And that's monsoon!

A perfect sunny day with nice, soothing warmth and perfectly azure skies.

Sitting by the window, you're reading.
When you look out the window after finishing a page, all you see is darkness.

And while you're still thinking when did this transformation happen,
you feel droplets lashing against your skin.

Rain is the stimulus for lovers and writers.
It's the catalyst that washes away the masks and unveils the vivid colours.

And while you're gazing out the window,
an unpretentious smile has already taken rest on your lips.

Gradually the skies become brighter, you notice.
The velvety grey clouds making way for a patchy blue sky.

And only the drenched leaves quivering as the raindrops slide down
to make splashy puddles on the drunk ground.

Because monsoon is not when you run to take cover;
it's when you rush outdoors to take a swig of life!

This doesn't seem the end..

Howrah Bridge from Howrah Station

Every time I've come to Kolkata, it’s reluctantly. And every time I've left Kolkata it’s even more unwillingly.

The numerous trips have been for work, studies & holiday too! Notwithstanding the heat, I remember having come to Kolkata for a holiday during summers once! But, there is no particular time to be in Kolkata. It’s all the year round.

The dusty pale roads that suddenly become crowded and jam-packed during pujo seem just the place to put your feet on. The innumerable melas on every open ground. The paper-boys selling old newspapers for a Rupee to sit on the wet ground when it rains during the pandal-hopping days. The festivities do not die. “Come rain, come sun, we won’t cut down the fun!” This seems to be the motto of every Kolkata-dweller. 

Would you rather be at any place other than Park Street during the Christmas? I bet not. The festivities capture you and you just can’t go home. Nobody seems to mind the night out on the streets, stretching into the next day. The lights, fun and food beckon you.  The entire street closes to traffic from evening on, and every shop glows up in merry Christmas lights. The carnival here is a never-miss!

Calcutta University, opposite which the historic Coffee House is located

Old city Calcutta is a storehouse of historic assertions. It is full of buildings, old and dilapidated. But each of those is a heritage with some story that etches it’s connect with its past glory. I think the College Street Coffee House is probably the only place that allows smoking inside its premises. But again, it’s the only place that had the geniuses of Netaji Bose & Satyajit Ray come for a cuppa coffee too!

Inside the College Street Coffee House

The generous bus-conductors will spare you change for a 500 Rupees note even for a 6 Rupees bus ticket, if you call them “Dada”. And the smile never wipes from their faces. Every lady on the street-side chai-cigarette shop is a “Maasi”. She’ll pour steaming tea into an earthen cup from a metallic kettle that we had last seen in our alphabets book where we learnt “K for Kettle”. It is a visual delicacy. And the scent of Kolkata is undisputedly tobacco. Some person will definitely smoke on your face, to give you more than just a sniff.

The numerous puchka-walas at every street corner and the roll shops at the road-sides, every few metres provide the just right evening time snack. And every true-blooded Calcuttan will have a favourite shop in some ‘galli’ of some ‘para’.

One of my friends observed, “This city grows on you”. And rightly so. This city embraces you and doesn’t leave you. In case you still have to move on, it’ll go with you. How often in a new city have we bragged by saying- “But back in my hometown...”? For me Cuttack & Calcutta have been used interchangeably, in a complementary kind. 

Again providence has deemed it fit for me to move out of Kolkata. Still, this doesn’t seem the end. 

A Closure Quest

What is a good reason to move on?

What a stupid question to ask. But that’s the question at the top of my head when my mind and heart are at odds with each other. But why am I moving on? This would be your next question. Because a change was exigent, for one. Because I didn’t belong to where I was, is another reason. And maybe, as some wise old soul had observed, change is the only constant in life!

Move on, I must. But is it worth? Will I be taking any fragments with me or just shunning everything and leaving?

White earphones plugged into my ear, I sweat away the 45 minutes bus ride to my swanky office. It isn’t tedious, if I get a seat to sit. The rush, the chaos, I had begun to relate to it. Without that my life missed something. I cursed everyday about the congestion; even then, it had a settling effect on me.

