December 30, 2014
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for my blog.
Here's an excerpt:
A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 4,500 times in 2014. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 4 trips to carry that many people.
Click here to see the complete report.
September 1, 2014
Poems - Bangla
Bengali, Kolkata, Poem, Poetry
যাই হোক !!!
তবে যে বললে সব পাল্টে গেছে
কই গলফগ্রীন হাওড়া মিনিবাস টার রূট এখোনো তো একি আছে
এখোনো কংডক্টর মানেই ‘এই ধর্মতলা রবাজ়ার হাওড়া, রোককে ল্যাডীস, আস্তে বায়ে ট্যাক্সী’
আর গড়িয়াহাট মোড় থেকেই ‘এই লেবু লজেন্স, ভাজা বাদাম, দলমুত বলবেন’ এর সুর,
আজো 5.10 এর বনগও লোকল মানেই পালা বদলের তুমুল তক্কো আর ট্রেন ওঠার মারামারি,
এখোনো ভরে গরের মাঠে ফুটবলে লাথি আর গঙ্গাএ স্নান
আর বৃষ্টি মানেই হাঁটু জল এবং জুতো মাথায় বাড়ি ফেরা,
আজো টিনের চলে বৃষ্টির সেই সব্দও তো একি আছে
যখন সহর টাকে ওরা লন্ডন বানাবে এসব কেও কি বদলে দেবে?
Jai hok !!!(transliterated)
tobe je bolley sob palte geche,
koi Golfgreen-howrah minibuser route ta to eki ache,
ekhono conductor manei ‘dhormotolla borobazar howrah, rokkey ladies, aste baey taxi’
aar Goriahat thekei ‘ei lebu logenze, bhaja badam, dalmut bolben’ er sur,
aajo 5.10 er Bongaon local manei pala bodoler tumul tokko aar trainey othar maramari,
ekhono bhore gorer mathe futbole lathi aar gongae snan
aar brishti manei hantu jol ebong juto mathay bari phera,
aajo tiner chaley brishtir sei sobdho to eki ache
jokhon sohor takey ora London banabe esob keo ki bodle debe?
so you said everything has changed,
where? the Golfgreen-howrah minibus still plies on the same route,
still conductor hums ”dhormotolla borobazar howrah, stop ladies, slow down taxi on left’
and from Gariahat you hear melodious cry ‘lemon candy, fried peanuts, dalmut’
even today 5.10 Bongoan local means arguments related to govt. policies and fight to get into the train,
still early mornings mean football at maidan and bathing in ganga
and rains mean wading through knee deep water with shoes on your head
even today rain drops on the tin roof sound same
when they’ll turn the city into London will they change all the above?
we often say things have changed but certain things about a city don’t change in fact they should not change as it gives the city its identity…
The poem may not make much sense to people who have not lived in Kolkata, here I have tried to get a glimpse of the things which are yet to change …those little things which still make me call the city as ‘Kolkata’…
June 15, 2014
Child, Father-Son, Relationship
Welcome to this world. I became a father the day you were conceived (9 months back) but you became my son on 7th of May Two thousand and fourteen a month before your expected date.
Congratulations for making this journey bravely. Your grandparents said, you did make a lot of noise but that’s ok you needed to tell the world that you’ve arrived!!! Sorry son for not being able to be there to hold you in my arms and welcome you into this world.
Being the internet savvy daddy to be I had been reading all about how fetuses (Yes that what you were called when you were inside your mommy’s tummy) grow. Just to know more about your life inside your mommy’s tummy. But son I missed listening to your first heartbeat (your mommy was exhilarated), missed your first photo shoot. According to your mommy you made the doctor’s life difficult by refusing to remove your fingers from your mouth and giving a clear shot of your face. And why not, the doctor should have asked your permission before clicking your pictures. Thank you son for letting me touch you one day while you were conducting your usual business of kicking and punching mommy, I could feel you. Boy you kicked really hard! May lord keep you that strong and healthy all your life.
When mommy held you for the first time to feed you your very first meal you looked at her in amazement and smiled. Yes my dear son that wonderful woman is your mommy. No matter what, she’ll take care of you all her life. Although I am not there with you physically but I manage to hear you registering your desires, wishes and complaints (yes, always it’s me who’s on the other end of your mommy’s phone). Once again sorry son for not being there but don’t worry soon we too will have our own father – son moments.
Whether I’ll be your daddy cool or another brick in your wall is what you have to figure. But I know you are not here to complete my unfinished sentences (of course, you can if you choose to). Summer sun is scorching where you are right now but elsewhere in many parts of the world spring flowers are blossoming. Like those new flowers I want you to bloom exotically with your new dreams. So, do I really need to say? “Go tiger! Live your dream. Let me be the guiding star”.
