This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 13; the thirteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

He loved goodbyes!
‘He’ or “Abhi” as his father had named him. His father had said “Not Abhi-k or Abhi-sek or Abhi-jit or  Abhi-roop  just Abhi, short, sweet without any baggage”.  Abhi’s father was in Army and would go away to the border for long periods of time.  He missed his father but the best part of his father’s leaving home for duty was saying good bye to his dad. He loved the railway stations, the ambience there, the chugging away of the trains thrilled him to no end. Once during vacations Abhi’s dad had arranged a trip to the hills where Abhi’s dad was posted. Abhi was really excited by the idea of travelling by train like his dad. But he was utterly disappointed when no one had come to say goodbye to him and his mother.  Family for Abhi meant his mom and Dad. Abhi’s parents had married against the wishes of his grandparents so their respective families had cut-off all relations from them. Hence there was no one to see them off at the station when they left for the hills.  But all his disappointments and heartbreaks melted the moment the train entered the destination station. His dad was there, waiting at the platform with a huge smile and open arms to receive them.  Those fifteen days were one of the best in Abhi’s life and while returning the goodbye was grand as his dad’s colleagues had come to see them off with a number of gifts for him and most importantly his dad was coming home with them.  That day little Abhi had decided he would join the Army like his dad and work in the hills. Dreams, ambitions and lives are shattered by war. In one such war Abhi’s dad had returned home in coffin wrapped in country’s flag. He was still very young to understand the final goodbye he had so say to his father when he lit the pyre. But seeing his mother’s stony silence he realized, that he will never be able to join the Army.
As we know life doesn’t stop or slow down, Abhi too was growing up rapidly as per the nature’s rules. In the process he had made many friends but one among them was his best mate. Sundar was a back bencher like Abhi and that’s how they became close. They would bunk school and go to the sea shore and wave goodbyes to the passing ships.
Abhi remarked one day “I envy those sailors” popping 3-4 peanuts into his mouth and passing the paper bag to Sundar.
“Yes! I wish I could be one” Sundar replied.
“To be a good sailor you need to study, study really hard, boys” a voice remarked from behind breaking into their conversation.
Abhi and Sundar startled by the voice, turned to find out the source.
An old man was smiling at them.
“Sorry boys broke in like this but take it from a retired sailor, go to school and study hard, and then one day you’ll see yourself captaining a ship into the oceans” said the old man looking far away into the sea.
The old man’s word had magical effect on the boys and they went back to school and never bunked classes again. A few years later, one day, they were back at the port. Sundar in a sailor’s uniform and Abhi was there to send him off.  No, Abhi couldn’t become a sailor, his mother was very ill and he couldn’t leave her alone in that state. So he took over his mother’s Gift Shop. But he was happy for Sundar. When Sundar’s ship set sail Abhi had waved to him and uttered “Goodbye my friend, do  keep sending postcards of the lands you visit”.
Abhi with his hard work and ingenuity had expanded the gift shop and in a short period his shop was the best in the city.  But his mother’s deteriorating health kept him concerned.  Her memory was wiping off progressively, initially she used to forget names, then she forgot faces including Abhi and finally she couldn’t do basic day to day operations. He helplessly watched her losing herself. One night she fell off fatally from her bed. Abhi didn’t even get a chance to say his final goodbye to her.
Life couldn’t be all that harsh with him. He met Suzanne in his shop; she had come to his shop looking for gift for her kid brother. Abhi helped her in deciding a perfect gift. They kept meeting often and steadily they became very close. Finally Abhi proposed to Suzanne and she accepted. They got married soon and when they were setting off for honeymoon, Abhi was overwhelmed by huge set of Suzanne’s family and friends at the railway station bidding them goodbye, as the train rolled out of the platform Abhi waved at the crowd.
Indeed he loved goodbyes!

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“Papa! Look what I have got from Kolpotoru Dadu this time” exclaimed an excited Drojo clutching a new Noddy book wrapped in coloured cellophane paper.
“Very nice! ” I smiled at my little son.

Today, let me tell you the story of Drojo’s Kolpotoru Dadu, my Kolpotoru Dadu, our Kolpotoru Dadu.

We had just moved into Flat No- 61A, the south facing flat on 5th Floor of newly built Vishal Towers, 5A/1 Gangullypara Lane. I was living there with my parents and two little sisters, Dimpi and Tinki, who were twins. I must have been of Drojo’s age then, 6 years and my sisters 3 years.
The school bus would not enter our lane and drop us at bus stand on the main road. Since our apartment was inside the lane, we had to walk about 500-600 meters from the bus-stand while returning or going to school. Ma would escort us between the bus stand and home.


