The hyped and the overly-hyped March 11, 2007

These days, you may not find the inadequacy of methods at your disposal to waste your time and money.  I wouldn’t say that I did it unwillingly or unknowingly. It is more of knowing that you are wasting your time and money and then going ahead and doing it and then hoping that this might serve as a lesson for the future which unfortunately never does happen. 

This is no movie review of the blatantly hyped up film ‘Nishabd‘. I just want to keep a written record of my experience so that I do not go for another one of these extremely distressing cinema atleast for the next five years. 

Quite obviously, Mr Amitabh Bachchan can do nothing wrong. He is ‘emotionally involved’ with a girl who is 18 years old, he himself being 60. Notice, the girl isn’t 17, 16 or 15. She is 18. And that is stressed upon the promos time and time again. Amitabh Bachchan cannot be involved with a minor girl under no circumstances, so that’s pretty much dealt with. A 60 year old man’s wife is always the dullest human being living on this planet earth. The director can depict this because he has met all human beings living on this planet earth and such depiction does not in anyway signify that the 60 year old man might be attracted to an 18 year old or 26 or 72 or any woman who is an iota more interesting than his present wife. 

18 year old girls from Australia are essentially insolent, have accent which is in no way Australian, have uncontrollable urges to dance with hose pipes in front of the house while the friend’s dad turned peeping tom who is supposed to be a gifted photographer happily clicks away pictures, also have a love for lollipops [which again in no way transmits any underlying sexual advances to the friend's dad] and have the very healthy habit of poking tree branches in the friend’s dad’s ears while he is driving.   Also, when you do find out that your father is having an affair with your friend [who incidentally hasn't brought trousers from Australia] you can always go to America. You just need your father’s signatures on the papers which have been lying on your table since eternity.

 And to you who have sacrificed the love of your life for your wife and children — the hose pipes, the lollipops, the horrific accent, the poetry and the grammatical mistakes in speech is enough to keep you alive.

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That done, I reflect upon the next big hyped up event which is set to hit you on your head like a sledge-hammer even before you can say Hallelujah. It is the Cricket World Cup 2007, if you haven’t guessed it already.
India already has the best squad, the best batsmen, the best bowlers, the best physio, the best host, the best tarot card readers, the best advertisements, the best official cricket song, the best coverage and the best opinion leaders. And if you are not upbeat about our team’s chances at this world cup, then you deserve to be stranded in an island without food and water, or be cursed to live in the greater depths of hell and  certain other likewise terrible things will  happen to you. Funnily enough, Sachin Tendulkar advises people to remain calm and support the team in difficult times, which I think he foresees too clearly these days. Greg Chappell says we will make it to the semis and may be that is a realistic possibility. You can almost feel the inevitability creeping in even before the tournament starts.  

Most importantly, the timings are great this time. People would not feel that depressed and disgruntled. They would just feel sleepy. Not only because of the matches being telecasted in deeper hours of the night but also because of our performances.  And once we do get thrown out of the competition, we would have to pick someone amongst the remaining teams to support, since we Indians love cricket more than our Indian Cricket team. This is the Indian way of completely disregarding or rather hiding the fact, that India is only remotely competitive in no sport other than cricket and that is why we are forced to take interest in this sport. If there are people in this country who would really admit that they don’t like watching and talking about cricket and aren’t excited about the team’s chances  the fact is, that the end is always pleasant. You can always wear your ‘I-told-you-so’ look after everything is finished. 

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These days ongoing Board examinations also get as much as hype as the ‘how-stupid-can-you-get’ Union Budget on the news channels and newspapers. Recently, I read this article about the increase sales of books during such examinations. Like, a student who had found that ‘Together with Biology’ had got her lot of common questions in ICSE exams, sent her mother that day itself to buy ‘Together with Chemistry’ and ‘Together with Physics’. Her mother, like every other parent driven by the obsession of seeing her daughter do extensively well in examinations, bought them at once, without even questioning the relevance of such a purchase. 