May 21, 2014
Poems - Bangla
bangla, Poetry, Politics
ওরা দড়ি ধরে মরে টান তবে রাজা হন খান খান
কাল ছিলো মসনদে আজ সে ধুলো চাটে …
ইতিহাস করে পরিহাস বলে এটাই রাজনীতির রীতি
ঈশ্বর আল্লা তেরো নাম সবাই কে যে সন্মতি দেন ভগবান …
French wine, Russian vodka আর Kingfisher beer মিলে মিসে হয় একা কার
সুদিনের আসায় ওদের তো আগুনের নেই দরকার. জয় হোক ! প্রতি বারি তো ওদেরই সরকার|
ora dori dhore mare taan tobe raja hon khaan khaan
kal chilo masnode aaj se dhulo chatey…
itihaas kore porihaas bole etai rajnitir riti
ishwar alla tero naam sobai ke je sonmoti den bhogobaan…
French wine, Russian vodka aar Kingfisher beer mile mise hoy eka kaar
sudiner asay oder to aguner nei dorkaar. Joy hok! Proti baar to oderi sorkaar.
PS: There is no translation when lines are born out of wine, vodka and beer mix. So, non bangla readers please excuse.
June 12, 2013
Poems - Bangla
bangla, broken dreams, crossroad, Poem, Poetry, untrodden path
না যাওয়া পথ, কেমন আছ? আজও জান্তে যে খুব ইচ্ছা হয়,
ভেঙ্গে ফেলা সপ্নের টুকরো গুলি ছুঁতে যে এখনো মন চায়,
এত গুলি বছর পরেও আবার সেই মোড়ের সামনে দাড়াতে যে প্রাণ চায়,
কিন্তু, আমি কি পাল্টে গেছি? সেই প্রশ্নের উত্তর খুঁজতে যে এখনো ভয় হয় |
Porichito Sombedon (transliterated)
na jawa poth, tumi kemon acho? aajo jante je khub ichha hoy
benge phela sei soppner tukro guli chunte je ekhono mon chay
eto guli bochor poreo abar sei morer samne darate je pran chay
kintu, ami ki palte gechi? sei prosner uttor khunjte je ekhono bhoy hoy.
Known Sensation (translated )
Unexplored ways, how are you? Heart wants to know,
Broken dreams, still want to touch your strewn pieces,
Even after so many years want to stand before that crossroad,
but have I changed? Still, too afraid to answer that question.
Note: As always I tried to translate but could not get it right I think….
May 16, 2013
77 words, Coffee shop, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Memoirs, Rains, Short Story
Still remember, I was at my usual place, cozy corner by the window, sipping my black coffee. A couple was sitting outside with their coffees, hands held and gazes locked. Strong winds began blowing, flash! Clap! Down came large drops, pounding hard. They had to run. Boy tried to protect the girl with his coat, while her red umbrella lay behind. The board washed out in minutes. The moment froze in my eternal frame. My perfect shot!
Memoirs of a sidekick
Still remember the moment, when you picked me off Macy’s and changed my life. You had said, when I was around, you felt safe. Ever since, come rain or shine, I was there for you, protecting.
But today’s rain, along with the board over there, washed off many things.
First, it did hurt. But I am really happy, that you found someone, ultimately. Yet, if you ever need me again, you know where the coffee shop is.
Note: These were my submissions for a 77 word fiction contest in my office quite sometime back, where you had to write a story, poem or non-fiction based on picture in 77 words….
When you are out of ideas you recycle your old stuff like I am doing here ….
January 2, 2013
alter ego, ramblings, Writer's block
Yesterday, I met him while strolling in the park. He, who was an apprentice learning to weave fables and ballads at the dream factory. A strike by the workers followed by lockout in the factory rendered him jobless. Since then no one heard of him.
He was sitting on a bench lost in different world. I tapped on his shoulders and asked, “Hello my friend! How are you? Where have you been, so long?” He was startled.
“I went on a little vacation.” He answered still lost, “Were you looking for me? Are you missing me?”
“Yes of course. I am missing your fables, now that you are back, do we get to read your tales soon?” I inquired.
He looked up, pointed to the stars and muttered “maybe”. Then, walked out of the park without turning back.
If you are wondering what was the last paragraph all about. Well, it is about my meeting with my alter ego. It is said everybody has one. If you are a writer then you ought to have one. And my alter ego is the one who provides me with words that I weave and I was missing him for some time.
Talking of being a writer, one thing that every writer dreads is something called ‘writers block’. There comes a time in every writer’s life when words turn hostile. Stories just stop flowing and suddenly nothing inspires anymore and you feel helpless. What do you do then? I would say don’t panic; just relax, like they say ‘take the chill pill’. Let the writer inside go on a vacation. When it’s time, suddenly one day you’ll see the spark is back and words will start flowing like never before. It will all come back. I would like to thank my work friend L for lighting the lamp by asking me to write a blog for our office internal blog .
Lastly, a remarkable year has come to end. The Mayans were not wrong after all, world did change for many of us. Looking forward to another eventful year. Wish you all a Happy and prosperous 2013.
PS: This an extract from a post for my office blog.