No subtitles for death stories

Nowadays it’s become a trend to measure the impact or severity of an ill-fated event by the death toll.

I always used to ponder loss of a life can never be reimbursed, whether it’s a life of one man or thousands. Now, sometime I surprise how many should die to make a calamity deadly enough to send a condolence to our heart. Is it because we have been made immune to be very comfortable of seeing deaths and loss around us every day in news flash? Or it’s because the valuation of a human life is reduced to a level, where people die in hunger or overeating, people die in stampede or mass-accident, people die in drought or natural calamity it does not kindle us?

That day I was in a discussion forum, where I heard comments like ‘Oh only 7 people killed, then it’s not that devastating. In the year of 1999, the cyclone killed 10,00 people!’. It was about the recent storm Phailin which hit coastal Odisha and Andhra. And I was surprised why would the number of people killed seems so less to them when this has destroyed the crop of 2400 crores! The poor farmers have roughed their lives, taken loan to by seeds and lands and ploughed those harvest out of their sweat. The missing fishermen’s families are still waiting for them to return home or they have lost their hope. The loss of house, shelters, boats, livestock, crops and many more - to measure the loss more people should have died? Does a big number make enough impact to feel their agony?

If I remember correctly, during 2013 Kumbh mela some 40 people died, and recently in Ratangarh near Delhi 112 people were killed and many more gravely injured. Both because of the mass- stampede during religious events. I saw people cursing ‘Why do they overcrowd these places! ’, little bothered of the gravity of the accident and the personal losses.

According to a latest survey, 13000 people die in train accident every year in India. Nowadays, when the news channels flashes such news we stand in front of television for 2 minutes, listen to the death toll and move on. Why?

I remember collecting funds on behalf of an organization for Uttarakhand fund in a known friends group. The Uttarakhand flood was no doubt one of the most devastating natural calamities in India in recent times. And I am not going to explain the suffering of the people who fought hard to survive. Their first reaction was “How much shall I pay? If you guarantee that my money will reach, then only …”. This friend circle of mine is well-established and affluent enough to donate a minuscule portion of their hard-earned wedges. And I could never guarantee them the genuineness of the need.

Death tolls are not as interesting as Stock market Index and I too fail to remember how many deaths do I read in newspaper every morning. It has become like a chronic disease and no cure.

But I am not losing hope that one day I will not stop by the television sipping a cup of coffee and move on. One day I will not write this blog and will be on the other side hand in hand, to bring the survivals to life and death to its deserved condolence.

Just wish I get to know my way.

Confinement of a Goddess

Memories that we engrave in our mind when we are tender and young get to walk with us through the lifetime. This thread of memories makes a life dark, grey, luminous, colorful and sometime a contrast of all these shades.

When I ask myself what is the most beautiful memory I am carrying from my childhood, it always reminds me of Durga Puja at my home. With the name of it, I can smell the fragrance of dhoop-dhuna, flower, huge garlands of marigold-lotus-hibiscus-many more, freshly grinded sandal and ‘ogoru water’ (by which we bathe the goddess) mixed with the smell of new clothes, a crowd all wearing fresh new clothes ready to give Pushpanjali.

It rendezvous me with a rush of emotions and nostalgia which has made me believe in God since even when I were not aware of what God means.

Sometime around Janmashtami, we used to get ‘Kathamo’, the wooden structure of the idol with dry grass binding. The wooden structure would not have the heads on the idols, not even palm, fingers, and feet. On arrival of this ‘Kathamo’, my granny and mother used to welcome it with Sindoor, few rice grains and tender green grass( we call it ‘doobba’).The frame structure used to have a grassy smell. We did not have a separate study room, so used to study infront of the ‘Kathamo’. By looking at this half-molded Idol, I used to imagine how will be the eyes, face, red lined feet, ten hands with ten weapons and so on. Those days my math copies’ back pages used to bear my imaginations. And after Ratha -yatra , baba used to start applying clay on the wood-n- hay structure.

Baba was a commerce teacher, with a contrast of all art elements inside him. Baba’s painting, designs, sculpture everything used to amaze me. I wanted to paint as stunningly as him, when I would grow up but of course that never transpired. I heard Baba inherited the family puja tradition, only change he brought is he started making idol for his own puja since when he was 17.

