Remembering the Pujos

Good times always bring back fond memories.

Pujo's in Kolkata have their own unmatched charm. For a rational  mind it will look like 10 days of relentless incongruity where the otherwise inconsequential people collectively assume a state of drunken happiness. All one thinks, talks, sees is the celebration around- the bright lights, the creative pujo-pandals, multitudes around in their best set of clothes, the food, the fun rides. 

To truly understand the significance of pujo, one not only needs to witness the pujo in Kolkata, one also has to live in Kolkata through the non-pujo days to see the transformation the city undergoes suddenly!

I cannot match the Bengali nostalgia for Pujo but still in my own way I still remember and miss the celebration. 

I would have so loved to have an old Pujo picture on my blog, but just as I dug into my pictures folder, I realized I accidentally deleted all the folders with names starting with I onward therefore no more Kol pics on my laptop.

I next thought of searching my phone for some beautiful Bengali Pujo text messages although I really doubted that I would have anything saved from 2008-2010. I still remember few words of those messages, not sure if I can retrieve them with Google search. 

Next I dug into my old loyal diary hoping to find something preserved there. Thankfully you can trust yourself for some afflictions without fail. Found a note from 9th Oct, 2008. Pujo that year must have been earlier than  this year because this note was about immersion. The last ritual after all the festivities.

'In some ways, acceptance of transience rests on the way one treats the word 'immersion'. You immerse in joy as well as in grief. the joy of creation lies in accepting this duality, in understanding that any work of art or even emotional grooming blossoms in  a state of detached attachment!

Immersion takes a quick dip!

The whole of creation, its beauty all its splendor everything is transient. With as much as a blink of eye, you can gain all, you stand to lose all. Just have the heart to rejoice..'- newspaper article (TOI or Telegraph)

This note suddenly appeared more relevant than anything else I had read in quite sometime. Each one of us have our own ways to handle the 'immersions'.. Its beautiful to think about the symbolism of immersing the deity in the waters of the Ganges. To let her go whence she came from with just a promise that she'll come back again with all the fanfare next year..in another form and with another story. (I learnt that there is always a different story and a theme associated with how she will come back next year!)

Beyond Reason..

"In a life lived long enough, there are strange symmetries that we recognize only later, if we recognize them at all- moments when an experience or a perception has a parallel moment in another time, a balancing echo, years in the future, or perhaps years in the past, a moment when it feels as if a circle is closing, encompassing and completing something infinitely precious.

Often this circle begins or ends, or sometimes begins anew with a slight disturbance in the world of the senses- a sound, a smell, a glimpse of something, an inkling vibrating just below the level of our conscious thought. This is a world we civilized people have been taught to dismiss. When the French philosopher Rene Descartes wrote "Cogito ergo sum" in 1637, those three words in Latin- 'I think, therefore I am' ushered in an era historians call the Enlightenment. In a sense, we still live in it today; it is a world in which the mind is elevated above the senses, where rational thought is judged superior to feelings. And yet, and yet.. things happen in our lives that challenge this conceit: slight shifts occur in the firmament of everyday existence, the turning world hesitates imperceptibly, the known constellations of experience inexplicably blink-- and everything is changed.

These are the moments that do not lend themselves to rational thought; they are entirely unusual.."

This is again a piece that stayed with me from some Sunday news paper reading in Kolkata. It stayed with me because I believe in it and I am a hoarder, everything that resonates with me goes into my collection.

But honestly some days are just too queer to explain. You cannot explain how certain things play out in a certain way. 

Then when you close your eyes at the end of the day, the fading ripples of the day slowly conjure some familiar patterns, and you can sense a certain clarity below the surface, as if 'a circle is finally closing' in front of your tired eyes..

Photo credits:sr

The benefits of boredom..

I can think of no better way to write this post than to use the words and images of people I took refuge in when I was really bored and aimlessly scouting for just anything under the sun and hidden somewhere in thin air .. Although technically that wouldn't qualify as being bored because i was reading interesting stuff and not really doing 'nothing'. 

