Beyond the sem

I was worried that the bad thing which was supposed to kill me in 2012 was really my end semesters. Hah, I lived through it.

After the exam, we had lunch at Azad Hind Dhaba, and it was here that Bambi noticed that he didn't know the person who was sitting opposite to him. It was Farah, Wasim's cousin.

Bambi smiled, and said," Hey, I haven't seen you before, right?"
Farah was so engrossed in Priyanka's illustration of "nyaka" that she didn't hear that. Bambi stared for a solid 5 seconds and then turned towards me.
"I hate it when that happens." he said.
I choked on my kebab. Text book stuff, that!

Wasim made us walk all the way from the food place to his home. I thought it would be cool if I could include a link showing the entire route on Google maps, but I am too lazy. We saw one of those cool NFS-ey black and white cop cars, and I went up to the driver and asked him how many of those are in town. The amused driver told me that Salt Lake had only one. I swear that I was going to ask him if it could do spike strips but Bambi gave me one of his looks. I also taught Priyanka how to sing whiskey lullaby with three hajmola candys in your mouth. It's an art and if I am in a good mood, I can teach you for free.

We spent the afternoon at Wasim's grandma's. We played bluff and I realised that I was getting shamelessly good at it. Then we tried the good old memory game because the girls started complaining whenever we played FIFA. I discovered that using your OWN name in a memory game serves two purposes-
1. It makes everybody remember your name. Even Wasim's cousin, who knew me as Rick, remembers my name now.
2. It's easier to remember your own name than, say, carpet, especially when it is preceded by America and followed by flowers.

We also decided that "doing a bambi" officially means being late. Farah found it strange that some of us call Bambi "Bum", but by the time I was done explaining, I had found yet another admirer of the clever wordplay involved in Bumbee-Bambi.

I stayed over at Sayantan's last night. Sayantan has two dogs- An alsatian (although some members of his family swear that he is really a german shepherd) and a black dog of unidentifiable breed. The big alsatian baby sucks my great toe whenever he can reach it. It's really very harmless but I dislike a sticky toe, and I  freak out imagining all the awesome things that the dog could do to my toe. Sheru the dog is also very fond of my butt. He must imagine that I hide exciting things there because he sniffs it enthusiastically whenever I have my back turned to him which is surprisingly often because he keeps moving around me. It's strange also because I don't have many bones down there...

The next morning, I was woken up around 7 by what sounded like a guy humming a single tune over and over again. It was Sayantan singing his favourite song. The fact that he knows only a couple of lines does naught to discourage him, but it certainly compels ME to discourage him. In fact, it makes me lose sleep.

Cursing softly, I woke up to see what Sayantan was doing in the next room. I entered, mentally choosing the perfect early morning expletives, and then I saw it. He was bent over a copy-A BIOCHEMISTRY COPY- revising TCA cycle the day after our first sems ended. As I cleared my throat, he looked up and grinned sheepishly. I slowly walked over, looked at the cycle..and pointed out the mistake that I KNEW he had made.

We caught the earliest possible show off any movie ever by watching A game of shadows at 9:15. It was an entertaining two hours. I attempted to impress everyone by recognizing the theme music which is "Discombobulate" by Hans Zimmer. I should thank Ratul for making me listen to it. At that moment, however, I called it Bamboozle. They don't know that yet, obviously.

Prank

Usually, whenever the metro security stops me to check my bag, I direct an irritated look at them. Once, I said even said, “Ki dada, roj i toh dekhchen, kichu korar hole etodine ek adhta train to hijack kortam.” but he didn’t even look at me.
Today, however, I was very excited about getting my bag checked. An opportunity had presented itself and I was very eager to take it. I had a polythene bag which contained all the bones of the extremities. I wanted the man to check it.

With that plan, I entered the Belgachia metro station. The man at the entrance didn’t even look at me. A setback, yes, but the war was not lost. There was still the man before the magnetic gate. Slowly, I started walking towards the gate. Time stopped as I walked past the desk where the man sat. I looked towards him, trying desperately to look like a man who was upto no good, but he was just too busy digging his nose. I was almost past it when, all of a sudden, the man called me. I turned, like the heroine turns at the climactic scenes of old hindi movies, in slow-mo, and ran towards him.

As I enthusiastically placed my bag on the table, he asked me in a bored voice, “Ki ache?”
“Beshi kichu nei,” I said, “Kintu…ETA ache!”
I whipped out the femur and held it in front of his face. I wanted to use the skull but sadly, it’s in pieces.

His eyes popped out and he took half a step back.
“Ota Ki?” he said, pointing at it like it was a ghost.
“Haddi.” I said pleasantly.
“Nokol toh?” he asked hopefully.
“Na, na! Ashol toh! Ei dekhun!” I said, happily thrusting it forward.
He appeared to have recovered some of his composure, because he stood his ground.
“Manusher na Poshur?” he asked uncertainly.
“Manusher, kaku! Daktari te lage.”
“Kintu metro te kano niye jachcho?” he demanded to know.
“Sob jaigai lekha ache “Do not carry inflammable items, Kothao to bones niye jawa allowed na e kotha lekha nai.”