  

When clay is applied on the ‘Kathamo’, the idol starts getting shape. A big lump of clay used to put on the shoulder of every figure, and then he used to shape the cheek-forehead,head, jaw line-lips, nose with his thumb and fore-finger. I remember how during Sunday afternoon, he used to shape the fingers and palms, as they are comparatively big in quantity and take lot of time and patience. After he finished his work, he used to leave for office and I had very little sweet time in the afternoon after school when I used to touch the half-dried, freshly clayed, blackish grey idol. It used to be cold. It used to be soothing to touch the clay surface and feel the existence of a process ongoing. I will fall short of word to express that sensation. It used to surprise me how a grass-binding became so live when the clay of Ganga (Ganga-mati) gratified it.

There used to be two parts of clay coating on the idol -Sand clay and Ganga clay. After the 2^nd coating of Sand clay , the surface of the figures would start cracking. Once it’d fully dried, baba used to put the next coating by putting cotton bandages soaked in clay of Ganga and that would give it a nice finishing. THIS EARTHY GODDESS IS MRINMOYEE (goddess made of Mrittikaka or soil).

One week before the Navaratri starts, once the earthy idol is fully dried baba used to start putting colors. Coloring starts with the first most coating of ‘Khorimati’ or Zinc Oxide which would make the blackish idol divinely silvery. Then the Mother Goddess and her 4 children would be applied different colors.  Maa Durga comes alive in the golden yellow  colors, her feet and ten palms would be highlighted with Red (to demark it as Alta, a traditional Bengali liquid color) and she would have a blessing pink smile. Her two daughter Laksmi and Saraswati will be in Yellow and White color whereas the elder son Ganesha will be in dark Pink and Kartikeyan in pale yellow look.

Now, this is a question that has been invoking in mind since the puja days I remember, why do we see pink Ganesh  and  green Asura ? 

Green Asura is understandable I think,  in the age of sci-fi Hollywood film. Whatever is the reason, once we managed to convince baba to make our Asura as brown.Since then , our Asura has been Brown, Chocolate, Mehogony based on baba’s mood J.

Baba would complete the paint work before the Mahalaya. That day he would draw the ‘Mrinmoyee’ goddess  her three eyes..  her ‘tri nayan’ will be embellished with black kohl.  Burnish polish is done to give it a final touch.

Decorating the idol used to be the most interesting part for us. Me and my brother used to help baba making the idol wear “Daaker Saaj” . The dresses and ornaments would be bought from Kumortuli. May be it’s a girl n boy’s genetic tendency, but I was always interested in the saree, ornaments, face-paint, decoration around the half-circular frame around the idol (we call it ‘Chal chitra’). And my brother was fascinated on the stainless steel weapons- ‘Gada’, ‘Chakra’, ‘Tir-Dhanuk’, specially the ‘Kharga’ and sword. And, one funnier thing was, I know he will kill me if he reads this, Asura’s thick bushy moustache.

The layers behind the idols we see in the pandal or home are so beautiful to see closely. It’s like a biography of a goddess who is born on a piece of wood and sticks and then slowly becomes deific. The stories behind every texture of clay and colors and burnish and fabric are so elaborate that in can’t be told in a single story.  

As I said, memories give shades and colors to a life. And my childhood, my teenage, my 20s are full of this memories. And there is an agony behind it. I have been missing this beautiful saga of creation for last 4 years now since I have moved out of house. Baba is still creating ‘Mrinmoyee’ with his hand, still there is smell of Ganga-clay in our puja room, maa now helps him in decoration.She is a free lady nowadays as we have ‘grown up’. But I can’t be a part of this anymore as I am sitting in my cubicle 2700 kilometer away from them. And I still fantasies how good baba will draw Maa durga’s eyes. I still imagine this time what will be the color of Asura!!

It’s just that I arrive at Kolkata managing my leaves just one day before puja starts and I see a gorgeous mother, holding 10 weapons in her 10 hands looking at me with the same pink smile. And that smile makes me believe in her in every sphere of my life.