Read the rest @ Neha’s Blog



This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 10; the tenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

The rain had stopped just a while ago but the little droplets were trickling down the glass of the window each making their own path to the window sill. Roma looked out of the window, she could see the crimson sun setting amidst the tall coconut trees. In the ground nearby little boys in half pants and bare bodies were kicking around the football in mud and slush. They were completely drenched in mud yet they were laughing, shouting and shoving each other merrily. Roma turned away from the window and looked around the room, in one corner was the ‘bed’ of quilts,blankets and pillows which was rolled up neatly, beside it was the harmonium, tanpura and the mat rolled up, set vertically against the wall, beside it was a trunk with a huge padlock which contained the “valuables”. On the other corner was a kerosene stove and a few pots, pans and just beside the ‘bathroom’s’ tin door was a big iron bucket with a blue handle-broken plastic mug floating in it. On the wall beside window was the small mirror and an old calendar with Ma Kali’s picture decorated with a dried, dusty hibiscus garland. Roma glanced at the clock “its time, they’ll be here, let me get ready” she thought.


Dearest Ma,

I know this will hurt you a lot but I am left with no other option. I have to go as he is waiting for me in a taxi at the bus stand. I have thought a lot about the proposal but still couldn’t accept father’s chosen man. Ma I am leaving the ‘home’ where I spent my entire childhood to start ‘my own’ family. I am not taking any jewelery or the Benarosi you had selected for me, just taking a small chain and abundant courage which I inherited from you. I think that’s the biggest gift Ma from you.
I know I am leaving loads of insults for you, this disaster of girl eloping on the eve of marriage. But it’s not the age of playing with dolls Ma, this is life, real family. Ma you had said once that’s its hard to recognize people it’s the heart that is important not the money. Number of rich, handsome boys have tried to seduce me with their money and fame but I knew ultimately they would dump me. He is not so good-looking and has lots of shortcomings. He doesn’t have rich or famous lineage but has the courage to speak truth.
Ma I am leaving for good and will not return ever.

Your most loving daughter

Its been so long but Roma still remembers each and every word of the letter she had kept on her cot before leaving. She had left dressed as maid servant to avoid detection of her father and uncles. Anirban and his friend were waiting in the taxi at the bus stand as promised. They had gone to Kalighat directly and got married with the blessings from Maa Kali. Then they had fled to another city where Anirban’s friend had arranged a place of stay for them.Life was a picking up its rhythm in those first days. Anirban used go in search of some work and Roma would try to set-up her new ‘home’. She would lovingly sweep the floor, get water from the community hand-pump and cook. It was same Roma who actually had never entered the kitchen or done any housework in her ‘mother’s home’ because they had maids and servants to do everything. Her job was to just open her mouth sometimes even that was not required Ma would do that. Now Roma was doing everything for love. Anirban too was very nice he used to eat with a smile whatever palatable or otherwise was put by Roma on his plate. On weekends they would go to parks and gardens around the city just as they used to do before marriage. In short life was a bliss.


“What you just got that silly necklace from your home and nothing else” uttered Anirban in frustration.
“But I never knew you were interested in jewelery, money etc” Roma was still shocked at Anirban’s enquiry of her jewelery.
“No I was not but I never contemplated the situation would turn so bad and thought you were very pragmatic … life can’t be led just on ideals, love etc. It needs food, shelter and clothing” Anirban seemingly disgusted.

Things started getting haywire when Anirban lost his day job and failed to get another job. He would do some petty jobs and bring home whatever he could but most of the times it was not enough. Roma started giving tuitions and music lessons to children in the locality and somehow they were able to make ends meet.

Roma was helped by didis of nari niketan to learn stitching and start working in the garments section of the co-operative. Meanwhile Anirban started drinking and stopped looking for any permanent job and would lie at home whole day idling or drinking. Roma tried very hard to stop Anirban from drinking by refusing him any money but he would not listen. Anirban would do some petty work and finance his drinking. If she denied him food, he would arrange his food outside somehow but would not stop drinking. He would sleep outside when Roma denied him entry to their home. Though he never created any ruckus or hit Roma in his drunken state but would not stop drinking either.

Roma watched helplessly as Anirban wasted himself away. She contemplated suicide many times but couldn’t do it ultimately as she was not that courageous to kill herself. Hence she surrendered herself to fate and continued her life by giving tuitions in morning, working for the co-operative in the afternoon and giving music lessons in the evening and kept hoping that one day things will change for better.