While he struggled to find an answer to that, the lady checker, who belongs to angshuman’s bone fame, appeared. Her face lit up in recognition at the sight of the bones.
“Tora abar haddi niye esechis?” She asked cheerfully. “Ora majhe majhei haddi niye ashe” She told her companion.

“Jan apni.” Said the man. “Ar anben na!”

I smiled at both of them and left.

N.B: I know that they are doing their jobs, and I really appreciate that...but this was too good an opportunity!

History revisited

Manosij Ghosh Dastidar, a student of class V, was distressed because of his inability in making friends.

Along with 60 other children, Manosij, Arkamita and Swarat have recently attended a six-day-long Art of Living workshop called Art Excel (or All-round training in Excellence) organised by South Point school at the school premises. "This course is tailor made for the age group 9-15," informed Bidisha Sen, an ex-IITian-turned-Art Excel instructor for Art of Living.

At the end of the workshop, the likes of Swarat, Manosij and Arkamita were looking as cheerful as children should be. "I’ve started making a lot of friends during the workshop. I don’t feel shy or fearful anymore," said Manosij.

Manosij, Did this really happen? :) Rohit says you were as normal as it gets within the limit of experimental error back then...

Bleach, Alchemy, Jumper...You name it.

I always knew that Japanese didn't have much talent in nomenclature. Try bleach for instance. Its an intricate graphic novel about the dead, alive and the in-betweens. They fight for honour, ascendancy, power...well, to put it bluntly, they fight to justify the tag that Bleach has of an action novel. Add a few teaspoons of romance and friendship and voilà! You have Bleach. I feel that its a reasonable question if someone wonders what prompted the author to call it bleach. Well, the protagonist has orange hair. And as he confides in one of the episodes, he DIDN'T bleach it. Apparently, in the new world order, that's all the reason you need to call something bleach.

You must have heard of full metal alchemist? I love it yes, but I do have complains about its name too. Maybe I am dumb, but I still don't see why you go around naming a guy with two metal limbs, FULL metal alchemist.

We have Jumper next. I liked the movie. So I tried the book. Once you get over the bad English, the naivety of the plot and the writers decisive ability to neglect all loose ends, its a tolerable book. But that holds true for only the first part. In the second leg of the book, he lets loose an avalanche of bad puns and ridiculous sub plots. I mean, you understand that you are witnessing something truly special when you go on reading about a man puking, peeing AND pooping for three chapters straight.
But you can only do it for so long. And so this poor guy cannot jump anymore because he starts...well, doing all of that. What happens now? His wife starts jumping. I completely lost interest at this point.

:)

Feeling indomitably happy.

Reconciliation.

And then there was this skit. Adhunik Mahabharat.

I was in the Chemistry lab, sniffing the little labelled bottles to glory, when Anwesha walked up to me and announced that i was in a skit. Really blunt and out of the blue sort of announcement, if you get my point.

I was almost hysterical before i wilted.

After they calmed me down, and i started talking coherently again, Tima told me that life wasnt really that bad. She even said that she would talk to "them" about letting me write the script if thats what i wanted. It took me all my brains to realise that she was trying to make me comfortable.

Srijata wrote a beautiful script which asked some very fundamental physics questions. But it was resplendent with the very, ah, questionable behaviour of the students. So it was dropped.

On the next beautiful Monday, i went to the biology tuition. Little did i expect what i wasnt supposed to expect. When i was walking out of the tuition, i ran into the aforementioned Tima who revealed that i was Judhistir and Bhaswar aka Dung aka Android(for his rather studious tendencies) was Sahadeb. We could have been knocked down with a feather.

And that was the mere beginning,folks, of the most enchanting rehearsal saga.

We did approximately 5 classes in 4 days(bunked for the teachers, in the name of rehearsals!) and practiced. At first there was this trouble with getting everyone to learn up there lines( I am telling you, we were a bunch of hopeless amateurs. Not that we are pros now, but we are slightly less amateurs). We witnessed an ego clash, a meltdown, a non cooperation movement(mini scale), we lauded Kiki's script*(and lamented our failure at acting upto it) and Roro's acting, we had a brief all fun and no work meeting in my house(chicken momo's, btw), We cried in despair- Me and Pc, specifically, we loved talking about the various ways in which we could flunk, but we didn't. Once and for all. I even noticed the princie laughing, Probir Sir-somewhat less murderous, Arijit Sir-Chuckling, Dilip Sir-oh well...

That screams success. And so, delirious with success, we, the men in punjabis and the women in sari's( petty pretty and half of them trippy) tried to squeeze 13 of ourselves in two cars. Gist is that we went to south city to celebrate success.

After coming back home, and cleansing my mind of the tit bits of delirium, I heaved a huge sigh of content.

And then came the anguished bellow.

I systematically worked out a timetable, and began working on the MCQ's.