(source:The heady thrill of having nothing to do)

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424053111903454504576486412642177904.html

For me the '2003' milieu extended till 2008 (maybe) because I read the following article on a boring lazy winter Sunday morning in Kolkata. I don't remember if it was TOI or Telegraph because we got either depending on the newspaper dada's whim. I couldn't agree less with the article so i took my pen and diary and wrote the damn thing down. Reproducing it here so that I have a electronic version with me (Google didn't show up anything when i tried searching) and sharing it across with the few loyal readers I have!

'Boredom's doldrums are unavoidable, yet also a primordial soup for some of life's most quintessentially human moments..

 A long drive home after a frustrating day could force ruminations. A pang of homesickness at the start of a plane ride might put a journey in perspective. Increasingly these empty moments are being saturated with productivity, communication and the digital distractions offered by an ever-expanding array of slick mobile devices.

We are most human when we feel dull. Lolling around in a state of restlessness is one of life's greatest luxuries- one not available to creatures that spend all their time pursuing something (can't figure out the actual word). To be bored is to stop reacting to the external world and to explore the internal one. It is in these times of reflection that people often discover something new, whether it is an epiphany about a relationship or a new theory about the way the universe works. Granted many people emerge from boredom feeling that they have accomplished nothing. But is accomplishment really the point of life?

There is a strong argument that boredom-so often parodied as a glass-eyed drooling state of nothingness is an essential human emotion that underlies art, literature, philosophy, science and even love...'

This breezy read was followed by a philosophical entry from a book, 'The unbearable lightness of being' that I read in Hyderabad, 2010. The book did not talk of commonplace boredom that we experience in short spells of idleness. It talked about a chronic aimlessness, emptiness, ‘lightness’. I felt that the following extract beautifully captures the whole essence of the book 

“The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man's body. The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life's most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become. Conversely, the absolute absence of burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant. What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?”-Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness Of Being.

This is the thing with philosophers they can use dense arguments in the opening and the middle only to leave it open ended in the end... I love to do the same sometimes when I post a blog at 1:39 am.

Things that should change

I slept reading about the financial frauds of the developed world, the 'subjectivity' that shrouds financial transactions as you become the JP Morgans' and the Barclays' of the world. There is a causality like the Lehman brothers, which lives and breathes for hundred of years and then becomes illiquid and disappears from the economic world.
And then I woke to the cruel reality of my country, developing countries where lives are lost in freak accidents. Life and death is the fraud of developing countries. It happens on every scale, human error, natural calamity, terrorism. It is not to say that developed countries are immune to any such occurrences. Its just that our societies have become so passive that day after day such instances occur and we brace each one with a stoic face and move on with the guilty roaming scot-free. It is here that a Bhopal gas tragedy trial can stretch that long that the guilty die a natural death before being proven guilty. Why this apathy? Why have we become so numb? What will wake us up from our reverie?
We are a argumentative society, why do all our arguments turn mute when it is time to bring the guilty to the book. When I look at societies here, i find them more vociferous in communicating their disapproval. There is a 'system' mindset, which tells, this is how things are suppose to work and there is minimum tolerance for deviation. Our society is deviant is all regards it is hard to find a working system somewhere. There has to be a method to madness for survival and we somehow miss it in the entire conundrum of events around us.
My heart goes out for the families of people who lost their loved ones in the AMRI hospital fire in Kolkata. I witnessed two major fires in the last three years that I spent in the city. The city has places which seem as if there are waiting for an inferno, waiting for a tragedy to happen. Is it now about time to raze outlived structures and lay the foundation of new structures and new societies.. I don't want to be the bard who sings paeans of change, I want to figure out how to bring in the change.

Remembering Tagore..

"Jodi Tor Dak Shune Keu Na Ashe, tobe akla cholo re" - (if nobody comes to you when you call for them - then walk alone .."