Moreover, the sales of coffee, and Horlicks has increased to greater heights along with stationary and other items. Parents don’t question such purchases, they take greater care and concerned about their children, providing them with necessary or unnecessary amenities. They accompany them to examination centres, wait outside while the exams go on, and then scrutinize the question papers, discuss them with fellow students and classmates and satisfied they return home. While looking back at my tryst with the board examinations, I can never find my parents even remotely interested about providing any amenity or even showing greater concern. Surprisingly, if I needed coffee, that would be my job to make it, if I needed stationary that would be again me, and silly purchases on every pretext wasn’t acceptable.  The point is, I never liked my parents taking interest in my studies, once I entered adulthood. And I guess, it wasn’t the norm at my house as well. Once in a while, they would just remind me how important it was to concentrate on studies and how these exams built your base and that was about it.   

 It is when you enter college and graduate, you understand that the board examinations weren’t the be all and end all of your life, as your teachers or your acquaintances made it out to be. Yes, what is more important is to be motivated at every point in your life and once you lose it, failure is inevitable. Parents rarely make their children understand that.  The motivation to earn a fair result is entirely of a student and it can never be or rather it should never be shared by the parent.

In search of a good life December 25, 2006

In the beginning, I want to wish everyone a Merry Christmas. This December has been quite an eventful month, in more ways than one. It seems that the weather in Calcutta has also been influenced by the heated political activities going on in the state; hence the familiar chill in a December is yet to arrive. So, it’s not quite the Christmas time which we are used to here.

The 51^st Annual Convocation of Jadavpur University was held on Sunday, the 24^th of December. Thank God, it was on a Sunday this time (The Annual convocation of J.U is always held on the 24^th , the foundation day of the university), otherwise, the probability of a Bandh on the convocation day could have been pretty high. All those apprehensions about wearing a plain white cotton saree with saffron border and returning home in one piece  with the degree scroll <;-)> was put to rest. Well, that doesn’t mean I did not have my fair share of accidents; especially while boarding the public conveyance. But let’s just say I came out unscathed.

Sunday had been a long day, right from 9 am in the morning till around 5pm when I reached home. A casual glance to catch up on the morning newspaper’s first page headline is what induced me to write this post. The news was about a  guy who had passed out from my school, a graduate of IIT Kharagpur , a holder of an MBA degree from a reputed institute,  and an employee in a multinational company had been strangled to death and left in a dark, desolate place in his car with his wallet, credit cards, valuable belongings, missing.

No, I do not feel emotional about the incident just because the fellow was from my school, or he had lived in my hometown or because he is a Bengali. I never knew this guy, never heard his name. Possibly, may have seen him as a prefect and that too is quite debatable.  But, it just seemed a bit awkward to come across this piece of news on the day I graduated.

From the time we realize our consciousness, we are constantly told by our parents, teachers, acquaintances, neighbours, relatives etc about how important it is to work hard when it comes to academics. How important it is to compete, and to get ahead of others. When you become a little older, they continue to cite examples about that individual who has done such and such thing, has achieved this brilliant result and is now working in that “big multinational company”, and his/her pay package is that big… and this is supposed to be a “good life”. This is supposed to be “achieving something in life”; to earn a reputation among others and sometimes this has such far-reaching effects that a person working in a big multinational company, and staying abroad also gets tagged as a “very good person”.

That is another end of the story. But often I have wondered whether this concept of good life has any continuity. This incident and scores of others which happen quite frequently point to the fact that there is nothing that adds meaning to the effort that one puts in to achieve his/her goal. Take this person for instance. He worked hard in school, he worked in college and he possibly was working quite hard in his job as well. Those hours that he had spent in studying and working helped him stand out in the crowd. And yet, his life had to end abruptly, with the apparent motive being robbery. The story of his life would always be “what could have been” and then slowly and surely his name, reputation and achievements would  end up becoming obscure in people’s minds.

Come to think of it, how meaningless does this seem? We are taught to provide a degree of sincerity when it comes to academics so that we can achieve a distinct reputation in the society. We are taught that there is no alternative to hard work. But does this guarantee the continuity in life? Does this guarantee a natural death?

It doesn’t. Because for someone life may end up retiring as a CEO of a big multinational company, to another it may end in a dark night, in an uninhabited place, sitting in the driver seat of a car. 

Sir, excuse us for not laughing. November 15, 2006

I once met humour on my way. I seemed to have noticed him from a distance, but I just passed by without a word. And after the passage of considerable time and distance, I turned and saw the figure had diminished to a mere point. As if, he had been stationary all this while. May be he had met with an accident.

The Big White building which I visit quite often these days, seems quite hostile and indifferent. Probably unwilling to let me enter since it considers me as an unwanted intruder. But I still come here to keep my mind off some things, things which ought to be disposed off, for the time being atleast.