Night after night i slept instead of working, subjecting the timetable to regrettable neglect as i am wont to do, and before i knew it, I was 7 days away from the MCQ's.

It was then that i found the diary of Adrian Mole. Written my Susan Townsend.

Its a story about a pervy kid of 15 and two third years( the kid's very particular about the two third). How he experiences the teenage blues, how he tackles the lack of people to appreciate his intellectual self, how the incompetent BBC people didnt recognise the poet in him, how everyone seemed to be impressed by his vocabulary, how he didnt know what do do with the central section of his novel which just needed to be begun and ended fittingly, How both his parents were carrying on clandestine affairs in the summer of 1983, how both of them consummated the relationship(not details here, no), resulting in two kids none of which helped Adrian's life in anyway, how his running away from home plan came to a most anticlimactic end ...and so on and so forth. It ends on a high after Adrian makes out.

A funny book, undoubtedly, but not one deserving indiscriminate adulation. I have read better.

On Friday evening, i was extremely tensed because i realised that i knew nothing of volumetric expansion or the profundity of apparent depth in Refraction. So i switched on the television to ease the knotted nerves. (nice logic, na?)

Whaddya know? I ended up watching the talented Mr. Ripley. Impressive movie! jude Law looked so darn convincing.

Saturday offered tears of the Sun after a day filled with Bio and Chemistry specific misery. It was TOO much, really. I succumbed to my mind's need. Antoine Fuqua's film depicted a rescume attempt in the midst of An African civil war in Nigeria. I really became morally conscious after watching the atrocities depicted in the film.

Sunday night. taut nerves because i find that the TMH problems are so TOTALLY beyond me. So i relented and let instincts take control. I ended up watching The Condemned. It had some action, a terrible storyline, transparent acting...in short a perfect tomato.

Needless to say(wonder why people put it just before they are saying it), all those movies did a bit of NO GOOD to my preparation.

And so, after two days of intense MCQs, talking about which is a taboo on principle, i am free to blog and thus express myself freely.

en route to home, I saw the temporary bamboo fences that they are erecting along the E.M Bypass. they do so create a pujo-pujo atmosphere, eh? Its a downright pity that we have the Half yearlies after the Pujos. But i aint complaining. I dont want it before the pujos.

Evening, maters!



*Script : Adhunik mahabharat elaborates on a scene in the Pandava abode where they are deliberating war with Durjodhon. A reporter rudely intrudes and their war dilemma makes it to the news channel-420 ghonta. In spite of the telling arguements that Judhistir(which is me) advances, they still decide on war because of a certain Dada who comes in the end and tells them that he is the ultimate authority who solves all the problems in the world. Incidentally, he was wearing an America T-shirt and the music when he entered was the Yankee doodle. Oh and yeah, Rohan was the star with the guitar.

!

Says Bhaswar, "You should be a comic strip!"

I was phlattered.

While returning from Chemistry tuition, the heavens opened up. By a quirk of fate, i found an umbrella in my possession. So, armed with that i decided to walk from Hazra to Gariahat. A walk in the rain, while sniffling periodically, has its disadvantages but i love doing that.

Rohit was reasonably disturbed that Soham tried to set fire to his girlfriend. I never knew Soham used such tactics. He did not recognise the number from which the red alert sms came, his mobile being new. So he saved the number as "helper". Hey, helper, you see the irony in this?

My dad threatened that he will kidnap my guitar if i don't do well in EITHER bio OR math. As in do REALLY well. So, i am torn. Between tying him up and chloroforming him. I am open to more, lets say, subtle suggestions.

I am investigating the incipient urge that i feel to take FB quizzes. There is very little evidence to suggest that those quizzes aren't absolutely rubbish. Yet, knowing all that, i still tolerate those quizzes comfortably. Why...

this place needs a blog.

If I blog now, try as i might, i will NOT be able to prevent it from being an echo of Prat's. Homework has attained new meaning in my life. Long gone are the days when homework meant writing a page of A,B,C,D to submit to your teacher the next day...(I figure that since i am going to lament growing up, why not begin at the beginning?)

I should write about our teachers. However, I should respectfully refrain keeping in view the theory put forward by Rohan. What if there are more like Trinanjan sir? tech savvy teachers who stumble on to my blog? It might be unpleasant for me, i am forced to think, and so, i will be um, euphemistic. The feelings between us-me and the teachers- run high and low through very jittery regions, and the description might turn out to be very unfavorable for them.

I could, for instance, talk about Dilip sir and his very attractive personality. His articulation, his attitude, his...ah, i need to stop with the sarcasm. A teacher, i must remind myself.

And then, the direct antithesis of Dilip sir, Arijit Sir. I could marry that guy.

They say that school life is fun. Its not always apparent, not when we are going through what we are going through. But i guess, things after this are gonna be like, radically different. And thats not good. Cause i fear change in general. Cause I miss bad memories too.