I do not recall from where did my fascination for Rabindranath Tagore’s literature all started. It may have been class 11 when I put up on notice board a poem by the bard on a self designed poster since I was in ‘Tagore house’. May be it went further back when we sang his songs in the school choir. Although to be honest, singing the English translations of his Bengali songs was a slightly tedious affair. A song is more lyrical in its native language, translations can’t do that justice.

I cannot put my finger down and say what drew me towards his literature but the romance lingered. I randomly came across his quotes in newspapers. The following quote I picked up from TOI and wrote across the first page of my diary. This was perhaps around the time I was sitting at home waiting for my results for Engineering entrance and I felt as if someone was speaking to me directly to stop being anxious about my future.

“Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers
But be fearless in facing them..
Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain
But for the heart to conquer it..
Let me not live in anxious fear to be saved
But hope for the patience to win my freedom.”

My college library had a good old literature section and provided me with enough Tagore material to scribble in my diary. Interestingly around this time I got my first mobile and with that I started texting Tagore across to my friends. A handful of us had really caught on the literary bug and soon my collection started expanding.

“Praise shames me for I secretly beg of it!”

“Death belongs to life as birth does
The walk is in the raising of the foot as in the laying of it down”

“How small is the earth and confined
Watched and followed by the persistent horizons
The light like a cage has shut out the dark eternity
And the hours hop and cry within its barriers.”

Imagine texting the following poem. All this effort my neighbor had put in to send across her Tagore favourite.

Fireflies
"I touch God in my song as the hill touches the far away sea with its waterfall
The butterfly counts not months but moments and has time enough.
Let my love, like sunlight surround you and give you illumined freedom.
Love remains a secret even when spoken, for only a lover truly knows that he is loved.
Emancipation from the soil is no freedom for the tree.
In my love, I pay my endless debt to thee".

Then finally I picked a personal copy of Gitanjali. (Now that event is dated, 5th Oct 2005). It’s a English translation. Even a good translation cannot match the glory of the original creation, but nevertheless I found immense beauty in the little verses. When I read the verses I feel as if it is the voice of a person deeply in love that echoes across. You can sense the vulnerabilities and fragilities of the human existence submitting to the strength of an all-encompassing love. The human ego is lost in the strong undercurrent of love. It’s the humble sole rejoicing in the bliss of a selfless love and yearning to embrace the loved one. The idealism here very rarely manifest in our relationships but then its exhilarating to look up to the ideal of love. I for my part appreciate the imagination that can perceive this beauty in relationships. The imagination, subtleties, submission and humility in the verses fill me with a tender feeling.

Thereafter I picked up ‘Complete work of Tagore’ which has essays, short stories and his poems. It was a complete delight. Since I read it back in college, I remember certain scenes and characters like a distant memory. I still have this image of a postman living in a quaint village, a woman silently accepting her plight while gazing out at the sea etched in my mind. The stories give a deep insight into the interaction of the individual and the society around that time. Further the psychological portrayal of the characters gives you a feeling of déjà-vu (at least I can say that for myself). The most endearing characters are perhaps the women in his stories and literature. They are enigmatic, intelligent, real and strong. Very few writers can delve this beautifully into the intricacies of the female mind :)

The next phase of Tagore came in when I was working in Kolkata for 2 years. The Indian museum in Kolkata has an entire set of paintings by the Tagore family. The city has a unique relation with him. There is this metro station in Kolkata ‘Rabindra Sadan’, the graffiti on the platform draws inspiration from the poet’s life. There are sketches of him around, his poems, his songs are all written across. Being a non-Bengali I missed out on the ‘letter’ but still enjoyed the ‘spirit’. Then there is the ‘Rabindra Sangeet’ that is an integral part of all social gatherings. Well a little story here, we watched the Hindi movie Rock On in Priya theatre Kolkata, when the movie finished, the casting didn’t have the Rock on track playing instead it was the Rabindra Sangeet. Perhaps I still have to develop an hear for that. I still have Shantineketan to explore.
This is his 150th centenary year and I am truly overwhelmed how he still continues to exist in our midst. His creative faculties have well surpassed him and continue to challenge minds. For me the romance is far from over, there is lots to explore yet!