PS: This is my tribute to a famous Bengali song called “Roma” by Anjan Dutta. In fact Bengali friends would have noticed that the letter is nothing but an English translation of the song. After listening to the song I always thought what might have happened to Roma after she fled, Did she have a happy ending or otherwise? As far my personal experience is I have seen Romas having both happy and tragic ends.

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This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 9; the ninth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

“Look what I have found in his drawer while cleaning his desk today” whispered Sudha nervously handing over the piece of folded paper to Vimal.
“What is it?” replied Vimal, irritated.
“Sssh… Just read it and don’t shout he’s in the other room.” said Sudha in low voice indicating Vimal to lower his voice too.
Vimal opened the paper and read it, frowned and looked at it again. He seemed to be worried too, looked at Sudha and blurted “Are..”
Sudha put her hand on his mouth and whispered “What are you doing slowly”.
Vimal lowered his voice and asked in questioning tone “Are you sure he wrote this one?”.
Sudha irked and retorted “I told you I found it in his drawer moreover don’t you recognize his handwriting?”
“Yes but why would he write such a thing.” replied Vimal and thought something.
“Had I known it then why would I ask you. Shall we talk to a pychiatrist. We need to do something before its too late. Thank God I found this one otherwise…Oh my God I can’t take it anymore…. Please do something..” Vimal hushes Sudha and looks at the paper once again.
“No! No pychiatrist. Right now we have to be very careful on this one. You know how today’s kids are we have to be very careful. I think you need to keep a close eye on him.” Added Vimal unmindfully “Another thing he  should not suspect that we have discovered this note and behave normal with him. We have to be very careful. Meanwhile let me do some enquiries and see how to handle this one..”
“Good Lord never can understand what goes on in the boy’s mind” said Vimal to himself seemingly disturbed.
Vimal switched on the light on the table in his study. The study was a small cosy room with a large window in the left and couch underneath it, there was a table beside it with a huge shelf stuffed with books, adjoining it was another shelf with all kinds of CDs/DVDs. The table had a computer and the usual stuff. Vimal pulled the chair and sat on it. This was his place of recluse and generally was ‘out of bounds’  from the rest of the world.
He pulled the bottom most drawer and found the cigarette pack and the lighter, he looked into the packet and found there were 6 sticks in it still. He pulled out one and went to the couch and looked out of the window. The dark night sky had turned reddish and there were no signs of the stars or the moon. The winds were really strong and the wind chimes were making a strange music. “It must have rained somewhere” thought Vimal aloud. He liked the smell of the first rain and he always liked this climate specially after such super hot days but today he was not really interested in the weather outside.
Vimal looked at the chair and let out a cloud of smoke. He thought I have solved so many complex issues sitting there. That was his ‘idea’ chair. But all those ‘problems’ were solved by his mind but today he’s faced with something that involved his heart too. He took out the note Sudha had given from his kurta’s pocket and looked at it once again.
It said “I AM USELESS I AM A WASTE PLEASE KILL ME” all in capital letters as if the writer of the note was screaming. “Really Brave” he thought about his wife Sudha who didn’t panic on seeing such a note in their only son’s table but actually came to him, like she always did during tough time. So he should not panick but think! Think of a way out of this. His analytical mind started to look for answers to ‘Why?’, ‘What on earth could have gone wrong?’.
Vimal started to think about his son Vishal. Who was an intelligent, enthusiastic, energetic young boy in short a ‘super cool’ dude the ‘Bindaas banda’. Yes that’s what everybody said about their Vishy(that’s what Sudha had called her baby when she first held him in her hands and later Vishy became Vishal for offical documents but remained Vishy to all his loved ones.) He and Sudha had brought up their son very grounded so naturally Vishy was a very level-headed child Vimal thought.Then what had gone wrong suddenly?  No there can’t be any generation gap here as he had always treated his son with the respect and care a young adult deserves the moment he steps into his teens. Vimal had learnt this skill from his own father with whom he never had any generation issues. “So Mr. Vimal where is the gap?” he questioned himself.
Vimal’s thoughts kept going in circles and ending up in the same place irrespective of the fact that le he started to think from a very different angle. What happened to his ‘out-of-box’ thinking abilities he wondered. But he would not give up so easily so he started from the beginning and concluded that only way to get to the bottom of this was to get inside Vishy’s mind but How he thought. Just then a face flashed in his mind. It was the ever smiling face of Tinni. Tonima was Vimal’s sister’s daughter. They lived in same lane and Tinni was a year older to Vishy. They had grown up together and were very close. They were the bestest friends and not just cousins. Vimal felt a little relieved at the silver lining that Tinni seemed to be at that point. Vimal looked at the clock it showed 2.30AM. “Time to go to bed” told Vimal to himself.
“Impossible! Mamu. It can’t be bhai…” exclaimed Tinni jumping up from chair after reading the note.
“I know I know beta this doesn’t make any sense but you know your brother’s handwriting right”.
Tinni didn’t say anything just shook her head in despair as if trying put the peices of puzzle together.
“Ok Tinni beta could it be he was seeing somebody and something happened there. I mean…”
“Oh mamu you know bhai, girls are the last thing he will be serious about.” Tinni a little irritated by the whole thing.
“Whatever it is, you have to help. See you are closest to him so you should try to talk to him and get to the base of all this.”  uttered Vimal and looked at Tinni with hope as if she was his saviour.
“Hmm…’ replied Tinni absent-mindedly.
“Bapi where is ma?” blurted out Vishy looking very  anxious.
“She’s gone to the Kalibari today is Saturday remember. What is it can I be useful?” said Vimal lovingly. He thought this could the opportunity to talk to Vishy directly as Tinni had failed to extract any information.
“No Nothing…” replied Vishy and turned to rush back to his room.
“Tell me what is it maybe I can solve it for you.”
“Well then actually I have to complete an entry for a young writer’s challenge.”
“Oh great what’s the challenge about let me see if I can contribute.”
“No Bapi that’s not the problem. They had given a line on which I have to write a funny story and I had written the line on a piece of paper and I am not finding the paper now. “
“Oh how big was the line don’t you remember them.” Vimal seemed to relax.
“I wan’t the exact words you see its important. It was something like ‘I am waste I am useless Kill me’ or something.”
PS: This is a work of fiction. I sincerely wish that every father whose child gets suicidal becomes a ‘Fool’ like Vimal and this story doesn’t
remain a fiction.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

