Work desk

The flat-screen Samsung monitor stares at my face.
A translucent water bottle sits on my right.
Wasted papers with scribbles and doodles lie on my left.
A capless black ball point pen maintains its demeanour.
A drawer full of bank papers and pay-slips suffers solitary confinement.
Another day at work commences.

The Phone Conversation

It ended on a bad note. As usual.

Ashalay

Ahshalay. It's a 2hour drive from my place in Kandivali. Two brothers, Manoj and Michael, a couple of years back along with their families, gave up everything and decided to dedicate their lives to orphan children. Ahsalay, today houses about 40 orphan kids. I had never been to Khargar(hope i got the spelling right) before. Kunal, a colleague of mine asked me if I would like to join him for a special screening of 3 idiots which he had organised for these kids. Considering most weekends are spent either drinking or watching movies, spending time with these kids was definitely going to be a much better experience. And I was more than willing. More than the movie, the very experience of going to a theater was much more exciting for the little ones. They'd never seen a movie hall before. But the high point of the day, especially for me was the evening spent at a nearby park. (Mysteriously, the photographs have disappeared from Kunal's camera). I remember spending most of my childhood evening playing various games with the neighbourhood kids till late after sundown. And mom would come chasing after me to get back home. Well, with children it's still the same. Of course, much like the average working Indian, I am out of shape and touch and I am still nursing my aching back and shoulders. But running around in an open field, with kids, as kids, uninhibited of your surroundings, still holds a different charm.

Without Winter

Mumbai. The city knows no winter. The temperatures don't drop here. No one cuddles under a quilt. No teeth chattering, watery nose scene happens. No problem making out the faces. There's no fog of course. December comes and goes. January follows suit. Didi won't like it here, she can't prepare any patishaptas. Dadu'll hate it here, he won't come back from the bazaar with a handi of jhola gur. No family sits on the balcony, enjoying the winter sun and savouring kichudi and phoolkopir bora. No smoke comes out of the mouth when you to sit for an evening adda session. No problem waking up in the morning either. Life moves on alright. Without winter.

Joe-goo

Randomness

When the beauty met the beast, the beast was munching tenderloins and drinking Corona. After that he got food poisoned.

Once upon a time in godforsaken timbuktoo a man went on an expedition to unravel the mysteries of the good, the bad and the ugly.

In the dead of the night, a big bad something like a wolf knocked on my door. It was my ex-girlfriend. So it happened on the spur of the moment. I kicked her, she punched me. I spat on her, she puked on me. I cursed her, she put a hex on me. And then all hell broke loose.

Nothing is sacrosanct. Everything is a good fuck or a bad fuck. Sometimes it's neither, it's just another fuck. Anyway, fuck it.

Pen and Paper

Different Strokes

This picture wasn't clicked by me. I just reworked on it a bit. Cropping it, adjusting the tones, blah, blah, blah. It's not a great piece of work or photograph. But there's something in it, which I fail to convey in words. There are somethings which aren't perfect and because it's so imperfect it's beautiful. Much like a the smell of smoking hot kichudi on a cold winter afternoon. My grandpa always says, "Shiter dupure rodey boshe kichudi khabar mojai alada." Yes, in bangla we use this expression a lot - otar ekta alada moja aache, ekta alada byapar aache (there's something different and magical about it). There are so many things jegulor mojai alada. Be it the smell of wet grass after a heavy downpour, or jumping of the terrace to grab an unripe mango which fell in the storm. Or taking a walk down the entire stretch of southern avenue just for a cup of tea. Today, it's Saraswati Puja. As they say it's the bengali valentine's day. In actuality, we are suppose to offer our prayers to the goddess of education - Saraswati, so that at the end of the year when the results come out, we can run back home and say - ma pass kore gechi (mom i've passed the exam). Every nook can corner in Kolkata would be adorned with small, or mid-sized pandals. there'll be music playing. Kids will rush to schools to grab their share of dodhi-korma, a delicacy generally prepared in Saraswati Puja. And of course teenagers can be found hanging out in groups all over the city. The guys in their traditional pajama-punjabi and the women in sarees. And most importantly, you are excused from all academic exercises. But the preparation is also something of an experience. You will find little kids spoiling your precious afternoon siesta, coming and asking for chanda (a small monetary donation for their Puja). Then you'll find your much loved plant-pots disappearing mysteriously only to reappear in the neighbourhood Puja Pandal. No stone is left unturned in appeasing the Goddess of education. People refrain from having anything tok (tangy) especially kool, a seasonal fruit. It's considered a bad omen. Anyone breaking the norm runs the risk of flunking in the annual exam. Groups of boys, hound the alleys of Potu para, a place which is famed for preparing Saraswati idols, haggling and bickering only to ensure that the best idol finds a place in their pandal. I used to go to lake market with my mom and grandmom to select an idol for our household puja. And no idol could be finalised without my approval. I even remember, once their was a shortage of pandits and the Puja hour was coming to a close. So, me and my grandpa and two other groups of neighbourhood boy-gangs were chasing a pandit, popularly known as thakurmashai on a cycle in order to pursue him to conduct our household puja before theirs. All in all it's a fun affair. And there's something different and magical about the entire experience; ekta alada moja aache.

Journey

Sherlock Holmes and Guy Ritchie

Like the conventional film buff, I have adored Guy Ritchie flicks. Whether it's a Lock Stock or a Snatch, or the gripping opening sequence of RocknRolla, Guy Ritchie has managed to present the world with a film grammar that's unique, sexy and awe-inspiring. A bold and failed attempt at doing an Indian Guy Ritichie, according to me was Vishal Bharadwaj's Kaminey. (I hated the second half). So when half of the world went raving about Conan Doyle's Baker Street detective, and the other half went gaga over Jeremy Brett, here came Guy Ritchie with a complete new portrayal of Sherlock Holmes. Holmes snuffs coke, trips on chemicals, is a street brawler, is trained in brazilian jujitsu, plays the mandolin, and is one helluva investigator. Robert downey Jr's performance is a treat to watch. Like all Guy Ritchie films, the sound design is complete with brilliance and so is the art direction. 221b baker street comes alive again.

Red Riding

a big thanks to my goan friend Ashley and Vijay for helping me out with the photoshop.

SMSing Happy New Year

No sooner had the clock struck 12, than the new year messages came pouring in. From lame shayaris to silly jokes to innovative smileys, people went beserk crafting stuff. Well, the best one I've heard till now was told to me by our CEO, Pushpi - "May you stay as fit as Tiger Woods and as healthy as N D Tiwari."

black and white

lay lady lay

Nowhere man

Halla Bol

While walking down the streets of dear old kolkata i chanced upon this adda session in progress beneath menoka cinema. A comfort zone far more enriching than the modern day coffee days or baristas. How else does one savour talking about things under the sun.