Saturday, November 29, 2008

being bong

There are two kinds of Bengalis that I know. Probashi or Expatriate Bangalees, a fairly large and diverse group about which I can't write as I am one of them. And Bengalees who are from Kolkata. This group is incorrectly known as Bongs, as they are merely a subset. However, this is the only group which matters. Gokhale told of them, long years back, 'What Bengal thinks today, India thinks tomorrow.' To which Rene Descartes responded, 'I think (today), therefore I am (Bengali).' Like all other Nobel Prize Winners, Oscar Awardees and most successful Indian cricket captains, Rene Descartes was also a Bong (this fact is not known outside of Kolkata).

Physical Description: The Bong has a large head, glasses, glistening hair and dark skin. Older Bongs develop an ample stomach to balance their large heads. This happens by the age of 25. They smell of Keo Karpin. The average life expectancy is 65 years. What is even more impressive is what they do in those years. Outside Kolkata, regardless of weather, sex or age, Bongs can be seen in Monkey Caps. This is a must-have accessory as well as a sign to recognize other Bongs. (please see second update for more). The Bongling can often be recognised in either over-sized or under-sized school uniforms. The Bong mother's second biggest fear (See diet for the biggest one) is that the 'porer bochor o lomba hoye gele abar notun skirt kinte hobe!!' or 'Next year, if you grow taller, we'll again have to buy a new skirt!!' Thus, the school uniform is selected to last at least three years. Thus the uniform sits as conspicuously on the Bongling as the plumage of a macaw.

Early Years: While most Bongs are born with innate talents in singing, dancing, painting, film-making, cooking or embroidery, their creative talents are honed even before they can start speaking. Frequent meets are organised between infants and their successful ancestors and other relatives. MA degrees (preferably from Cambridge , at least from Presidency or Jadobpoor) are displayed over the cots. The infant is exposed to the best of Bengali thought - Marx, Bentham, Kalidas, Tolstoy, Chekov. This increases the sizes of their heads and the height of their ambitions. Similar examples, though rare, can be found in European tradition as well, like in the case of Mozart. In India , however, Bongs have the sole preserve on such activity during infancy. Soon, when they grow up a little, their characters are honed in the best of schools. Here, I am not referring to the South Points, La Marts, Don Boscos and all. They are important in the nurture a Bong child goes through. What is even more important are the schools the Bong child passes through before school and after school. Many a Bong child wakes up at five o'clock in the morning to attend swimming classes. After one hour of swimming, he attends tennis coaching before rushing off to one of the South Points, LaMarts etc. mentioned above. School finishes by two or so, from where he scoots along to Singing/ Instrumental Music/ Dance Classes, then tuition (for at least three of all five subjects). He rounds off the day with coaching on either Debating or Quiz. Many a Bong mother will carry the child along through this day, feeling equally energised. This behaviour is again not restricted to Bongs. It also seen within kangaroos in Australia who rush along from one clump to another bush.

Growing up: Soon the Bong attains adolescence, doesn't find friends of his age (since everyone is competing for the Nobel Prize or the Indian captaincy) and finds intimacy in conversation in his/her parents and poems of T.S.Eliot and Pablo Neruda. When school ends, they move on to the good colleges- Presidency, Xavier's or IIT Kharagpur. The best of them, though, move straight to Joo (Jadobpoor). However, in recent years, Dilli (Stephen's obviously) is becoming the preferred destination for some escapists. In colleges, they decorate their rooms with books or portraits of Robi Guru (Tagore). On the opposite wall, men would have posters of Che/Maradona and women would have Enrique Iglesias, thus expressing solidarity with Latin American culture. All of them share equal interest in the Bong-Rock (Bhumi, Chondrobindu, Cactus, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple).

Later Years: Bongs mature early. Critics have said that they grow old early, but that is nothing but old hat. Years of toil and Eliot would obviously bestow wisdom. The reason they look older is because the sole purpose of a Bong's life is to win the Nobel Prize or the Oscars (and in recent years, captain the Indian team). With great responsibility comes great age. Add to it the chlorine in the swimming pools and you know why Bongs grey prematurely. As far as their mission in life is concerned, they have been very successful at it. Every Indian Nobel Prize winner has been Bong (the others who weren't don't matter). So have the Oscar Awardees. And most successful Cricket Captains. And Bipasha Basu. Once Bongs have kids though, their mission on life changes. The only raision de'etre for them is making sure that their progeny achieves the heights that they could (or couldn't). Hence, they are mostly found outside of schools, colleges and tuition classes.

