to do 3 things for next year. Running, Volunteering & Writing. End Goal – Half Marathon before end of the year, 100 hrs of Volunteering, 200 Blogs.

Today’s score – 55 mnts,0 hrs,1 Blog post. Cheers! Happy New Year. (30/12/14)

Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg Is the King of New Year's Resolutions (Inspiration for all those who are making /discussing / reviewing / writing their new year resolutions)

Death

2 days back when I heard the words “My father’s passed away” for a moment I did not know how to react, what do you tell a person apart from “Don’t worry, It will be ok.” Will it be? Will it ever be the same when someone who gave birth to you dies in front of your eyes? Someone who has taught to walk is not walking in front of you. Do we mourn death? Or Do we mourn the memories, times we have spent together? Or Do we mourn the time we could not spend & words we could not say?

You were lucky I thought – you could hear him breathe his last, say his prayers, keep his body preserved, nicely in a casket for people to pay respect. You did not have to identify the body amongst sacks of dead bodies kept in the morgue, stinking as most of them were rotting & then carry the body for 30 minutes. Nobody could pay respect because they could not stand the smell.

I was in my 3^rd round of the morning walk when I found the body of the pigeon. It was bruised, must be a case of dangerous flying – I thought. It was lying right in the centre of the running track – I ignored for the first time but could not take the image out of my ahead. In my next round I picked it up & placed it near a flower bed. So that it’s not crumpled by a passing car.

Later, I took bath, changed & came down to drive to office. Curious me, I took a peek around the flower bed & could find only feathers of the bird scattered all around & a house cat lazing in the sun.

As I write the blog, struggling with my thoughts / images of death from my past I get a call saying “the baby is on it’s away – am rushing to airport to be with my wife”. “Good luck – Take care” is all I can say.

Inside Llewyn Davis (ILD)

How far will you go to chase your passion? We are often asked this question maybe over a drink or in an interview or when you have to make a real tough choice? Mostly rational choices win – better money over job satisfaction (who has defined it anyway), New York over Mumbai maybe…

ILD is a week in a life of a budding folk rock singer on a snowy New York, who has no money and is managing by sleeping in couches of family n friends; his first album is not selling & reaches a point where he is planning to join back merchant marine union. You can read all about it at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inside_Llewyn_Davis & see the official trailer https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFphYRyH7wc .   It picked up the Grand Prix at 2013 Cannes & was nominated for quite a few awards including 2 Oscar.

What I loved most was the lovely background score. It took me back to one of my favorite genre of folk rock, the days of Bob Dylan / Joan Baez. When singers thought songs can bring change in society & when lyrics were poetry, when people valued the journey more than the billboard charts, when a performance was sharing of ideas & passion.

Although it did not get nominated for screenplay, I loved the hue & tinge of the film which defined in a kind of era which has gone by. The movie is loosely based on Dave Van Rock http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dave_Van_Ronk . What I found nice was if one looks at the instrument listed on the panel – it says guitar & it says it all.

You can sample the haunting music & looks of Joan Baez here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GGMHSbcd_qI&list=RDHCpbBxCEvjh9Q.

Puja Musings 2014

Joyee n me - Last yrs Puja

Most of my school days were spent in Air Force Campus where the venue was the same – only the idols changed. Cut away from a large part of city, any kind of Puja was a large celebration for the well knit community whether it was Onam or Ganesh Chaturthi. 

In my Junior school days, being the creative sort I was dragged into – Tagore dance to Disco dance. While Goswami Kakima lovingly taught me the various postures of Tagore dance, Mithunda stepped into my life & became a hero/guru for a long-long time till I saw Grease / Staying Alive & then of course MJ happened. But it was so much fun – practicing for hours for so many days, nights actually & then dress rehearsal when everything was perfect but on the day of performance something or the other will never work – leading to usual screaming & chaos at the last minute. But what I looked forward to was the food, playing with friends, and being away from Ma- Baaba’s eyes – so I could do what I want to do.