In Love With Dreams

I was reading somewhere that in many Ancient civilizations, Dreams used to take a momentous place in their life. The Sumerians, Mesopotamians, Egyptians, Babylonians…Dreams were interpreted as the answers and advices, bringing messages from God.

Well, I continued Googling more into the psychological websites; end up finding hundreds of websites on writing ‘interpretation of dream’ in the Search Engine.

So, still dream takes a weighty hold in human mind.

But, what about the dream we perceive when we are not sleeping?  I watched this Bollywood movie yesterday where the guy dreams of seeing every corner of the world. He delivers the fascinating lines ‘Main Udna Chahta hoon, Daud na chahta hoon,Gir na bhi chahta hoon ..pad Rook na nahi chahta’.

Is it very unusual dreaming that he standout from the crowd? Millions of dreamers (including me) want to go around the world before they die. And then comes up the life which stands against the dream.

The movie director chose an easy way out for the hero. He is a back-bencher in school but end of the college bags an oversea scholarship for journalism. Then after 8 years he is a professional photographer in Fox Traveller. So, the job eventually comes as permit seal to his dream.   

With the same dream in my eyes, Geography always used to fascinate me as a subject. When I completed my schooling, I had the same dream and still I do nurture it. I didn’t have an oversea scholarship to pursue and to follow any practical dream, one needs to be financially dependent. After 4 years of B.Tech, when I got my first pay-slip I thought it was the time to soar in the dreams.

The common notion about an IT job is that ‘oh he is in xxx company, they give onsites to xxx!’  . Not untrue either. But that's the rosy side which comes and goes infrequently in a lifetime. ITians get 21 days of paid leaves and 54x5 days of stressful schedules. Where leaves are used for visiting native to see parents twice in a year and one small vacation makes little space somehow in the din and bustle of life. Thus it crosses 27 birthdays and don’t know how many will I get. Thus it splurges every morning to evening and when I grab a copy and pen to write something I fall short of words. My poems gets dried out like my dreams of Giza pyramids, Maya civilizations, Vatican city, Eifel tower, the valley of Mexico, the River Tames, the Gondola of Venice, the ferocious fight between ferocious lion and ruminant giraffe  in the safaris of Africa and so on..

Often at night after I switch off the lamp shed, I look outside from the balcony and think the moment I took a dive into the Red Sea. The moment when I came out from water and removed the wet suit, I was sitting silently on the beach alone. I rejuvenate the jiffies when tears were rolling out profusely and I was feeling like I should dare to dream more.

I think it is our psychological compromising power, that when we see one dream is far away, we take on other dreams to accompany us. These dreams are normally easier, like to be a  excelled photographer, to set up a restaurant when I retire, to open a NGO with old and young orphans, to teach in school like my father, to take cooking as a serious hobby and life moves on in fast pace. It continues providing fuel to that biggest dream in each of us and it should, in spite of the chances of fulfilling. May be life is a dream in bigger picture and this moment when I am living is just a part of that dream. So when I will join the dots after 30 years, looking back to the assortment of these fragments, the dream I would have lived have to be beautiful.

There is no place for regret and I should dare to keep dreaming.

Making identities in this city

Today I was listening to this A.R Rahman number “Nadaan Parinde Ghar Ajaa…”. It was a bright sunny morning, in the crowded bus I struggle to get inside and luckily got a seat.

Bangalore is a concoction of people from different states, different lingos, different societies. I see a part of them every morning rushing to the Tech Parks. I see a part of them exerting in the construction sites of Outer Ring Road. I see a part of them as domestic help in the high-rise apartments. I see them running small and large scale business here, overlooking the language constraint. I see them scattered in every corner of the city.

And, stupidly when I found a reflection of my state, my language, my identity in this assortment, I smile.

I turn back twice, when I see a novice home-maker struggling in the crowded super-market, I identify her with her white and red bangle. I get awkwardly happy, when the boy sitting beside me in the bus is choosing “Cactus” from his mobile playlist. I smile broadly when I walk into the HAL fish market lane, buyers and sellers all like a usual Kolkata market.