The buildings on my way to office seem to have stood from eternity and maybe into forever too. When I left this city on a transfer, they stood their grounds. And when I returned after few months, they had not moved. And now, they seem to be pulling at my heart like magnets. It distresses me to think, how disheartened they’ll be, not to find me looking distractedly out my bus window someday.

Swiveling open the glassy doors and walking onto the glossy floors, that which is a self-contained world in its own, has people from all over the country, who have made it their home. The security lady dressed smartly with a cap, has the usual 30-seconds chit-chat with me. She is the most regular employee on floor. As I walk into my ODC, diffused lights glow brightly down on me and the dry coolness assuages the fatigue.

The late nights at office, the early morning calls at office, the sporadic training sessions, and the numerous mails over phone, were a commonplace. The managers, the mentees, the juniors, the senior, all would be addressed by their first names only. There was no strict hierarchal difference, except the ability to wield power at the appropriate (read ‘appraisal’) time.

The familiar perception about this job isn’t that heartening. Not only people belonging to the older age bracket, but people of our generation too, place an undue (my opinion) worth on other career preferences having any kind of government involvement.

I didn’t understand the abundance of commonality. It was rather a pride to belong to the cohort. I didn’t understand the lack of recognition. It was rather the joy of having the power to fix issues by being privy to coding. I didn’t understand the frustration of comparison. It was rather the surprise of having been chosen into this, in the first place!

It shouldn’t have been difficult. I knew the friends here, were only for their own benefits. I knew the ladder to success had a few rungs broken. I knew the podium of achievement was already a crowd. I knew every boss had his own camarilla.

But I also knew it won’t be the same anymore. I was aware of my efforts to carve a niche in this competitive field. However I hated it, I knew a part of me belonged here. I knew, out of here, I would be like a fish out of water. I knew there were a thousand reasons not to continue here, but that one reason in favour, was enough to dissuade.

There have been so many people who in their own small ways had made an impacting difference to everyday life. Some with their wide-grinned morning greetings, some with their approachability, and some with their ‘always there to help’ attitude. And even some with their unseen backing. 

There is no thorough way to thank them. Even less, with a goodbye-thank you. And when at the inevitable end you take leave, expecting to get a chance to continue to be grateful, you get an “all the best” and “meet you soon”. And that’s when you realize, you had not expected it. You had not wanted all to come to an abrupt end.

Some goodbyes seem so broken and incomplete. And due to these, the quest for closure still remains.

The bride to Be! Part-2

           ...Previously

As she turned to the full-sized mirror and started slipping on the bangles, she noticed the lone gold band on her left finger. It had a ‘R’ & ‘A’ entwined engraving. Another one of his insignia of love for her. Many major decisions had been considered playing with it. Slipping in and out, swiveling on the finger, and trying it on other fingers to check the fit.

One such day, playing with it, she had asked Rajat,
‘What if your parents disapprove?’ angst clouding her face.
‘They will not. I promise you. I love you a lot. And they love me. They’ll understand.’
This dispelled all her fears and she was again basking in his love, all irrational concerns thrown to the wind. His candid, modest smile which always conveyed, ‘I’m lucky to have you’, melt her heart.

But not long before, she had become irritable. Annoyed easily, snapping at anyone who tried to engage in a talk with her. Her taciturn temperament was inferable but unacceptable by her friends. They worried. They tried to divert her from both the extremes, either her staccato conversations or her dour tempers. But Rajat had salvaged her, from the wreck she could have become. She felt calmer, stronger and invincible with him. He had become the music to her that she always hummed. He was there. He was, well, he was hers.

She put their favourite instrumental tracks on repeat on her music system and started stowing things around, putting the room in order. She had never been in love before, never wanted to be. Nobody had quite met the standards of her tragic heroes of yore. And neither did Rajat. He never tried to match up to her fantasy apotheosis. But she was smitten. He came like a surprise which she never realized she missed till he came!