"The traveller has to knock at every alien door to come to his own,
& one has to wonder through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine in the end".

A thing for swings…

I trust a hemp rope as much as I trust the rusty iron chain when it comes to swings.  I don’t discriminate between a wooden, a plastic or even a rubber tire seat when it comes to swings. I just have a thing for swings. I’ll bribe away the kids or may be even shoo them away if they make me wait too long for my turn.

On a little windy evening, watch the dancing shadows of the dusk swing into night.  The receding shadows at their elusive best! I love the highs and I love the lows. I know the tricks too well; I’ll throw myself forward I’ll pull myself behind. It’s just a matter of time, when I begin to hear the sound of my hair playing in the wind-(I’d shampoo my hair any day if there’s a swing in the itinerary!). It’s lovely gazing at the night sky, leisurely swinging and spying on the stars above.  You might never reach them but there’s no stopping you from trying so here I tug the ropes more briskly taking my swing still higher above.

On a lazy afternoon, putting my swing under a shady tree, I like to swing gently with a gossipy partner.  It’s fun to start with small talk and then muse philosophically but it’s equally convenient vice-versa. It’s all the more special if someone buys you an ice-cream and then you relish it on a swing. (All the above events are no figments of imagination they bear close resemblance to few eventful days in other wise mundane life.)

I caught on the ‘swinging  bliss’ in Kolkata. How I miss the park nearby my apartment where I’ve spent countless evening with my roomies and close friends. Then there were the innumerable fairs year long in some or the other parts of the city, and the biggest draw-yes the swings! Bizarre swings, some made your head spin, the others had some serious momentum issues but I’m willing to forgive that all as long as I get to scream and shout with friends.  I have managed two swinging evenings in Hyderabad so far. I was fortunate to have a swinging morning in garden city Bangalore while on a weekend trip.  I’m surprised at how vividly I remember each of the days. Perhaps my childhood is swinging back again for all the days that swung past without a swing. 

Take a bow..

Reclined on my chair with ease I take in the last scene.  Of all the suspense, drama tension built over the course it is now time for all the pieces to fall in place.  The lost lamb will finally head home. .The wronged will get their rightful place under the sun... There will be manna for the hungry soul.  Maybe a reunion for the star crossed lovers. There is this comfort in the knowledge that ‘this’ would be the end. You may choose to appreciate or disagree but the end is inevitable. It is time for the curtains to gently fall down.

Walking down one wintery December evening I felt the same peace. I made my peace with the year that was just heading to its end. I could recall places and people who came into my life with this New Year. I felt tender warmth towards all the new faces that had turned familiar and known during the course of this year. I tried to fathom my own impressions of this new city, I moved into. And with a generous gesture smiled for everything ‘new’ 2010 had ushered into my life.

The wintery chill was also walking along and so was also the recollection of all the failures, heartbreaks and set breaks. I glanced gloomily at the distant light slowly fading in the wintery fog. I recalled all the friends I left behind as I strode past them. The reasons for which ranged from being genuine to silly or simple incomprehensible.

The curtains then finally fall; they have the finality of the end as meditated by the director. All the characters come forward join hands and take a solemn bow as they try to read the applause. But in life as a New Year rolls in, it is the hope of new beginnings which is more emphatic. I thought of giving a nostalgic bow to things, places, people I had left behind but still I hope that it is not the final bow and our paths will cross again. I would revisit the city which somehow feels so familiar in all its idiosyncrasies, incongruities! Yes Kolkata it was.  But alas this era that I lived in the city will have to take a bow...it can never be the same again. I wouldn't say so for the estranged people in my life. I may not retreat to make amends as yet but I would still reserve the bow. I would still hope that we warmly shake hands again and laugh aloud unhindered. Well some material possessions will have to take a bow or perhaps a handing over to younger siblings.

It is interesting how we measure life with the years we lived. How the moving hands of the clock one day suddenly fill us up with newer aspirations and the calendar graciously takes a bow.