I bet everybody does, whenever they smell their home.

And, I know for everyone from any part of India living in this city, it is the same, for they are on the same boat far from home, in a city trying to add some connotation to their life.

Closed my eyes to get absorbed in those few lines

 “

kyun desh bidesh fire mara..tu raat biraat ka banjaara

”

Thanks to the IT boon, in most of the major cities in India a uniform picture is very prominent. The young generations of those cities are missing from their old school playground, from their colonies, from the shabby by-lanes, from the colors of festivals. Friends group are scattered. Parents live alone in their carefully nurtured ‘home’.  

On the other side, mechanized in the harried schedules- deadlines in office- credit bills- jostling on the road- yearning for leaves-nuclear families in 1000 square feet nests - succumbed weekends- exhaustive dreams…they are running for a fascinating delineation of life. The definition embraces designations in the letter head, SUV in the parking, best interest rates for home-loan, visibility in the society and so on.. And, no sin striving for that.

But I fear, when I will be in my 60’s and I won’t have this hassled rat-race in my sunny mornings or lazy afternoons what will be the definition of life then? To fill that emptiness, what investment do I plan now? What will be my identity then? I fail to figure out a stable answer for it.

“

Kaate chahe jitna paro se hawao'n ko
Khud se naa bach paayega tu
Tod aasmaano ko
Phook de jahaano ko
Khud ko chhupa naa payega tu
Koi bhi le rasta, tu hai tu mein basta
Apne hi ghar aayega tu
“

A Neophyte Traveller's Diary

It was drizzling in Mumbai, when I reached Domestic Air terminus.. Mumbai's Domestic Airport looks much similar like Netaji Subhas (Kolkata Domestic)..untidy, uneven flooring, luggage belts are not so advanced (they make metallic sound while revolving around). But I was in a new city .. for me any time, it's a good feeling. After long time, I saw Hindi Advertisements and Notice Board around me, people shouting, laughing, chatting in Hindi…Came out of the airport.. It's very common to me now, whenever I need help, people whom I expect to be helpful will suddenly  disappears. Anyways, friends in need, seem to be not so much like a friend indeed. So, people/relatives who have been in Mumbai, I tried to call up, just to ask about prepaid taxies..no one picked up. Lastly I decided to go ahead n talk to the counter boy. Then one of my school friend called me back and asked to take a meru/ prepaid taxi. The counter boy was munching pan..with his stuffed mouth he managed to ask my destination, name and 170/- and gave me a voucher… Next scene was the taxi. It was dark inside the taxi, our two huge suit cases were "dumped" on the roof and some old hindi songs were coming from the cab radio.The taxi driver was staring at the back, where two of us were sitting..it was 12O' clock almost…I was praying hoping to reach International Terminal soon. As soon as we arrived near terminal, he asked "kaun sa gate madam?" ..I searched for the air-ticket..now I hate my over-stuffed bag (don't know hw much ever I try to keep everything handy,it appears to be too much clumsy to find out right thing in right time ). "Madam.." he asked again..as I managed to find the ticket , but no gate number mentioned on it. "Ahhh..bhaiya..Turkish Ailines k gate mein chod do"..I requested..He gave a disgusted look "madam, ya ha pe sab kuch A B C D karke gate hota hain, ap log utar jaiye aur puch lijiye"..he commanded. I could not take it easily, "hum peheli bar Mumbai International pe aye hain bhaiya, ap kyun hyper ho rahe ho, saman nikal diiye , hum chale jaenge" I kept the ticket inside my bag, by that time , he literally threw out bag in the middle of the bay..which we managed to shift to the footpath somehow. Now , here comes my typical thoughts, if I would have been a boy, so easily I could have fought with that rude moron and that much easily I could have lifted the 31+22 kilos of luggages..sigh…….