But I never knew that I would meet this old friend of mine – since these days I find him mainly in books and television. I find him being marketed; he has become an essential commodity in the lives of urban public. Too busy to be imparted without any consideration.

You could probably excuse me to write off his presence atleast in the Big White Building, where my day begins with climbing 8 sets of stairs. Thats okay, its a part of the game, I hear telling myself when I gasp for breath after reaching the summit.

Unfortunately, I can’t seem to register his dynamic presence when I chance upon this

‘**** (name of a political student group) sends you revolutionary greetings’

I find myself hardly the time to muse upon the word ‘revolutionary’ and its context in the above line. As I have said earlier, I get on with the game.

Then, all of a sudden you realise, he doesn’t reside here because he chooses not to. He gets disappointed because people here aren’t worthy enough to recognise him. Yet sometimes he makes a re-entry in search of the group which can identify him, but the result is always unsatisfactory. So he decides to leave, again.

Professor: Can anyone tell me the meaning of the term portfolio?

Student: Sir, its a collection of investments.

Professor: ’You are correct but thats again in the context of finance. Portfolio – a very general meaning would be a collection of heterogeneous items…….*continues to explain*

For example, portfolio may also be a Man’s briefcase or bag. Therein, a man carries a pen, files, documents….calculator, or may be a comb.

A soft murmur in the class occurs, since the Professor exhibits a furtive smile on his face when he utters the last word.

Professor (smiling): Yes, apparently, carrying combs in briefcases have become quite necessary these days.

The girls in the first bench start giggling, and it spreads quite contagiously to the other remote parts of the classroom. The expression of mirth , however seemed to be at its peak at the first bench.

Professor(his eyes on the first bench): Please don’t laugh.

I look up. The voice was quite dissimilar to the earlier one, which had been echoing for quite a while. It was solemn, almost rigid and had a stern tone along with it.

The Professor seemed to have lost his smile now. He was looking at the first bench quite intently, trying to assert that this was a grave situation which needed to be addressed.

Professor (at the first bench) : You really shouldn’t be laughing. 

The laughter died. Silence descended, with all the students looking  at the Professor, trying to decipher the reason behind the sudden change in the Professor’s demeanour. What exactly was he driving at? Inviting humour himself and then asking us to show him the door? What could be the reason?

Professor (at the first bench): Because these are men’s bags we are talking about. We aren’t discussing Ladies’ bags here. Not yet.

Probably he had expected the class’ reaction to be much more informal. May be he didn’t expect us to roll out of our seats. But he never expected this bit of reaction, either. There occured a ghastly silence as of mourners on death bed in the classroom. The girls kept on staring at him, trying to remind themselves how guilty they were laughing at the earlier comment. The class became unnaturally quiet, because the Professor had ‘supposedly’ tried to convey how he never advocated ‘laughing’. Some tried to figure out the positive response to this, by looking out of the window.

 The professor who seemed delirious by now, since he did not meet a positive response from the class, waited, and tried again.

Professor (smiling now): So, please don’t laugh. 

 No, that still did not get him the positive response.

When the nonsense makes no sense September 8, 2006

I love having good conversations. Probably, because it broadens my area of knowledge about various topics under the sun. And its not always, that I am actively engaged in it. Sometimes, I like to sit back and grasp the information that the other person is imparting. So, I guess, I don’t mind joining a range of conversations about technology, business, football, rock music, politics, books, spirituality - anything - if I can find a passionate individual at the other end.

It is funny how one can suddenly stumble upon a conversation which you really don’t wish to end. It is as if you have so much to say, and you feel powerless when it comes to using the right words. Sometimes you are a prisoner of time, which decides your more than important commitments. 

But I guess you have to consider the flipside. These days, I cannot categorise my conversations. I come home and reflect on the people I meet and the discussions I have had, and I find myself left with nothing. I find myself asking foolish questions like “Why did he/she talk to me in that way?” or “What did he/she want to convey with that?” And I just do not find the answers. It is as if everyone is ready to try fencing with words these days…

Nonsense Conversation number 1

Me: Hi V, hey congratulations on your graduation result!

V: Thanks, and same to you too! You did very well, so I heard.

Me: Thanks, finally made it!

1 minute silence

V: Oh I didn’t study at all, while in college. Just scraped through I guess. It is quite a surprise that I scored a 75.