Senior school was about eye balling the crowd & and if luck smiles getting to know few girls whom we boys wanted to know but no coincidences will put both of us together. But our group was confident that all bangali parents will drag their daughters for the puja – all (ethnically) decked up to boot so it is one occasion we wouldn’t want to miss. Since large part of the school was also present – it was something to brag about & have fun by daring your friends & make them look like idiots.

Teenage – Initial Working days were the days away from home, where you came in as a special guest were more interested in catching up on your sleep (those days there were no internet & no mobile) & books rather than attending the puja.  Ayn Rand, Krishnamurthy (& many others but these were the game changers) stepped in heavy & made me objective & question – all our rituals – because everything looked so hypocritical, steeped in tradition which had no logic & reason. Visit to the pandaal, was going to please Ma–Baaba & to get introduced to unfamiliar uncles & aunties – because I gave the bragging rights (rightfully deserved & no pun intended) to my parents in introducing me as someone who studied away, then working away & so on and so forth.

Marriage changed everything – suddenly it became a BIG family event with families from both sides wanting to showcase the match made in heaven (actually Sunday Times matrimonial) so it was all about introductions & background – our job was to deck up in the cloths given by our parents & of course jewelry & plonk ourselves on the rented plastic chairs (they haven’t changed in 15 years – I am sitting on one right now) & the drama would unfold. Depending on where you are – your embarrassment & “when will this end period” differed.

Kids took the focus away from puja to operations & managing kids – from diapers to selecting the dress & accessories (both of them being girls) to go in time for Anjali & answer their queries as to why not to eat before Anjali to carrying steel plates + spoons to standing in the queue & literally elbowing people so that they can eat to trying out rolls, egg devil, paturi & taking selfie – Phew!! it has been one rollicking journey till they WENT AWAY.

Today, as I sit on a plastic chair not wanting to stand in a queue of 200 + people waiting to give Anjali with 2 Bhog coupons in my pocket & looking at people milling around, gossiping, enjoying the most oiliest & unhygienicaly made food & dancing to an invited Bengali artist, tattoos of various types unknowingly or knowingly exhibited – I know I will be here again next year & year after next probably till I breath my last not questioning or finding a logic for being here.

Just being here is like letting go – from the mundane, objective, disciplined life that occupies most of our days to a chaotic, aimless & take it as it comes bonhomie for few days in a yr. 

Readers Prejudice(s)

I just finished “The Oleander Girl” – Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni. She had become one of my favorite authors after I read “Palace of Illusions”. I followed it up with “Arranged Marriage” & “The lives of strangers”. While in Palace of Illusions the concept itself was so innovative / different that it gives you a different perspective of a tale which has been retold generations after generations. The other two books were more real life and beautifully depicted the up’s & down’s of a relationship & choices we make in our life. What stood out for me was how she could bring out a small & insignificant moment so graphically that I could visualize it, feel the hurt or joy in the deep recess of my heart. Both her books had the background of immigrants & the Bengali milieu – which I love, but after some time it does get repetitive & boring. So I gave her a break & moved on to some other books waiting in my shelf.

The Oleander Girl came recommended to me from a dear friend & I started reading it in earnest, but after a few chapters – everything became so predictable that I kept losing interest. Many elements like the Godhra riots & the Hindu Muslim divide looked force fit & the trappings of a spoilt girl were so clichéd that I was getting bugged as I read. But for my sheer respect & love for the author I finished it last evening.

Looking back, I remembered I had the similar feeling when I read Lowland by Jhumpa Lahiri earlier this year & Amitav Ghosh’s 2nd part of the Ibis trilogy – River of Smoke last year. I have read all their books ever published & hero worship them as those rare authors who can spin such human tales so beautifully. Then why do I feel let down? Literally, hurt & angry when the books are not of my expectation. Is it too much of the same thing? Is it that I can peek into the writer’s mind & know what to expect in the next few pages? Have they become jaded in their story telling?