She walked to the table. The card was done in silver, just as she wanted. And had a blue ribbon tied at the front. She gently pulled it to open the card. It had their photos as she had planned. He looked his usual immaculate charming self, reserved, with the shy smile. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. But the other picture, she didn’t quite like. She touched lovingly on his name that was embossed in gold. RAJAT. Yes, Rajat, she thought, elation twinkling in her eyes.

She didn’t want to wait. She had to hear him now. He was on her phone’s speed dial. It rang twice before a woman answered.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, may I speak to Rajat?’
‘Ya, he’s getting ready. Just a minute.’
‘Hi. Rajat.’ He said.
‘Hi!
‘Hey, hi! So good to hear you.’
‘How’s the groom getting ready?’
He smiled, ‘Ya, am almost ready. Are you ready? When will you be starting? You have to reach the venue before 2, ok?’
 ‘Ya, desperate fella’ she chided laughing, ‘I’ll be there before 2, to welcome the groom.’
He laughed, and continued, ‘And thanks. Really, I mean it. Thanks a lot for understanding. I tried my best, but it was contrary to their reason. But you understood. You were my support. You’re the best!’
‘You like her, right?’
‘Yes. Anwesha is a nice girl. My parents are very happy.’
‘Ya, that’s what matters the most. I’ll hang up now and see you soon.’
‘Yes, come soon.’

She disconnected, and looked at her phone wallpaper. It had her father’s inspiring words for two of his favourite ladies, her sister and she- “STRONG GIRLS DON’T CRY”. She shut her eyes tight, trying to keep a check on all the mingled feelings that were trying to gush out. ‘I won’t papa, I won’t’, she recited.

Jigyasa entered the room again, now calling all the friends one by one, to meet at some place. From there, they would travel together. She heard her arguing, pestering, and doing what not, just to ensure that all reach on time. ‘You have some time?’ she asked Jigyasa.
‘I have all the time. Why don’t these damn people get it? When you’re given a time, you ought to keep it! How do you expect me to manage?’ Jigyasa was fuming.

‘I want to visit my family’, she said calmly.
‘We are already running slightly late’, Jigyasa looked anxious. ‘No problem, we’ll manage, you go’, she said after a moment, smiling.
‘And please try to be soon’ Jigyasa called out as she dashed out the door, lifting her saree till ankles to avoid tripping.

Her friends knew. This was her tribute, her way of keeping her family involved in all decisions of her life. Before any major occasion, she’d slip away to the cemetery for some time.

She clicked the key into the ignition of her Honda and steered out to the petrol station just round the corner. She held out the credit card between two fingers and said ‘Tank full’. ‘Yes, ma’m’ came the reply and her card was swiped. She hit the reverse gear and swept a smooth turn. Then flipping her mobile out the car, she buzzed the window shut, and drove away.

After about 90 minutes of frantic searches and calls to a ‘not reachable’ cell-phone number, Jigaysa slumped on her bed, only to find a wedding card half concealed under the pillow, that read, ‘Rajat weds Anwesha’. That wedding was today at 2.

But hadn’t Ananya said she’d have to acquiesce,  since nothing could be done about Rajat’s parents not approving of them? Hadn’t Ananya finally agreed to her marry her colleague? And hadn’t Ananya wanted the engagement to be today?  But Ananya had already gone by then.

The Bride to Be! Part-1

She woke up at half past five. Though the alarm was set at seven and the wedding was at two. This was the day she had been waiting for. In fact, this is the day any girl awaits, with palpating anticipation.

She stretched lazily after the few hours of sleep she had managed, due to the exhaustion. But last night, she had struggled to sleep. She couldn’t stop smiling as she lay on the bed looking around her room for the last time.

Her eyes fell on the bedside table. On it stood a crystal vase with a bunch of wilted, dry roses. It was difficult to say which colour those roses would have been. But the memory of them was as fresh as they once were.