I will stop before this blog transcends the barrier of sense.

hum drum

Yes, i have got serious problems. I am suffering incessantly from a psychological problem that is inhibiting my writing. The good news is that an unusually interesting thing happened. Theres this word "heuristic". Now, i didnt know that such a word featured in the English lexicon and also honoured the language by containing a meaning. But i learnt of the word today, and within a minute, during a critical analysis of the Schrödinger equation, the word featured in my life for a second time! Now, thats cool. Doesn't happen VERY often. Interesting thing that must be noted is that the first scenario in which i found the word was in NO way related to Chemistry.

And i must asseverate that section E is ideal. I am supremely pleased that I managed to change. I would love to write a lot about the why's and how's but i figure that i shouldn't let go completely on a blog.

:) Hurrah!

I love school.

Changing the point conspicuously,
As Rohan would agree, the word "nothing" has assumed exceptional meaning these days, hasn't it, mate? Nothing encompasses so much...It boggles you, you know. An omnipotent word that can be used to answer almost any question.

I want to read Ayn Ryand, Khaled Hosseini, Alberto Moravia, Frederick Forsyth, Alistair Maclean. Also, featuring in the second list are Pullman, Paolini, Amitava Ghosh. But Dammit, i don't have the time!

And i have an open plea to anyone sufficiently accomplished: I seriously need some help in the figuring out bit of the Schrödinger equation. peleeej, help me out. :(

School.

South Point.
Friends.
Plus Two.
Section.
Time.
Hey.

Movies.

I seem to have a thing for unusual, NOT critically acclaimed movies.I watched two films in the past week, both being unknown and lacking any sensational cast. I can guarantee that none of them are potential Oscar winners, but heck, the films were good. They are supposedly called "Martian Child" and "Sydney White and the Seven dorks." I loved both of them.

The first one-Martian Child- is a comedy drama. It revolves around the life of a strange creature and an alien.


David Gordon(John Cusack) is a popular Sci-Fi writer in the movie. His wife died when they were trying to adopt a child. Later on, Gordon decides to adopt a child called Dennis(Bobby Coleman). Dennis has an infallible belief that he is from Mars. And thats the story, really. The coming together of an adult who has his head in the clouds, being a sensational Sci-Fi writer, and Dennis, a boy who alleges that he is a Martian. Its a heartwarming movies based on the novel by the same name. Its all about the Gordon's struggles to be a parent. And Dennis's struggle to be an earthling. About How a distraught, kleptomaniac child and an adult find that at the end of it all, they do belong to someone. That "if the earth revolves around the sun at 67000 miles per hour, then we don't need to be from Mars". The movie is packed with quirky little lines that make you feel rather good on a hot summer afternoon. The film ends with one of the best lines ever.

"Every kid, when they come to the world, is just a bundle of enthusiasm and untapped potential. Aren't they just like aliens? Scared, clueless...this is how an alien learnt to love a earthly creature."

I am sure that I got it wrong, but heck, i don't care. I loved the movie!

The other one "Sydney White And the Seven Dorks" is obviously inspired by Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. However, there are no dwarfs in the movie. It is based on the college life of a young girl called Sydney White(Amanda Bynes). A college run by the a tyrannical President Of student Council, a girl called Sarah Paxton. Sydney White comes to this college as an outsider. In an effort to fit in, She tries to join a Elite group called the Kappa mumbo jumbo. (Er, it was essentially an all girls club who had "class" and "style".) However, Sydney was disillusioned about this elite group fairly fast, and she left their place after a clash with Paxton. She ended up in The Vortex(where losers are sucked in). The Vortex was something along the lines of a tumbledown shack where seven weirdos(the seven dorks) were holed up. The entire movie is centered around this group, about how Sydney stays with a bunch of unwanted guys "who have no experience with girls" are a "bit blunt", and how she makes them sociable, and ultimately unsettles the tyrannical Paxton, thereby making the college a home to all outsiders. Essentially a teen comedy, and one with liberally cliched contents, it packs in some good stuff in 2 hours. Its message: We are all dorks.



It has an interesting cast, hardly any mature performances, a very common place storyline, a happy ending and liberal amounts of the essential "spirit". Maybe thats why i liked it.

I wont recommend any of the movies if you are looking for something meaningful. However, if u have some time which needs to be spent in a non-regrettable fashion, i suggest you see them. Please don't expect to be enlightened or bowled over. Just expect to feel good at the end.

A Chat (though she thinks that i didnt chat nicely)

Ting-Tong.

I looked up from my rummaging. Guests.

My father's old (they always iterate that they go way back) had come to pay a visit.

He was accompanied by his wife and his daughter, a cute young thing. I was about to squeeze her cheeks when she side stepped experlye and said, "Excuse me, I am eleven."

"Right." I said, withdrawing my hand. I recollected an incident that PC was telling me about. Of course, you know about it.

After all the niceties had been exchanged, all the fuss over how much the children have grown done with, the grown-ups began talking about Room number 2419, a mysterious place where my father and his friends had done things that...that people generally do at that age.

Since I had nothing much to do except to offer occasional laughs of disbelief, I began fiddling with my hair, collar, fingers and so on.