*From here on, I don’t speak anything, or rather I am not allowed to. I just suspect, that it is better to remain discrete*

V: Actually, I don’t remember studying before any exam in college. I would go out the night before the exam, for a movie or to a disc. Then I would return home. I would be too tired to study. The next morning, I would call S and ask her “How much time did you take to study these chapters?”. S would reply “well, 3 weeks”. So, in 3 hours I would study whatever I could.

Actually, I never studied in School as well. I was first and S was second, and in college I am third and S is first. I was so busy with my job from the 3rd sem, that I never found time to study in college.

Me:  wow, V…I can’t imagine what the consequences would have been, if you had studied.

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Nonsense Conversation number 2

V: See, that guy over there?

Me: Who?

V: The guy with the black shirt, notice his lips – They are unnaturally black, I think he is wearing a black lipstick.

*After trying really hard to locate the guy with the black lips – I normally don’t indulge in such extremely stimulating activities – I give up, feeling rather disappointed*

V: See, its so weird!

Me: *still not finding the guy*  May be he is a regular smoker? It could be a characteristic..

1 minute silence

 V: …But I smoke as well, My lips aren’t black ….but I guess I smoke occasionally…may be thats why….last time I smoked was….

Okay, why was I having this conversation again?

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Nonsense Conversation number 3

Sorry C, this one just had to make it to the list.

Location: Metro (Subway)

C: Hey, don’t cut the tickets now. Wait  a bit.

Me: Why, we are getting late, I have my tutions at 12.

C: I think that guy is following us

Me: which guy?

C: That guy. Ufff, don’t look, he is looking at us, as we speak. He was looking at me in the bus, and now he has followed us to the metro station..

Me: Let me the cut the tickets please.

After getting the tickets.

C: Lets take the next train

Me: As if the “next train” will solve your paranoia. I can picture this right now. Night of thunderstorms, with incessant rain. Suddenly you get up at the middle of the night, turn on the light, and notice this guy standing underneath your window sill.. Now thats a thought.

C: Shut up, its not funny.

*Finally I coax C to get on to the train*

C: What will happen, if there is a blast right now in metro?

Me: Is this supposed to be funny?

C: No, yesterday I saw someone in Metro. He just completely fits this image of a terrorist, long beard and all. He was walking aimlessly in the platform. And then I saw that he was looking at me….and then….

Me: At least you can talk to me about a terrorist attack, when I am not travelling in the Metro!!!

Dare not speak my name August 30, 2006

This is where I incorporate one of those extremely decisive things in my life, which over the years has angered me to such extremities, which cannot be described in words.

 When I was born, my mother wanted to name me Nandita. Extremely nice name, you cannot make any funny art-form out of it, you can hardly get the spelling wrong and you don’t have to repeat it twice to an unknown person. But destiny had something else to offer me. My father wanted my name to begin with the letter M, since my mother’s name began with the similar letter. Don’t ask me why, I never found out the mystery behind such a choice. Anyway, so here’s the deal. Maitrayee decided as the propah name and nickname (which is a must if you belong to a Bengali family) is Neena. 

This next paragraph is a very important one. It explains the story behind my name. So, doze off or skip the paragraph…  

The story is from one of the Upanishads, which one, my mom doesn’t remember. There was this Sage called Jagyaval. He had two wives – the older one was Katyani and the younger one was Maitrayee. Katyani was more into house-hold work and Maitrayee was into Adhayan (studying various subjects and assisting her husband. One day, Jagyaval realizes he has to perform the Vanyaprastha stage, and so he needs to denounce his material life and go to the forest to attain enlightenment. So, he calls his wives and expresses his desire to divide his resources between them. Herein, Maitrayee says a Sanskrit line which when translated in English means, “What will I do with those material resources, that will not make me Immortal?” She accompanies her husband in his search of enlightenment. And apparently, this particular line had influenced my mother so much, that she had finally come to the lone conclusion that there can be no better name than Maitrayee, for her daughter.

(Obviously, that is another thing to discuss, that my father considered that my name should have been Katyani, because of my love for materialistic things right from childhood. Crying for a balloon in gariahat when I was 3 years old, to asking for a sleek mobile phone , when I am 21…life hasn’t changed much.) 