What If!


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 7; the seventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

“Come on Sam! You can just one point!” his team-mates were cheering him but I wanted him to loose. Sameer Arora aka Sam as he liked to call himself. Sam was the semi-finalist the year before whereas Srinu his opponent was an underdog. I was supporting Srinu not only because he was from our batch and we practiced together but we didn’t want that arrogant Sam to win. So we were giving experts tips to Srinu as to How to overcome Sam and I sent a silent prayer to favour Srinu.  That day for a change God had listened to me. Srinu had won the match and went onto quarter-finals. We celebrated with strawberry juice. Oh I’ll never forget the look on Sam’s face.

But that was all a year back. Today an email from HR left me aghast. It said


It is with deep regret that we inform you about the sad demise of our colleague Sameer Arora, in a tragic road accident on Saturday.

We offer our heartfelt condolences to his family.

Let us observe two minutes silence at 3.00pm today as a mark of respect to the departed soul.

We pray to the Almighty to give his family courage and strength to overcome this grief. May his soul rest in peace.”

I rushed to his project and found his photo on his cubicle and his bereaved team-mates narrated that Sameer was returning from a party that night and he had his helmet on and had stopped at a signal. A little girl had smiled and waved at him from a neighbouring car and he had taken off his helmet to talk to the little one. Just then a speeding SUV with drunken driver on the wheel lost control of the vehicle and knocked Sameer down fatally. After listening to this tale a lot What Ifs came to  mind but the truth is Sameer is no more with us.

Every year thousands of people die on roads due to drunken driving. We have stringent rules in place but unless we ourselves do not follow the rules we will have to come face to face with such ugly What Ifs.

This post is based on true events and last week I have lost someone I knew. The reason why I replaced the original post for blog-a-ton is more people will read this and would request you to spread the message.

PS: Though this one based on true events names and other details have been changed for privacy purpose.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

All in a day’s work


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 5; the fifth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Its not morning yet as sun has not risen over the chilly winter horizon. But she has to wake up after all its question of bread and butter. So quietly She gets out of her straw bed careful enough not wake her family, her husband, her children, her in-laws.

She doesn’t need an alarm clock actually its her body clock that has been doing the job since she was 16 come rain, shine, winter all year round without fail. She goes to ‘bathroom’ and finishes washing herself and doing her morning chores because her mother-in-law doesn’t like anyone to enter ‘kitchen’ without bath.

4.20 AM
She walks into the kitchen lights up the stove to prepare the ‘breakfast’ for her school going younger children. Lunch she doesn’t worry because her eldest daughter takes care of it. But breakfast she does as she wants her girl to enjoy some sleep.