Honestly, I don’t know, but yes I will definitely hesitate before I spend a large amount of money in buying the 3^rd part of Ibis trilogy (for reason unknown – it’s comes in hard bound & is very expensive) or pre-book my copy. I would rather wait for it to come to my reading library or a friend to buy it or maybe I will just try the e-book if it’s cheaper – If I get used to reading books on my pad.

Is it just a reader’s prejudice or Is it simply a devoted reader’s love for his author….If I meet Amitavda’ in his Goa house I will probably ask him over a fenny. Cheers!!

The lives of strangers

We live our life in a blur, most of us. School gives on to college, love, marriage & then suddenly you hit a stage when you know you are reaching the end of the road when you want to look back.

As we live our life day after day, month after month we also go through gut wrenching moments you want to forget – like the day I saw my mom’s body in a gunny back in a room full of such gunny bags stuffed with dead bodies & I was supposed to identify her face, I did not puke but what I have swallowed makes me sick even now as I write about it or the beautiful moment when I took my new born daughter in my hands after she was born & I broke down – These are moments which remain crystal clear in your mind even after 40 yrs - images which come in a rush like you are living it again.

Then there are times when you want to say something but maybe at that moment you did not have the conviction to say those words & they remained in your mind & the sorrow / joy / expectation. The feelings which ran through you gets hidden in some crevices / layers of your heart, maybe mind (I don’t know). 

These hidden feeling, unspoken conversations – creates at times unknown angst, aspirations shapes our view on life, our relationships, our behavior & our whole outlook towards life. And we live your life mostly basis the experiences & its effect it would have had in you at that moment but in the past. Yes in a way at that moment we move on, let it go but in a deeper sense you don’t.  Good, bad, ugly, delightful – these are the images which get stitched in your mind when you look back.

As I read, Chitra Divakurani I relived many of these moments. It was so real & so beautifully written that I could almost touch, feel & live with these characters (being a bong helped) & by doing relive their (mostly) angst & hurt. Short story writing is a difficult art, you have to build the character, the layers of the individual’s character in those 5-6 pages & close the story in a way that the reader keeps thinking about it, toys with the idea / feelings evoked by the stories till he or she moves on to the next book.

She does that with panache’. The fact that the book made me write the blog so that I could turn around my thoughts into a piece of paper is proof enough.

Footnote: I got introduced to Chitra by her BEST - The palace of illusions & went on to read most of her books. This particular piece was written after reading "The lives of strangers" few months back.

Mother's Day

Mother & Daughter's pose at Ellora (April 2014)

I have not wished my mother for last 2 years because she is not around. She passed away almost 2 yrs back but yes my wife is a mother of 2 and I wished her after seeing a Dettol & P & G ad in the morning newspaper – so did both my daughter’s. We went to dine in Nando’s & the smart manager wanted to take a pic of the family to celebrate mother’s day & send across the photo – They are running a promotion & end of the day we will be counted as successful conversion. On Facebook I see a 6 month old girl angry n confused at being forced to participate in a ceremony and pose for photographs by her mother. I am sure the mother would have wished her mother thru Skype – connecting Dubai to Siliguri.

The maid who cleans our utensils had no clue on mother’s day – but she was happy that we shared the cake with her which otherwise would have got wasted. I also recollected my visit to a sprawling mall – yesterday middle aged ladies who were busy roaming around the store with Collins & scrub to clean the racks / shelves from where people like us would have billed products worth twice their salary. I am sure they will go back home after changing few buses to reach a home which has bulbs but no electricity, taps but no water – and children who have no idea of mother’s day.

As the day comes to a close my daughter’s come to say Good Night to me, I wonder at the contradictions of life & the belief that they will see a better world when their turn comes to get wished on a mother’s day.