"Tell me something, what do you use for your hair? Gel or water?", asked the eleven-year-old-girl whose name I later found out was Rinki.

"Er, I don't use gel. Water occasionally.", I answered, looking at her curiously.

"No, you use gel." She said sanctimoniously, as if that's a felony.

"No, I don't!"

"Well, for the past ten minutes you have been constantly fiddling with your hair!" She accused. "You are a show-off!"

"Well, that's because I was sitting idle, dear." I said and added, "And come to think of it, you have been trying to put that lock of hair behind your ear for quite some time now." I said pointedly.

"So?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"So what?!"

"I am a girl." She said, as if that explained everything. "We do that."

"Right." I said, and wisely refrained from pointing out the small hole in her logic. Just eleven after all.

Remind me to be careful about how i use the word just.

***

She seemed the quintessences of curiosity once she got the measure of me. Is that a good thing? She stomped about without the slightest regard to whether I mind or not.

She suddenly came upon my guitar during her scrupulous inspection of my room.

"Play it.", She said austerely. I looked at her.

"Please." She added as an after thought.

I decided to play "Happy-Birthday" and "500 miles". I have very limited choices, you see.

"Play Jai ho." She said.

"Er, I am not an expert. Jai ho is pretty tough."

"But I want-"

"I cant." I said, and went on strumming absentmindedly.

"Tell me something, Why aren't you talking to me?" she asked.

"Er, I am talking!" (Kindly read the blog from the beginning if you, the reader, have any doubts.)

"No, I mean properly. Like chatting." She said, raising her left eyebrow. Now, I envy people who can do that. It's SO expressive! I want to do it. That reminds me, Raktima can do that too. Hmph.

"Well, you might have not noticed, but we have some differences. I am not used to talking about the stuff that you might want to talk about." I explained kindly.

"Yeah, you are right." She said, nodding. "Boys are pretty dense." She said knowingly.

I blinked.

"I was referring to our age difference, dear. I am 16. You are 11." I said, trying to gain back some respect.

"Oh thats not a problem!" She said, jumping up. "Girls have a 5 year mental lead on boys, don't you know! We are more advanced, you see. You try me, I can keep up!" she said giving me a dazzling smile.

'A chauvinist if there ever was one!' I thought to myself before I treated her to a Rohan smile.

[There is a particular photograph in facebook in which Rohan has been captured smiling. The camera man was Roro. It's that smile that I am talking about. Please, do see it.]

"Well, What do I talk about..." i said, thinking.

"Why don't you start with how many girlfriends you have?" she asked innocently.

"I, er, How many?"

"Yeah, like 7 or 8?"

"Aa.."

"Oh leave it." She snapped."You probably don't even know what a girlfriend is.", She said dismissively. I tried to give her another Rohan smile.

"Don't do that, you look like a baboon."

"Right.", I said, hissing. She made me realise that I can hiss a word that has no "s" in it.

"How many boyfriends to you have?", I asked her to drive the conversation away from turning into a comparison between a baboon and me. I was expecting triple digits.

"None." She said contemptuously.

"Why am I not surprised?", I blurted before I could stop myself.

"What?" She asked.

"Nothing!" I said quickly.

"Yes thing!", She said suspiciously "what surprise were you-"

"Oh, i said that it's a surprise that KKR are batting like that." I said, nodding at the television.

"What does KKR have to do with boyfriends?" She asked.

"You see, Shah Rukh Khan... was the boyfriend..." I began.

"Oh, do shut up." She said irritably. "I don't want boyfriends.", She stated royally.

I was flabbergasted. No one tells me to shut up! But the bottom line is that i did shut up. :(

"But don't worry, boyfriends happen all the time. You need to chill out. Besides, don't you think that you are a bit too young for-" I began.

"No, I don't think so.", She said complacently. "You are perfectly old enough to-"

"I was talking about you.", I said.

"Oh its the same, don't you know the equation?" She asked, probably thinking to herself 'hes dumb.'

"Equation?", I asked densely.

"Are dhyatt, I told you. 11G=16B. Difference of 5. Its a constant.", She snapped "Like in Physics. My mum told me that g, thats is gravity by the way, is a constant." She said smugly.

"Right.", I said, gritting my teeth delicately. "You are smart."

"I know. I get that a lot." she said, smiling good-naturedly. Was she joking? Maybe. I can never be sure.

***

"Yeah, I am in South Point. You didn't know?" She asked me severely. I was being reprimanded for something that I had no possibility of knowing. Jesus.

"In class six. In high school." She finished.

"Oh, I am in 11. In the same school."

"Oh! Then you should come and meet me during Lunch break!", She exclaimed.

"Uh, Oh-kay.", I said, nodding, imagining a very eventful Lunch break.

"And bring your friends along. Your girlfriends, boyfriends...everyone!", She said brightly.

"I don't think that will be a good idea..." I said cautiously. I have some self respect, you know.

"What?!", she asked.

"Nothing nothing. Yeah, i'll do that, yeah."

***

Guys. When's the school reopening? :(

And, are there plenty out there like this little young thing? Mommy!

catch-22

Catch-22 is a good book. Definitely.