It was the day after he had proposed. He had got her this bunch of fresh, red, half-bloomed roses. She had excitedly taken the bouquet and retorted, it was not Valentine’s yet. To which he had replied, “It’s a valentine’s day, every day, with you in my life. I can’t wait for some bullshit day to show you that I love.” Thus, three years had passed.

They had planned on today’s date from a long time. 17th of April. It used to be her father’s birthday. The thought of him no longer made her funereal. Though, she felt extremely sad, not being able to introduce Rajat to him. Her dad would have been so proud and happy. Though the thought of him never failed to lacerate her, in good and bad times alike, Rajat was her panacea. Now he had become the one she could run to. Whenever, whatever, he was there.

But nothing was same after that night; when she was informed that her family had been the victim of a gruesome accident. She was rushed to the hospital by some neighbours. But her intuition screamed, she wouldn’t be able to talk to her parents and sister anymore. Her world had crashed around her, even before she reached the hospital. And she alone had to bear it.

Her uncle had entered the cold storage room first and confirmed their identities. She barely managed to snoop through the limited confines of a tiny window on the heavy door. Then she nervously entered the morgue. Three bodies were placed side by side. The white sheets covering the corpses were blotted red in places. The room reeked of blood and maybe preservatives too. She had to be carried out by two nurses, and given a couple of band-aids.

A year passed before she rejoined work. Jigyasa, her friend from school had moved in with her, when she came to work in the same city. The melancholies of life had dragged her rough, and tenaciously slow. She was just not her, the incestuous lady that reflected in the mirror. She was maimed beyond her own admittance.

But not today. She jumped out of bed and did a slow dance around the room. She thought she could smell his debonair fragrance. The thought of him made her hug herself in glee. She was feeling unusually shy today, thinking about him. Oh! My man, she thought. How, within a matter of months he had become the world, she had been trying to evade!

She picked the newspaper lying at the foot of her main door, and quickly opened to the page with the section she considered bestiary. But not Rajat. He followed it daily with an almost pious allegiance. ‘Steer clear of rash decisions. Consider your options before taking the plunge. Not a good day to be alone.’ This was the loud warning under her sun sign. She crumpled the paper and murmured, ‘Not today, honey. Not today.’

She ran to her cupboard. On the wall beside it, hung a large frame. The photo in it, was in contrasting sepia tones. It was their Ooty visit. Overwhelmed by his constant presence, and absorbing love, she had confessed ‘You’re like a dream to me.’ He had playfully he pinched her cheeks hard. ‘Oww’ she squealed. ‘No, I’m not’ he had grinned. And a friend had clicked.
 
She carefully brought down her wedding attire. It was a baroque lehenga, which her mother had worn during her wedding. She lifted it out slowly from the heavy box and observed it close, feeling its intricate patterns with her fingers. The rich crimson silk was overlaid with intricate gold motifs and glittering stones. She wished her mother was there to help her wear it properly, and then look on with pride, at what her little girl had become.

Jigyasa knocked and barged in before she could answer, and froze at the door. ‘You’re looking b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l’, Jigyasa muttered slowly, looking stunned. She stood blushing, trying to hold her saree pleats in place and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
‘Now that you’re ready, let me call the others, so that we can start.’
‘I still have to do my hair’ she meekly appealed.
‘Take your time sweetheart." Jigyasa smiled, "You’re already looking a gem. I don’t know what more you can do. But I won’t interfere.”

                                                                                                                Concluding...

The Luxury of Indian Railway!

One thing led to another and the responsibility of getting a ticket for myself landed on me.

If you have the power to know your whereabouts after about 4 months, book your train tickets in utmost comfort without competition. But if you are like me, with out-of-the-blue plans have a fat wallet (for flight). Booking a tatkal ticket is not everybody’s piece of cake. Very recently, I joined this elite group. It cost me one and a half weeks of emotional oscillation between enthusiastic hope and utter despair.

You might wonder why I didn’t just opt for a flight. Well, you see, by looking at the subsequent week’s air fares, I realised that amount could take me on an international trip to a nearby country.