Diet: Diet is as important as Robindro Shongeet. There's nothing that a Bong can't eat. However, they prefer protein over other food groups. The largest source of protein for them is fish, then meat, and then mishti (sweets) made from milk. More than fish itself, it is the knowledge of fish which is coveted and enjoyed. Carbohydrates are tolerated if they are fried in oil or if it is accompaniment to fish. Luchis (somewhat like a Puri), Telebhajas (pakoras) and Phuchkas (Paani Puri) are the favoured source of carbohydrates. The young Bengali though invariably always has Farex, Lactogen and Waterbury 's Compound. As far as they most important meal of the day is concerned, please do note that what dieticians have been saying in the last few years, Bongs have known for centuries. Breakphast/tiphphin is an occasion where the entire family comes together, to watch the office-going Bong male and school-bound Bonglings eat. The Bong woman's biggest fear is that 'Shokale bhaat dal mach bhaaja na kheye beriye gailo' or 'In the morning, He went out without eating rice, dal and fish fry.' To round off the calories, Dal is often accompanied by aaloo bhaate, aaloo bhaja, potol bhaaja and various other heartily fried stuff. Not for the faint-hearted.

Mating and procreation: A few Bong end up being in relationships, which lead to love marriage. This is sometimes shown in movies and song. However, most do not have any such social malignancy and end up marrying the woman of their mother's dreams or men of their father's choosing. This results in mixing the right genes for the next cycle of Bongs.Love marriage, by its very nature, is random. It sometimes results is tragedy, like marrying into another country (like India ). Hence, it is avoided, wherever possible.

Social Life: Adda, robindro shongeet and cha. Repeat. Do note that the young Bong doesn't have a social life (at least not till he wins the Nobel or gets a Government job). And phootball. the Bongs have had an illustrious history of achievement in football. Every para (neighbourhood) has stories of when they won the World Cup at the expense of the next one. The last time it happened in my parent's para was in 1986, when Argentina won in Mexico . Diego Maradona, who looks Bhodrolok enough, give or take a few lines of coke, scored famously using his hand, a skill which he learnt in Kolkata. Over the last few years, Brazil has been gladdening the hearts of many Zicos who were born in Kolkata around 1982-86. The only team which is not Bong is Germany as they play with more efficiency and no creativity, which thus is not amenable to adda. Do not ask of a Bong doing anything on the phootball field as then the Bong will keep you occupied about Jakarta ,1962. 'Chuni Goswami je Ball tule dilo PK ke. Match-er aagei bolechilo, 'Ekta Ball debo. Daam kore maarish. Gol hobe'.' Chuni Goswami put a football up for PK (Banerjee). He told him before the match itself, 'I will give you one ball. Hit it with a bang. Goal will happen.' Obviously, it is also the crowning moment of Indian phootball.

Habitat: While you may find a Bong in other places (like occasionally in offices), the best time to observe a Bong is in his natural habitat - the best of colleges, the best of schools, the best of coffee houses. It is here that he will tell you about Balzac while she will recite poetry with gay abandon. To mix in with the Bong, apply Keo Karpin to your hair and carry a jhola. Hopefully, they won't notice your small head. Do not worry about not knowing the language as the Bong likes being heard.

Famous Bongs :Many famous Bongs have been referred to in this extract. Hence, this section is used to debunk that big myth about Bongs. People believe that Bong men can't be hunky. If so, then what about Abhishek Bachchan (via mother), Saif Ali Khan (via mother), John Abraham (via girlfriend), Hritik Roshan (via grandmother).

Bongs in Literature, Film, Art: Everywhere you care to look.

Closing Word: Being Bong at the end of the day is a state of mind. Or, a case of being discovered by them. Best of luck.



This is hilarious. Someone with a fantastic ringside view of Bongs has written this! I don't know the author but if someone points it out, I would be glad to cite the person!

Monday, November 24, 2008

great status msgs and the rest.

status msgs are very interesting things....
here are some recent updates that i found very interesting
  1. What worries me most about the credit crunch is that if one of my cheques is returned stamped 'insufficient funds', I won't know whether that refers to mine or the bank's!
  2. All right, brain. You don't like me and I don't like you, but let's just do this and I can get back to killing you with beer.
  3. I envy all you guys. You dont need a mirror to see magnificent me..
  4. god is dead and they think i did it.
  5. public displays of affection for gods are all fine, trouble is the traffic jam.
  6. life's like the band I'm in, that starts playing different tunes everytime I dream and try to make my own song...
  7. "All the truth in the world adds up to one big lie"-bob dylan
  8. I'm busy now. Can I ignore you some other time?


Sunday, November 23, 2008

running out

i seem to have run out of ideas... my life... spicy as it is, is extrememly frustrating these days. and the escapist that i am... i dont even feel like moving a muscle... how long can a person keep lying in bed (more importantly, how long can a person type with one hand?) i seem to have suddenly fallen in love with sleeping... i just dont feel like getting up to face the loser in me these days.....damn it ..... damn it damn it..... i hate working these days... and this was supposed to be my passion.... what crap

im in sucha block.... dude this is suffocatingly irritating... im stuck in my own fatmosphere....