4.45 AM
She ‘gets ready’ for work putting on a shawl she looks lovingly on her sleeping family and walks out. No good bye kisses and hugs. She walks fast onto the mud road leading upto the main road. She meets her fellow workers and they start the chatter so that the walk becomes easier.

5.05 AM
Still its cold and dark out there and a thick layer of fog making the visibility very low yet they hear the ‘Sobji Gari'(Fruits and vegetable train) pass its the first train. In 5 mins their Lakhikantopur Local will arrive. They hurriedly rush to the platform meeting, waving, smiling at other acquaintances. Reaching their  spot that is the exact point where the ‘Ladies’ compartment of EMU train will arrive. The place was already crowded with other passengers waiting for the train.

5.20 AM
Its already 10 mins. since the train should have arrived. She asked another woman “Didi what’s the time? The train seems to be late today?” Other woman replied “Yes it already 10 mins late maybe due to this fog trains are running slowly”. She knew it was right, delays often happen in winter mornings due to heavy fog. But today She should have been early as yesterday the security of the apartment said her that Bose boudi is coming and had informed them to tell her to visit boudi’s flat.

5.40 AM
The Platform now is quite crowded as passenger for next trains also have arrived She knows it will be very difficult today. Just then they announced that Up Lakhikantopur Local is arriving shortly. She felt relieved finally its not too late.

5.43 AM

The train has arrived that after a lot pushing and shoving around She could herself merely in. Her shawl was precariously hanging through the door. But She is used to it. Her sole goal is to get in at next stop take a decent place to stand for the rest of the Journey. She’s used to it but now-a-days her legs pain maybe She’s getting old. She chats with her fellow travelers they catch up and pull each others legs. They discuss their salary and other work related issue and ofcourse the gossip as to whats going on where but She’s least interested in the last one. Yet she listens as it is an important part of her profession.

7.15 AM
The train generally takes about an hour to reach but due to fog today it got quite late. One by one most of her companion get down at their destinations. She along with a couple of others wait for their station Dhakuria to arrive but the train stopped at the signal Just in front of the signal. Some people start jumping out as it nearly there, She too jumps on to side  of the railway track and starts walking quick actually almost running today She’s very late. Nag mashima must be very cross.

7.25 AM
Nag mashima answered the door “What is this I thought you are not coming today. What happened again late today?” She said “Mashima due to fog the train got late what can I do?” Nag mashima retorted “Bablu and Bouma(daughter-in-law)’s office won’t listen now quickly start working you get into kitchen first, rest you’ll do later. See Bouma is already preparing food.” She looked truly the daughter-in-law was preparing food and She was naturally in bad mood as She had step into kitchen though they are paying through the nose for a maid”.

8.30 AM
She hurries to the Bagchi household for her work there and here she did not face tirade of questions as She had told one of  her friend who works with the Bagchi’s neighbor’s to update them about the delay.

9.20 AM
After finishing at another house She walked into the apartment. The security said “Oh you have come go Bose Boudi and their Son have just come half an hour back they were asking about you”. She was happy hear this. Bose boudi was her employer for many years. Then they shifted to some other city but have retained their apartment here and come here once or twice a year and whenever they come She’s the one they look for and She also is too Happy to work for them for the Short period that they stay. Bose boudi is overwhelmed to see her at door. She said “Boudi today I got late otherwise I would have come earlier”. Boudi smiled ” No problem our train was also late due to the fog. So can you just sweep now so that we can start the day and then you can come later for other work”.

12 Noon
She’s back at Nag mashima for the rest of the work. Here she gets lunch as well. Actually She works in 6 houses in total and most of them give her ‘tiffin’ but at the Nag household she does the cooking along with other chores so She gets lunch.

3.30 PM
She’s with the Bose boudi’s for the remaining work generally she heads home at this hour but for next 10 or so days She will extend her work hours to accommodate Bose boudi. Bose boudi said “Today you’ll get late it will be dark when you reach. How will you go?” She replied “Don’t worry boudi. My nephew works near the station I’ll ask him to take me home”.

4.15 PM
She heads towards the platform for the 4.30 train today she has a big bag today as Bose Boudi has given a lot stuff. She reaches her home by 6 PM. Its the end of her work day but its still a long time when she finally can call it a day.

PS: This is the schedule of the woman who has been washing our dirty linen and dishes and keeping our home clean for over decade. A woman who is my mom’s man Friday. A woman I address as Didi though she is younger to me I guess. A woman who would never be able to read this. A woman who is part of a tribe that is called ‘Kajer lok’ in west Bengal(my home state) ”Kajer Lok” literally means “People of work”.