My mother’s responsibility ended there. But that’s where the nightmare started for me. Right from school, people have developed art-forms which exhibit stupendous nature of innovation. The common one is Maitree, this means friendship, and as I have so painstakingly described the story in the earlier paragraph, that is not my name. Weird ones include Moitro or something. Sometimes they confuse it with Maitreya, which is male name. And when I tell my name to a stranger, the usual responses I get is What – Come again – Excuse me – Pardon me – Once more – huh – please repeat – can you spell it for me..the list is endless 

 Sample this conversation I had in the Election Commission office, when I went for my voter identity card.

 Man: Please write your name in English and Bengali on top of the form.After completing the form, I go to this person  Man: Your name is Mai-tra-eee  Me: No, its Moi-tre-eee  Man: Ya, but the Bengali spelling does not match with the English spelling 

 Me: I pronounce it Moi-tre-ee, but I write Maitrayee. Whats the problem? 

Man: But theres ambiguity, pronounciation does not match with the spelling… 

 Me: In my birth certificate, its spelt Maitrayee, so I guess it should be ok  Man: Maitrayee and Moitreyee is different. You should probably stick to Moitreyee
Me: Well, nothing much can be done now. My birth certificate contains Maitrayee. Now, I am not being paranoid and please, you cannot say that I suffer from obsessive compulsive disorder. But is it a heinous crime to expect that people atleast pronounce your name properly? No, it seems that it is too much to ask. I understand that you have to put a little bit of effort on your tongue, but why can’t people think about the person sitting at the other end of the table? I am always going through an identity crisis, and I become really very tired reminding people a zillion number of times what is the correct pronunciation and the proper spelling. But no, they never seem to follow what I say, or they consciously ignore and continue with their innovation.

 So, the never ending process of name-messing continues… and so does my fruitless methods of enlightening the oblivious mortals.

 

Perfectly Imperfect Populace August 23, 2006

I am probably not a cynic in the truest sense of the word. What category I may use to describe myself, baffles me. Over the years, I have evolved in terms of cynicisms. Such Cynicisms have turned into scorns, scorns have turned into hatred, hatred (suprisingly) has turned me back into tolerance – to a certain degree- and tolerance has led me to appreciate imperfection..well atleast I am learning.

So, it began at the age of 14 when I found everything in shades of grey. The years 1999, 2000. So overwhelmed was I in relation to being scornful and detesting people that I wanted to shut the door and lock myself in a prison. The concept of solitary confinement was endearing. Such traits still exist in small doses in my character. For example, if you ask me, what are those “qualities”  that you detest in people, I could go on writing, probably till eternity. But appreciation regarding human beings’ traits? Seems a tedious task.

Was I obsessed with perfections in people back then? This lands me up in some interesting conclusions. Over the years, since 2003, I have learned about myself. I have learned that, if I conciously and sub-conciously try to forget certain things (which I desperately want to), I can. It is a continuous process, but somehow seems fascinating to uncover how my brain can wipe out the unnecessary garbage. What I do remember is that I wanted people to fit into a certain prototype, a certain company-manufactured sample, some standardised quality-standard. But, I guess you learn the horrors of life. The game doesn’t work that way. You should fit into the standards of the crowd. Expecting the crowd to fit your standards? Immature.

So, from 2003, the artistry of acting, which is an imperative weapon to be sociable, took over. I have learned the rules of the game. No matter how much you detest the person who is talking to you, smile, agree, say words of appreciations, comment on how right that person is…being sociable is important. It seems a waste of time, but you cannot afford to be called a lunatic. To be one amongst the crowd, to be in a group, even though you risk losing your identity, does not matter. Thats the price you should be willing to pay.

Why is it so important to like every other person you meet? Why put on an act of politeness when you possibly do not want to be near 100 yards of close proximity with the particular person? I find it hard to be someone else, it slowly eats away my soul, but surprisingly it is quite easy to implement. The real world baffles me.

 Imperfections us what makes us human.. But does the world at large, appreciate imperfections? Then, why did I not fit in the group? Over the years of feeling guilty about the fact that I wanted people to fit the image, now that was immature! Anyone and everyone wants and decides a prototype for their best friend. If that doesn’t match, you are thrown out. Possibly termed a nut-case.  So, hiding your true self, is important. To fabricate your outlook, its imperative. That is, Perfection. Not many people are blessed with the art of appreciating imperfections in people. Prejudice takes over, such is human instinct.