I am sitting on a bench, it's 12.30..another 3 hour to go, after that only we can check in our luggage. Viraja is sleeping balancing herself against the trolley..someone should be there to look after the luggages and announcements..so here I am…thank God, Vodafone Connect is working..I browsed gmail and facebook for some time, sent few sms s ..now I am alone, in this crowd …thought of calling Viraja, so that I can sleep for a while, but did not..walked up to the coffee shop,took a strong Cappucino and waited for another 1 hour.. Our luggage are checked in,heading to the immigration..so many people from so many countries are there , waiting in 10 queues. I was asked to stand on queue 5. My number came, I was ready with the passport and Visa. Was arranging the answers which normally they ask while leaving the country..suddenly the person asked "Kolkatae kothae bari?"..with a emotion less voice..I was surprised, to come out of the initial shock I took few seconds and answered in Bengali "Sodepur". The interview followed with some light conversation like where I work in Bangalore, how did I reach here(not working in Kolkata in spite of completeing my schooling n graduation there) etc. Such a small world..round world.

Next 2 hour,it was boring and tiring..nothing to mention much. TK721 Turkish Airlines: I missed the window seatL.. It was drizzling at Mumbai when I boaded the airbus. Light blue seat , with soft thin quilts and a tiny pillow. After take off, next 30 minutes was all about watching the sunrise silently..the air-hostess came and closed the window but after she left I opened to see the beautiful crimson ray, just waking up from the bed of white clouds……will never forget the shades of Orange and Red I saw that day..I slept, I woke up to see everyone around me is sleeping, again I slept,woke up to find the pillow fell down from the seat, picked it up..turned to the other side..again slept.  Around 10 A.M (I am not sure what time it  would be on Turkey Standard Time), breakfast was served. Poached mushroom and green chilly,salad with a special kind of bread stuffed with lightly fried egg and spinach , coffee, with chocolate cake. Ahh..it was refreshing, atleast to get rid of the jet lag..was feeling like vomiting, slight headache and strain. Went to washroom, had breakfast and I was ready for another 5 hour of flight. Arrived Istanbul 9.30A.M of T.S.T. 12PM for I.S.T. People outside India seem to be so lively. As the flight landed safely, every single person clapped out of relief (or to thank the pilot) !!Istanbul airport looks much like Arabic the shopping mall I have seen in T.L.C. If you have a thick wallet to splurge (and the patience to clear the custom duty) , numerous options are there. Did some window shopping, took some photos..observed the people around, how they speak(specially the accent ,much like Russian accent) and most importantly enquired about our connecting flight. Splashed water on the face for few minutes, tied up hair, put cream on lips as it looked poorly chapped…now once again, ready for Transit immigration interview.  Following the transit interview, security check in was dome smoothly..

Flight took off 10 minutes late because of the air-traffic. One group was sitting next to us, they were carrying musical instruments, amplifiers..must be going to some music concert in Israel. They were humming a tune, not together, but a piece of tune was suggested by each of the band member, as  they were trying to select which one to keep in the song. After an hour, lunch was served,almost same  as the lunch except the addition of smoked chicken breast. It was yummy. Viraja did not touch anything after smelling each of them and judging their taste by look. So after finishing my plate, I took her veg plate and gorged on the veggies. In return I offered my chocolate cake, she accepted after insisting her twice. People always go by my thin (slim) figure, don't know how much I can eat when I am hungry :P. Ahh..10 hour long journey came to an end..Tel Aviv Airport seem to be less crowded, more quiet and the perfect gateway for a very small country with population half of Bangalore.