Initially the agent tried for a few days. I guess he wasn’t assured enough commission for his efforts, because (I’m sure), he tried for tatkal atleast an hour after the sale started. My patience ran out. The wait made me sick (actually). Then I was asked to step in.

Each morning the struggle began. As the days passed, strategies were devised to maximise the chances of booking, in the minimum time that’s available. Approach was decided the night before. Tactics made, tactics rejected.

Based on the trend observed, I’d like to give some pointers to newbies:

    ·         Login atleast 30 mins before Tatkal booking begins. The more you delay the more difficult it becomes to even log into your account.

    ·         If the availability has considerable reduced, don’t test your luck. You may end up paying service charges for no service at all.

    ·         When you see tickets available & proceed with booking, the website does not block a berth. There maybe atleast ‘n’ number of people booking for the same berth, at the same time!

    ·         Even if you get beyond the booking page with sufficient tickets available, there are high chances you might get stuck on that page till all tickets are sold out. I doubt the website’s increased bandwidth claims.

    ·         Form filled, ready to pay? Captcha stuck. Refresh. Reload. Refresh. Availability- waitlisted.

The demand is enormous, the supply is miserable. One of the most used websites in the country is flawed! Sometime after the railway website starts showing on your ‘most visited’ list, you’ll be lucky.

The only advice from an experienced (by implementing all strategies) is- pray before you log in. The day you will be able to successfully login, book & finally travel is already decided. :)

You're worth it

You’re worth the hurt,

You’re worth the pain,

You’re worth every ‘no’, from our kin.

You’re worth the painfully tough decisions,

You’re worth the chaotic confusion

Of countless voices, saying things for my good.

You’re worth every drop of my tear,

You’re worth every love that I had lost,

You’re worth giving up, the things that I held close.

You’re worth the sacrifice, 

the jibes, the scorns, & even the adjustment blues.

If that’s the small cost, so be it, just for you.

You’re worth the worrying, sleepless nights,

You’re worth the fear of losing it mid-way,

Because,
We’re worth being together, we’re resilient.

All for the hope of being with you.

My love, you’re worth it all.

“Love always protects, 

     always trusts, 

       always hopes, 

         always perseveres. 

           Love never fails.”   -Bible.

6 Signal Crossings

I knew what I was heading to. The weather didn’t look inviting. It was cloudy & hot. The roads were less crowded as it was a ‘bandh’. Now, a bandh in Kolkata is as common a Saturday. I smiled to myself and thought, ‘Bring it on!’

There was no more work at office, and I thought to make something of this day.

 We decided to walk from office.

 I had a friend to accompany in this crazy brainwave of mine.

Considering my previous experiences with this pragmatic friend of mine, I decided to count, not sheep, but cars! And I chose red coloured ones. Some were zooming past us and some simply moved at a lazy pace, as if enjoying the empty roads. The ones that caught my attention most were the yellow-black taxis. They would come honking from behind and slow down near to us. The driver would then peep from behind the wheel, asking if we would prefer a comfortable ride? The answer would be a smile & shaking of the head.

 The roads were wide & clean, the plants looked fresh in white & blue pots. The rout was scurrying to get back home, cursing their bosses for making them work when the government had decided to sit back.

I was convinced that the walk if nothing else, would shed a few grams off my weight. At the outset, our conversation was about work, & then it slowly drifted to the City of Joy.  The history & typical stories, rivalries, superstitions & sentiments, that only a localite can relate, I was hearing.  And we were two signals beyond where we had decided to take a public transport.

Chattering, giggling, dodging the traffic, running across signals, skipping over the potholed road, we had done it all. And after the tiresome expedition, all that we thirsted for, was an ice cream. And the joy of quenching your tiredness by an orange bar is incomparable!

The last leg of my long journey to home from office had to be completed by an auto. Period. My leg nerves were pleading for rest...& finally I thought yes, they deserved it. They had served me well today :)