Life.

A little boy, who has seen but 6 summers, walks home from school crying.

Sniffing loudly, he knocks on the door.

His mother opens the door.

Seeing him cry, the natural question.

"What happened?" she asked in a voice and expression that he could never understand. All he knew was that it made him feel like he was the most loved boy in the world.

The boy, eyes filled with tears, brought up his elbow, and rolled up his sleeves to reveal a cut near the elbow.

"Mimi said that this cut will become big. My hand will fall off, and i will have only one hand!" he said, trying to stop himself from wailing loudly. His teacher had told him that boys don't cry.

His mother couldn't help smiling.

"No dear, your hand will not fall off." She said kindly, taking him inside.

"It will not?" asked the boy, hope immediately flaring inside him. He believed everything that his mum said. His mum was Einstein and Newton, don't you know. She knew why the starts twinkled. She even knew how far America was. Awesome.

"No, it will heal completely and your arm will be just like it was before." She said smiling, while washing the cut.

"Really? Then Mimi is wrong?" he asked, undertones of smugness already creeping in his voice.

"Yes, she is." Mum said, inwardly smiling at the theories that kids come up with. Well, thats them, isn't it?

An hour later, washed and fed, the boy toddled to Mimi's house to tell her what he thought of her theory.



Years later.


A boy sits in his room looking at the drizzle outside. pitter patter. tip top.

He likes to keep his room dark.

"What happened?" asked his Mum, walking in quietly without switching on the light.

"Nothing!" exclaims the boy. "Why should anything be wrong?" he asked, laughing slightly.

His mother looked at him straight. And narrowed her eyes slightly.

"You wont tell me? Fine." Said Mum.

"But what do i tell you?!" asked the boy, looking half-amused. "Theres nothing wrong!"

"Then, why are you laughing nervously? Why are you staring at the rain?"
The boy prepared himself for these questions. And quickly began to fabricate answers.

His Mum knew him well, he knew that, but he also knew his mum well.

"I believe you." said his Mum. And she left.

The boy was left behind feeling worse than he was before, although he didn't think it was possible.

This is what life does to people. And they say...well, they say a lot of things.

Smelly problem of xeroxing fans and needles.

There is JUST something about the smell of Spirit. What i love about the house being painted is the smell of the spirit. Ah, Bliss! What a perfectly out of the world fragrance! If it weren't for the repulsed looks that mum throws at me, I would most probably spray it all over me.

The smell is quite affecting too. It drives everything out of my mind. Feels like something good is happening. Increasingly silly, i know.

But i cant keep a bottle of spirit with me all the time. Its sad, really. I don't even have the luxury of nail polish removers.

So, the window grills have been painted black. They were green before, if you must know. So, all in all, a good change.


***

My mum theorized that there are Four wide variety of mums.
1.Good mum
2.Bad Mum
3.Normal mum
4.South Point Mum.

the others being common, i will concentrate specifically on the South Point Mums.

Now, the south Point mums show very complicated characteristics. They seem to posses an infinite wealth of knowledge about their ward's syllabus, about which "xeroxes" are better, which teacher is giving out the most "Bankable" notes, how to ensure that their sons/daughters get the highest, et cetera.

The other day, i was ambushed by a couple of South Point Mums when i, in a moment of uncontrollable, unconditional madness, said that I am in 11, and in South Point.
*shudder*

Also, my mum recounted some interesting tales about some ladies, whom she had the good fortune of studying outside Jagabandhu.

A lady was lecturing others on the importance of xeroxes in a students life. All of a sudden, a Maruti 800 ran over her foot. She was immediately taken to Ruby General hospital. She came back an hour later with her foot bandaged.

She said, "As soon as i reached, they xeroxed my foot. Oh dear, what am i saying! I mean X-rayed..."

The side effects of xerox, ladies and gentlemen.

***

I find it very disagreeable. The fact that most five to ten year olds feel bossy at ease in my presence. What happened to good old intimidating tall 16 year olds? I must enroll for a personality hardening up course.

***

Also, has anyone of you found a cure for pins and needles? Well, this might work. If your left foot is undergoing the sensation, then pinch your right ear lobe. And left ear lobe for the other leg. Of course, do this only if you want to get rid of the sensation. I personally love pins and needles.


***

And i have a problem. An exhaust fan problem. Someone explain it!

An exhaust fan, when seen from behind shows an illusion. It is a black mobile patch that changes with the angle of sight. If your line of sight is perpendicular to the blade of the fan, its okay. As you move up or down, the black patch moves correspondingly down and up. At a tremendous risk of my nose, i studied it closely, but due to physical, mental as well as temporal interference from my mother I had to stop. I figure its something to do with light and stuff. Pray explain, someone.

Zoozoo!

Its been quite some time since they last made something this cool. Impressive concept, excellent ideas and amazing presentation! And fairly cuddly too! Why, these zoozoos could actually be considered a mascot for the IPL! I mean, hell yeah! They are almost synonymous to IPL 2nd edition! And more than the cricket, I spend my time waiting for the next Vodafone add. Vodafone has got some creative people, I must say!