Friday, November 21, 2008

the insignificants


There are a million images one finds when one walks on the streets... of different faces walking around. Of a million insignificant things lying around. Scraps, junks, pieces of paper, maybe some love letters lying around...
And then there are kids. Nameless, faceless, thousands... They beg, they sell odd magazines at every red light. They dance and put up road shows. Have their own games that they play. and you sympathize, give them a rupee or two, in India, they are found every where. they don't have a home to go to in the night. They sleep on the streets...just wherever they may find a little place to put their tiny bodies. The government talks about child labour, education of the "future" and these little "brats" don't even know whether they will eat or not in the night. some just die, without making a sound, get lost in the oblivion... and we can only stand and have pity.

what does one design for them?
what does one inspire from them?
image courtesy: google, i dont remember the link to it.... :(

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Trust

Is it really humane to trust and then distrust, and may be trust back again? Is it fair?

I've had my share of trust, distrust, and trust ... Is a moment of distrust following? Will I be able to distrust again? And later, will I be able to trust again?

Is it reasonable to kind of shift between the trust and distrust just based on the need of the hour? That would probably not be a valid statement. We go into a state of distrust when we need Him the most and He isn't there. Or it seems He isn't there. Why do we go back into a state of trust at some point in time again then? Do we need Him again? Do we forgive Him?

Is it fair on our part? Is it fair for Him? Can He forgive us for distrusting Him?

Sunday, November 09, 2008

In the past (maheshwar)


we have seen how, the one has traveled to various places in the last few years, so she decided it is now high time she starts writing about these trips, as there are various memories attached to them.

maheshwar(there has been a post about this), for example, its one of the most calm places to which i have been. apart from the fact that it is on the banks of an incredible river, and has beautiful temples, and is a small peaceful town, it also has rapids just a few miles down the river. sitting on the steps leading down to the rivers (or "ghats" as they are more commonly known) is like listening to gulzar's poetry. sometimes, just the fact that, this is another land, another world that i have never seen before gives me enough to think about. there are trees and plants that i know about... but these are not known to me...
its a quiet place. a very quiet place. and the river flows with its own rhythm, making songs along the way, no wonder there is so much poetry and music made about the rivers in india. you hum along some random song that comes to your head. introspection, retrospection, nothing of the sort... i just got lost in the endless gurgles and laughters of the river. it felt as if she was laughing at me. laughing at the petty things i keep chantering about. sometimes you just get annoyed, and throw in a stone, she just laughs again "missed" she calls out and laughs again.

you can see this temple right at the middle of the river, one needs to take a boat to go in there. the breeze plays with its bell, occassionally u can hear it ring in the middle of the night. as if calling out to u. maybe it was feeling lonely. how many nights did i spend on the bank?? maybe out of the 10 odd days i spent there.... 6. the water plays with everything there. there are little kids who swim around, challenging each other, swimming into as far as they can go, laugh while trusting the river completely. how many generations has this river seen... growing up and playing with her. while she incessantly goes along. maybe she has a little chat with the gods in the temple, or maybe she washes down all the worldly dust settled on the hundred odd shiva lingams that are strewn here and there along the banks.

on the first day i just took a walk along the bank, with some old fishing boats tethered along. some broken, and rotting away, some forgotten for the day as their work has been done early morning, and now their owners must be in the markets...selling what they found from the mother river.
there have been more lonely walks have been taken in that town, with a camera, and a dupatta to keep off the heat of the day.

there have been calls, real calls (not phone) out to the boat man, and wishes that the wind carries your voice to them, and tell them to pick me up from the ghats of the hotel and take me to the other side of the river tot he village, or to the fort. the fort itself is not too huge, but it is beautiful. one almost wishes, it could be stayed in now, there is a little restaurant inside the fort. where you get meetha chirwa. or you could have your dinner in the homes of the various families that give homely food to travelers for a very small price. it is the hub for the textile craft of maheshwari sarees, which is basically cotton/silk blend sarees and is very sheer, it has a zari paar and almost all homes in this area have the loom in their verandah. some do it for mass production, others work under the NGO's. some may just be working for dyeing and stocking fibre. it is a beautiful silk craft that the NGO's are working to preserve. the design students going there every year try, and learn what they can in the 2 weeks they have there. it is a skill that one needs to develop and does not come easy though. a lot more to be done... a lot more...