Image :

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If I were a Baby Again


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 4; the fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

If I were a Baby Now

I would be pampered Wow!

No need to worry about anything,

Only a cry was enough to set things rolling.


Everyone would want to hold me or play with me

and I would be the apple of their eye.

If I were a  Baby Now,

Everyone would say Wow,

Look he knows this is a TV remote,

and that is a Cell-Phone!


But then I would be very dependent

cause they would be clueless and,

When I cry out of hunger,

would look at my nappy for answer.

Also I would be given only Milk, Dalia & Lactogen

No beer, whiskey or chilly chicken.


If I were a Baby now

to write these lines pen would ask how?

After the awesome poem lets have a mind-blowing 55-Fiction 😉

“See Maa how he’s behaving, Don’t know who’s the father and who’s the son ” uttered Shonali disgustingly looking at the antics of Varun and Tikloo.

“Don’t worry beta it runs in their blood even I had same complaint with your Sasurji” smiled Uma reminiscing How her husband would become a baby alongwith Varun.

Note: Sasurji= Father-in-law

This 55-Fiction is inspired from the poem of the great Hindi poetess Subhadra Kumari Chauhan‘s “Mera Naya Bachpan“. The poem is in Hindi(Sorry non-Hindi readers I couldn’t find an English translation) and if you have not read it then take sometime and read it(non-Hindi reader ask for assistance). Its a classic poem where poetess remembers fondly about her own childhood but her daughter makes it up by making her reliving the childhood through her innocent deeds.

We always wish that we could go back to our childhood/babyhood but truth is we cannot as time only goes forward unless ofcourse if you have a time machine. So what we can do is become a baby or a child once again by being with children(our own or anybody else’s) and becoming a part of their innocent universes.

Regarding the poem I have to say is that its one of the worst written pieces of my life and if you actually have read through it then I really appreciate your patience and courage (Yes you need that to read a pathetic poem.  I must tell you last blog-a-ton we had so many awesome poems so I thought let me try it this time and result is in front of you). I know I’ll  lose all votes because I put it at beginning and people might have abandoned the post itself after first two lines.(Note: I had got only 1vote in one edition… thanks to Sid aka Ravan, So votes do not matter really but reader’s torture does buddy !!!). So Read it, Curse it and Forget it but do let me know how was the 55-Fiction or the post in general?

PS : Interesting stats …. posts were getting longer but this whole baby thing made it shorter so to save yourselves suggest such tricky topics ….

If I were a Baby again – 580 words

The Indian Dream         – 978 words

Teachers AajKal          – 884 words

Cream & Scum of Blogging – 489 words

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

The Indian Dream


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 3; the third edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

I am reminded of the famous dailogue from the Hindi film Guru(2007) “Sapne maat dekha karo, Sapne kabhi pure nahi hote mera bapu kehta tha”(tr: Don’t dream because dreams never come true my father used to say)

When I saw the topic for Blog-a-ton3 I was completely at a loss as to what to write about but then on reading through the comments of the voting post I found a comment by Indian Pundit who suggested the topic “Its just the DESI version of American Dream……..hope u get the point.
We Indians too have certain dreams and aspirations about ourselves and about our country”
. Oh Ok I got it but wait what is American Dream? Like a true techie ‘Googled’ the words “American Dream” and bang the first on the list was a wiki entry gr8. So I knew the job was easy now and Googled with “The Indian Dream” well there was no wiki entry this time how sad though we have entries for European Dream, Australian Dream, New Zealand dream but no Indian Dream ( I think we can put a wiki entry of ‘Indian dream’ as a summary of the blog-a-ton posts. What say?).

Now what do I do? I looked into some of the search items in Google and found the general usage of the word Indian Dream equates with the ‘Dollar Dream’ that is the software industry which gave way to so many “Indians” from small towns & villages go to West and become a ‘coveted’ NRIs. Let me tell you thats basically a Westerner’s take on Desi version of American Dream. So do I talk of that ‘Indian’ dream or the ‘Indian’ dream of who is born, raised, lives and dies in India.

I think I should talk about the ‘Indian dream’ of one who is born, raised, lives and dies in India. But before I go to the ‘Indian Dream’ lets first define what is ‘India’? “India” that we see today is a country that was shaped by the British who conquered over a bunch of disparate kingdoms and brought them under one administrative system. So now we have a ‘sketchy’ idea what ‘India’ is, now the actual ‘Indian Dream’. So initially the Indian Dream was to live in a ‘free’ country that is a country that is ruled by the “Brown” sahibs instead of the ‘Gora’(White) Sahibs. On 15th August 1947 that dream was fulfilled after a lot of sweat, blood & tears.