We walked for 15 minutes , to collect the baggage . But didn't know another immigration interview was waiting for us!! This was the toughest. What training will I do in Israel, when will I go back to my country, what testing I do as a test engineer…even I was asked to show the return flight ticket and the hotel voucher I was going to stay in Tel-Aviv. It went on for 15 minutes. I rattled and rushed to the baggage belt as it's already 30 minutes we have arrived here and they would have dumped somewhere unclaimed!!    Now the next job is to find the guy who will come to pick us up. We waited for him sometime. Airport authority people came and asked us not to stand in between the exit and go outside the airport. And we don't know where to search that fellow. I took a risk. Tried to make an ISD from my mobile as it already got the "Cellcom" signal through International roaming. Someone picked up the call "Hi, this is Satarupa, working for ECI, have arrived from India and we are searching for the cab"..Itook a breath before I can hear the reply "Oh hi,how can I help you ?". "Can you please convey our message to the cab driver to wait for us in the exact landmark written in the mail", "Surely, I will tell him, don't worry". "Thanks" I hanged up just checking my balance , Rs-350 gone. We rushed to the 1st floor with our luggage, before that I exchanged the trolleys as Viraja was struggling with hers. I asked her to stand and look after the luggage..look around every possible counters, lift, stairs and side –walk hoping to  find out someone with a ECI hoarding..now I was feeling the right side nerve on my forehead was tickling. I came back to Viraja, sit in my suitcase for a few second and…. Opened the mail print out "Shit, I could have saved my 350 balance..what a moron am I!!"  I ran to the same counter where I was searching for the driver, checked the names of the agencies, Yes..I got it…..no one will come, it was the pre-assumption by our India office. In mail one agency name is there, I have to find out their counter here…and I got it. They guessed by my Indian face..welcomed me and next happening this was we were in a big, posh car..the driver tuned into a local radio station… 

Not again..I am sitting on a round stone made slab, just infront of our would be apartment..noone is there to receive after the cab left us there..I spent another 150bucks from my Vodafone balance to call up the flat owner..according to him we should have informed him 15 minutes before reaching here..all my energies are drained out..not a drop of water in my bottle. Don't have patience too to listen to the nagging…... One monster has arrived..he lifted my suitcase upon his shoulder and viraja's on his head. Opened the key..switched on the A.C and I sat down on the red velvet sofa..I am here. In a new country.In a new apartment. Into a new routine. I didn’t cross Bengal border, except while travelling to n from Bangalore. Now I have crossed 6 countries, 2 oceans and 8 international boundaries. Donno what is waiting next. But as of now…I am what I am now, was like never before..

The Earthy Word 'Customer'

I work for IT, dealing everyday with customer centric product, customer’s complain on a product, customer’s satisfaction on a product. And my daily bread and butter is making this ‘product’ perfect for the 'customer'. My hurried morning and my engrossed afternoons and my ‘traffic’ed evening and my tired late nights- all these dedicated to this work ‘customer’, rater ‘devoted’. So, long back, I had grown a human expectation when I’d be on the other side of the table, I will be privileged.

Now, the irony is when I am the customer, seldom they bother to feel ‘I am the bloody customer’.

·         I take BMTC bus every morning to commute to office and the bus fare is 25/-. I try to give the exact fare, sometime if I tell I don’t have 5Rs Change the conductor shouts like I just announced I will ride free in his bus.

·         I stay in an apartment where they charge huge maintenance due to its ‘brand name’, which implies they will provide water backup and power backup. When we find no water in a summer afternoon, they say due to some unavoidable reasons, they can’t help it.

·         When I have normal fever, I go to a clinic and doctor prescribes 3 tests – blood, ECG, ECO-2D. Expectedly every time (oh I am blessed) reports show nothing significant to worry about but I keep on splurging on these tests fearing precaution is better than cure!

·         When I want to work from home or download any random thing using my personal internet connection, I thank to the disgusting internet speed from a service provider who promised up to 7Mbps speed. When I call them to complain, I find the fault is the location I live (Of course they have nothing to do with that, it’s completely my burden) where they have not installed a tower. They give me hope indeed, soon they will install one (might be one of their 5 year plans which is quiet impressive).worst is when I want to stop the service, they log a ticket for that but send me a message after 2 days “Dear madam, your connection has been resumed and we have taken care of the speed issue”. This of course is an endless loop after several escalations to different managers in customer care. NOBODY CARES ABOUT ME, “THE CUSTOMER”.

·          Oh and not to mention, the misguiding advertisements in Television, overly prized retail market, multinational food chain charging 150 bucks for a cup of coffee and 250 for sandwich, mammoth amount of broker charges to be catered while buying/ renting a house, requirement of illogical security deposit almost everywhere in the city be it a 20 liter water can or a rented house or a medical card (oh I found even guitar classes take that in a city like Bangalore), and so on.. The list of frustration is endless.

I feel pity on myself when I am THE CUSTOMER. Let me be on the other side of the table rather.