I'm just waiting to go back. god!!! this stupid college needs to get over, and its been too long that im stuck.... hopefully more coming up soon


currently listening to: three days grace, cat stevens, slipknot
currently reading: sa'adat hassan manto (in hindi), greatest short stories
current mood : 1st track:nostalgia, 2nd track: in love and upset about it, 3rd track: randomly tensed about work
currently watching : dogma (the movie), step up 2 (the streets)

Saturday, November 08, 2008

in the shadows, and in dostoyevsky

quote unquote
"there are some rather queer corners in Petersburg. the sun, which shines for all the rest of the city, never seems to peep into those places. it's another sun that does, a new one, specially ordered for these remote corners, and it throws a different, a peculiar light on everything. Life in those remote corners seems a world apart, in no way resembling the life that seethes about us; it is the sort of life that could be going on in some fabulous strange kingdom, and not on our planet at all, in these very, very serious times of ours. and this life is that peculiar mixture of something that is purely fantastic, ardently idealistic and also, at the same time(alas nastenka), bleaky humdrum and ordinary, not to say incredibly banal"


and then there was chandni chowk....
or was that before...????

moments of happiness

It’s the weird moments of happiness that I’m clinging on to these days. Just a little moment. Why does love do this to you? Make you such a complete loser. If it wasn’t for being in love, I would live my other moments too, nahi? Your smiles depend on someone so completely unaware of it, that it hurts… everything hurts anyway. The pain of it is “sweet” some say. And in hindsight that seems like such a completely ridiculous idea. Some said “don’t cry for me” and I don’t know to correct him… the fact that I don’t cry for him, I just cry. It hurts so much not to be with him.
I seem to be like a pathetic cry baby… it’s not too good. It’s not a very good symptom to behave like a loser all the time… I should follow my own advice… be in love and enjoy it… the only problem being.. I don’t have too much choice. I haven’t been given the choice of being in love and not wanting him. Though it is not imposed, or so I have heard, but it is required. The pining hurts and no one knows that better than me.

The curtains shall be drawn,
Not on you my love, not on you,
Just me, so don’t you fear…

Don’t fear I shall not go away,
Only from you my love, only from you,
I shall not show you my pathetic pains…

My pathetic pains that sear,
Not with hurt my love, not with hurt,
Just with this overbearing longing for you…

This longing for you that burns,
Not your memories my love, not your memories,
Just the skin on my flesh, melting down all beauty around me…

The beauty that reflects that playful smile on your lips,
Oh! the “need” my love, oh! the need,
If only I knew how to live without it, I would.

I just live, my love, in this paradise,
Waiting for you to fall, my love,
While the angels tie me,
And then reveal their demonic faces…
And I, my love, unable to break free,
Wait in vain, for you...
For you, my love,
Must have ascended to your heaven,
And the mere shadow of me
must have been vanquished
by the over bearing light of the gods

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

in insanity, in manto, in offence

i have started reading manto "sadat hassan manto". im starting to think whether it was a good idea to read a realist novelist specially when im at this cross road of a dream and a love.
i have been trying to avoid 'serious' books since catch 22. hence avoided "catcher in the rye", but i guess it was just destiny that i bought this book out of all others on the station and started reading it. should i call it depressive, realism is depressive. i just came back to the same conclusion that i keep wobbling from time to time. that someone who is called "barking mad" is generally the one who sees most sense in things. we senseful people have a way of romanticizing ideas and philosophies, we make out things as they are now, or make as we would want them to be.
aur ummeed pe duniya kayam hai...

aur ummeedon se koi ummeed hai nahi mujhe
bahot hi luchha type ka thha...


  
currently listening to: marasim(i confess i listen to jagjit singh), fuzon, farida khannum, mehdi hassan
currently reading: sajad hassan manto (in hindi), greatest short stories
current mood : 
recently watched : dead poets soceity, golmal returns







ab tak dil-e-khushfeham ko hai tujh se ummeede..
yeh aakhri shamme bhi bujhane ke liye aa..............
ranjhish hi sahi

Monday, November 03, 2008

dude.... this love thing na....

a(exhasperated) : are u sure u wanna get into this
A: yes, unfortunately, not by choice...
a: so wtf are u really doing?
A: being in love (Sigh)
a: cheeze cheeze cheeeeeeeze... i feel im standing infront of a camera...
A: this is magical, hand in hand, walk in the moonlight
a: and wat moonlight was this... never saw this one...
A: ok, ok, street lights.... as if the road wont end...
a: are u serious??? are U SERIOUSLY serious??
A: forget the cheeze and corn... i had a hell of a time yesterday, i hav no fucking clue why...,
a: really really mad woman....what the fuck am i doing with u in the same head....
dude this love thing na.... sucks.....

and that;s how the cookie crumbles

for some weird reason... the cookies of my blogger space arent getting loaded... what crap???
:(
and despite attempts at sleeping... no one really wants me to sleep