Then came the Dream of building a country out of what was left by the British. A strong nation which can defend its people, which can provide the basic necessities to its people. Then we had leaders like Indira Gandhi & Rajiv Gandhi who dreamt India can be at par with the ‘developed’ nations. Rajiv Gandhi said “Garibi hatao” (tr: remove poverty) but over a century ago Swami Vivekanada had openly declared that the real cause of India’s downfall was the neglect of the masses.  The immediate need was to provide food and other bare necessities of life to the hungry millions.

Well they were some of the ‘ancient’ dreams.Lets see what a ‘modern’ dream is. Recently a newspaper cartoon caught my attention in which they showed village women wondering How discovery of water in moon by Chandrayan-I help ease their pain of walking miles for water. I am not going into any debate of what should the dream be but what the cartoon conveyed is an ‘ugly truth’.

The epicentre of “Dollar dreams”,  Bangalore which nearly transformed into American nightmare cannot provide its citizens with 24 hrs of power(which is but a basic thing in the countries from where ‘we’ get the outsourcing contracts), the citizens do not have good motorable roads, neither do they have safe drinking water in every part of the city. Yet the city signals display signboards with ‘Texas Instruments’ etched on it.

Then the dream of a ‘strong’ nation. Well for that we have to sacrifice more than 500 brave and talented men just to drive out infiltrators from our own land. So what happens if a “regular” army attacks( The thousands of men there will sacrifice everything again and ensure that we are safe).

So when I sit down to write about the “Indian Dream” I see we still have so many ‘basic’ dreams and surprisingly we have resources to fulfill them yet we are not able to fulfill them. So whats stopping us? I think its corruption, nepotism, favoritism which has got into the very roots of our systems. So I dream of a country ‘free’ of these and then rest of the dreams will come true on its own.(Does it sound too Socialistic, see this is the result of growing up in a socialist state[West Bengal]).

It will really be interesting to see what all of you have in store in form of “Indian Dream” and maybe our descendants(don’t know which generation) in Blog-a-ton ‘n’ write whether those dreams were fulfilled. So Do I end in true Guru Bhai ishtyle “Dekhna hai ek aur sapna …. banna hai duniya ki sabse khushal desh”(tr: “Lets see another dream…. to become the most prosperous nation in the world”)

PS: I have not read “The Great Indian Dream” by Arindam Chaudhuri and Malay Chaudhuri but now I feel I should read it cause the book seems to have answers to questions above. (Google search threw up this book reviews etc as well)

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Teachers : Aaj Kal


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 2, the second edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

shankara_edit02Guru Brahma, Guru Vishnu, Guru Devo Maheshwara. Guru Sakshath Parambrahma, Tasmai Shri Gurave Namaha. (tr: Guru is the creator Brahma, Guru is the preserver Vishnu, Guru is the destroyer Siva. Guru is directly the supreme spirit — I offer my salutations to this Guru.) -Adi Shankara

We don’t need no education
We don’t need no thoughts controlled
There is no sarcasm in the class room
Teachers leave them kids alone
hey teachers leave them kids alone!
– Pink Floyd

Though I voted for this topic but when I sat down to write about it I found that I am a not a “student” anymore its been about decade I had anything to do with a “Shikshak” or teacher so How do I write about ‘Teachers Aaj’ part. But since this is a topic at hand I go ahead and write.

Do you think the two quotes above are inappropriate or out of place. I mean first one was written ages ago and the next one not so long ago but it holds true still today. And don’t they provide a very contrasting view.

Ok lets talk of the topic “Teachers – AajKal” or teachers now and then. Lets begin with teachers today.

Today and this today can include a decade or so more in recent past, the teaching is just like any other profession where people go to work do the work(teach) take their dues and theres nothing more to it. Do you this is wrong in this age of extreme professionalism?

I must say that my extended family has or had many teachers. My mom is a trained teacher but dropped the profession to take care of us the kids, My father is currently a visiting faculty so I have a ‘Shikshak’ at home only. And I see him work really hard to prepare notes, presentations(Few moths back my sister & I taught him MS PowerPoint) and books. But what he says is that most of the effort is not worth as noone is interested to ‘learn’.(Don’t worry guys even our teachers alleged that).