Live long zoozoo!



Er, dont go by the picture. I wish a long, fruitful life to the zoozoos!

devil incarnate

If you have seen The Mummy, you'll know what i am talking about. Well, if you haven't seen The Mummy, then too you'll know what i am talking about anyway. I'll make sure of that.

I despise roaches. It may not be the most advertised or quoted fact, but that doesn't undermine its gravity. And the fact that they look like they are wearing mismatched shades with nothing but sinister intent in their eyes doesn't help matters. So, naturally, the incident brought out the best in me. Or, worst from the roach's perspective.

I was sitting on my table, happily contemplating how my friends would react to the intrusion of a poisoned slug in their alimentary system. The weather was humming along as well, warm sunshine sneaked in through the narrow gaps in between the curtain, Mum, exceptionally pleased that i cleaned by table, had put some fresh flowers on my table. A happy atmosphere in general. Things were perfect, that is, until the cockroach decide to cause mayhem.

It appeared out of nowhere, and landed precisely on the spine of my Comprehensive chemistry.

"Nice position, Moron!" I though evilly as i snapped the book shut.

But the cockroach had inhuman reflexes! Well, yeah, it wasn't human, but um, the point is it escaped.

And it escaped right beneath my chair. I don't know about you guys, but I have serious issues with roaches under my chair.

So, i fled to call for reinforcements.

After a minute of hasty planning, mum and i appeared, armed to teeth. Me, holding a destructive mortein all-insect killer. Mum, a jharu and a hawaii, Bruce Lee style.

She supported me in my crusade against roaches.

We found the vermin seeking cover behind my P.C. My heart sank. I could never risk hurting my P.C. While i was busy getting sentimental, Mum was all business. She took up a sponge ball from somewhere, and aimed it at the cockroach.

The clairvoyant cockroach dived out of the way before she threw the ball. Mum advanced with all the skills of a veteran roach hunter. There are a number of advantages of having a dangerously smart mum. On my side, of course. She gave me some complicated instruction to get my positioning and timing right as she determined the roach's reaction. She really understands roaches, you know. Life-long enemies know a lot about each other.

She lunged. The roach jumped out from behind its cover, shot a few murderous glances at us, and disappeared behind the dustbin.
Tasting victory, i planted mum at the door who looked terrifying with that jhata.

I carefully positioned myself. Careful in case i was ambushed.

And ambushed i was, but the caution paid off. I ducked out off the way as i realised that the cockroach had activated its last weapon. Wings.

"Two pairs of membranous wings from the meta thoracic region..."

Damn Membranous! They sure worked, and thats what counted!

"Mum, I-" I stopped midway as i looked at the door. My back-up had betrayed me. Mum had fled at the sight of the infernal wings. And she had locked the door behind her. I was all alone. And I had to fend for myself.

"Treachery!" My heart screamed, "Traitor!"

My brain began calculating the odds of my success. Nothing turned up. No, i thought, its no good thinking I'm like Danny Maclean.

The rest, as they say, is history. Except that no one knows about this bit of history. Its been carefully suppressed by conspirators.

I took on the devil-incarnate-cockroach. i decided to finish it once and for all. I fired with the mortein.

I injured it, but it was yet to die. It flew at me. I evaded it yet again, and managed to hit it with a newspaper. I picked up a hawaii, and threw it at the roach.

It scurried out of the way.

I was about to deliver the final blow when it went to the window and flew away. To fight another day.

Sigh. I wait for thee, cockroach, to settle scores.

Cricket? Leave it to Ricky.

I walked into Rohit's locality expecting a royal welcome in the form of a ball hurtling towards me, but i found it deserted. The reason became apparent in a while.

I found Rohit Staring avidly at a nearby field. Strange.

"Er, whats up?" I asked curiously.

"The ball went in there." He said gravely, pointing at the field.

"How can a ball go IN-?" I swallowed the rest of the sentence. It was essentially a pond, reduced to a marsh by a sinister variety of hydrophilous plants. Otherwise popular as "pana pukur".

"But looking wont help!" I said sensibly.

"Oh, didn't i tell you? Ricky was holding the ball." he said dryly.

"Ah! Right."

[Don't squirm. He broke the surface seconds later in the midst of howls of despair and disappointment. We were hoping that he would maintain a permanent existence under water. The world would be a better place altogether.]

____________________________________

I was batting. Standing tall, looking intimidating with the bat.

Ricky, after having washed himself with several kinds of anti-septics, was bowling.

Rohit screamed at Ricky.

"Remember, bowl in the right AREAS so that he can atleast FACE it."

Ricky grinned like a maniac and bowled.

Damn it, I did FACE it. Literally.

I went down like a rock as the ball interfered with my aqueous humor. But i did manage to scream out something.

"Now, i know why you failed in English, you moron!"

____________________________________

Ricky's next ball.

Rohit was the braveheart holding the bat.

I was more optimistic than Rohit.

"Bowl SLIGHTLY out of line so that he edges it, okay?" I told Ricky importantly.

He nodded like noddy.

He bowled.

Shattering glass. A shrill cry. And an empty cricket pitch.

And we thought batsmen were the notorious window pane breakers.

~

It was a night of uncertainty.
Why, then, did everything go according to plan? Well, i for one, don't know the answer, but it was a night of uncertainty. Of a deceptive wind with its gentle ruffle, of an elusive moon in the backdrop of subdued reality.

From home to the station, the cab, the traffic, the smoke, the banners, the loudspeakers, the crowd... it was all subdued. Like a painting with just the background. And then, the painter forgets to finish it. An unfortunate, inadvertent masterpiece.

I was feeling hollow. Sensitive to all that went around, but not really paying attention to the song. Or the cello, or the trumpet.
And i floated along, certain in my objective, uncertain in my perspective.

The station hit me like smoke. I coughed, shut my eyes, and the smoke passed through me.

The train was standing beside the platform, steadfast in its representation(s).

Trains are nice, are they not?

I mean, these modern Eastern Railway trains. I have an insatiable attraction for trains. The solitary headlamps, screaming into the night...illuminating the parallel tracks, following the same path for miles, for days.

This train journey was particularly different from the others. In fact, so much so that it could almost be called a novel experience. People change, and i am no exception.

Fortune smirked, and i got a window seat. As i sat there, peering out at the world outside, the subdued reality started to redefine itself. To something less subdued.

Outside, a world was huffing and puffing with all its might. The coolies with their unbelievable balance, the trade cries of the hawkers, the chug-chug of some train, the grunge of metal somewhere. The cacophony almost felt like a subdued symphony.

I suddenly caught the eyes of a woman with a veiled face. She had a tumor on her face. As soon as she caught my eye, she turned away hastily, trying to hide herself. I turned away, feeling sorry for her. Or, did i turn away with disgust? There are somethings that i don't even admit to myself let alone others.

The seconds stretched into minutes, and the train whistled shrilly. It was time. With the trademark jerk, the train began to move, and for a moment, in spite of all the physics and tell-tale common sense, i played with the fact that maybe the station was leaving us.
______________________________________

The train had settled into its gentle rhythm. And its soothing noise. Its funny how the roughest noises seem soothing and gentle when ignored. Like the things that look lovelier when they are absent.

The distant bobs of light amidst darkness, the dark shapes of the tree, the three parallel shafts of light slanting on the ground from inside the train, the bright imposing moon splayed across the dark sky...It was a night of uncertainty.

After a while, i pulled myself away from the view outside, and tried to measure up the passengers. A rather unexpected sight met my eyes. All the persons in the compartment, and there were eight, were gazing into their cell phones with the sole exception of my father who liked his sleep. Where was the good humoured hello-hi? All my train journeys are associated with at least one bumbling friendship. I mean, i wasn't really prepared for this. Sad, really.

I took to studying the passengers. And decided to play a game. I looked at each of the passengers, and imagined what they were thinking.
The guy sitting beside me was smiling quietly, looking at his phone. I noticed it was text he was staring at. Most likely exchanging smses with his friend.

A fat, porky man on the upper side berth was staring contemptuously at the floor.
'Heh, He thinks he can cook better boullibaisse than me..."

A middle aged man, smoking his cigarette trying to imitate Rajnikanth.

A pretty young lady smoothening the wrinkles of her salwaar every 10 seconds.
"Someone is always watching me, I need to be presentable..."

Amidst all this the train moved on.

______________________________________

I got the middle berth. Recently, sleep on train has been rather elusive. I tend to wake up once every hour, check the watch and go to sleep again.

As the lights were extinguished one by one, i began to feel a weird sense of foreboding. Maybe because of the noise made by the train when crossing a bridge. I always have the nagging fear that the bridge will give away, that the last train was really the last straw for the bridge. With this kind of trepidation, sleep doesn't come easy.

By two, everyone was asleep. Or, they appeared to. I lied still, looking around like an owl. The deep sound of breathing, someone's hoarse cough piercing the silence, someone snoring, and of course, the train breathing.

I jumped down lightly from the berth, and went to the door. It wasn't locked. A man, dressed in rags, was sitting beside the door, looking despondently at the night rushing by. As i approached the door, he looked at me. He had smoky green eyes that clashed horribly with his grey-white hair.

"What are doing up so late?" He asked.

"Can't sleep." i replied, shrugging.

"Okay." Some people are so easily satisfied.

And he went back to staring at the night outside. His green eyes reflected curiosity. Not the innocent curiosity of a child, but the hardened curiosity of an experienced. An ironic, sardonic curiosity.

I lingered for a few minutes, and quietly came back. It was the green eyes that somehow put me to some sleep.

bed bugs?

A: Good night. Let the bed bugs bite. They are good guys.

B: Or maybe they are girls.

A:[before reading B's reply] They bite at nice places.

B: Er!! No! they aren't girls then!

A and B are real values.