Today the teachers in private sector are paid a meager amount. So where do they get the motivation to ‘teach’, quite naturally they resort to other sources of income like tuition, writing suggestion books etc. I can talk about an incident where a college student asked the professor to teach from a particular suggestion book as it was easier for ‘him’ to study and the professor had to comply, as a complaint from the “high fees paying student” could have been detrimental for the professor’s own job itself. Sad right but true, Ok I am not trying defend or offend anyone but facts are facts. (Another allegation, now all the students must be looking for me to break my bones).

The scenario in government institutions is little different as “teachers” are selected through a ‘stringent’ selection processes and paid well but there too we have corruption. Which is used by teachers to get into ‘plum’ institutions. Like all other government employees govt. teachers too take their job complacently. Add to that the retirement age is so high. So what we get? Old & grumpy often sleepy teachers. (Now teachers are searching for me I guess).

All in all what I get is the situation is looking grim today. But is it really like that?

Now lets talk of teachers of Kal or yesterday, Now yesterday can be right from the beginning of civilization. Well in India the Guru-Shisiya (teacher-student) relation has been one of most sacred of the relations. So if we see down the lane there have been great gurus (teachers) in our mythology/history like Dronacharya, Chanakya equally great shisyas(students) Eklavya, Chandragupt. Recently I read a newspaper article where a group of high profile, well placed students of a revered teacher gifted him a new house as he could afford it. The students had paid their guru dakshina because he deserved it. I would like to express my gratitude to my English teacher for working on ‘me’ and not only improving my miserable English grades but inspiring me to keep writing in English.

So the point I am trying to make here is we should judge teachers in reflection.That is to see the quality of todays teachers we have to wait for few decades maybe when the students grow up and if they still remember or express their gratitude then we can say that they were great but by then they’ll be “Teachers yesterday” :D.

In end I would just say that teachers of today or tommorrow like yesterday will be good, bad and ugly the matter is who do you run into.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton are Vipul, Rajalakshmi, Ranee[1], [2], [3] , Avada, Indian Pundit, Sojo, Aneet, Pramathesh, Aativas, Sid, Pra, Ajinkya, Lakshmi, Govind, Shilpa, Bharathi, Shankar, Mytuppence, Azad, Pawan, Pankaja, Saimanohar, Guria, Shruti, Vishnu,Nasrajan and Richa. Click on their respective names to read their posts on Teachers : Aaj Kal. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

The Cream and Scum of Blogging


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 1 , the first edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

First of all Thanks to Vipul and the initiators at Blog-a-ton for coming up with such a great idea of community blogging or  marathon of bloggers. So the topic of this first edition of Blog-a-ton is the title. Enough of introduction now lets get to the original topic.


I am a 5 month old blogger and my experience of blogging has been full of ‘Cream’ with not much of  ‘Scum’.

So what I have gained from blogging ? Nothing in cash but a lot in kind. That is kind words of praise from all my fellow bloggers/readers or FBs (Friends from Blogoshpere).

My writing skills are improving I guess. I am able to express my ideas in a better way now. This one’s become a very good hobby. I am learning a lot of new things through the different blogs I am reading.

Honestly after I started working and the bondings with my friends from student life loosened I was more concerned about information and updates about my work and profession. Somehow I was getting out of synch.
Actually in my hometown Kolkata as a student I was equipped with powerful tool called ‘Adda’ that is the informal discussion between a group of people. In those “addas” we discussed every damn thing under the sky and above it too. I find the blogs are somewhat an extension or rather a modern form of the “adda” with a much larger audience.(Don’t we express our opinions and discuss on  so many things in our blogs?)

To cut the long story short its has been a very rewarding experience and honestly after a long time I look forward to something with excitement that is to read and write a blog.

“Scum” till date I have not come across other than the larger Internet bill and inflated power bills and the “dark circles” under my eyes (come on I am still single and nowadays women go for looks as well what say ladies? Should I worry for the dark circles or not?) from those late night session of blogging.

To conclude I must say that I am enjoying every bit of it and hope do so for long. And thank you all for being so kind with me so long, keep raining those comments. Happy Blogging. Bloggers ki JAI HO !!!

The fellow Bloga-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton are Arjuna, Saimanohar, Dhiman, Vipul Grover, Avdi, Daisy Blue, Sid ‘Ravan’ Kabe, Shankar, Shilpa Garg, Bharathi, Ranee, Ranee again and Pawan. Click on their respective names to read their posts on The Cream and Scum of Blogging. To be part of the next edition of this online marathon, visit and start following Bloga-Ton.

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