What's worse than not getting laid?

Not having any opportunity to get laid ..

Sheesh.

Of Changes

Today is Bengal Bandh. I must say our state has come of age. Despite the fact that traffic was unusually light today during the rush hour, all private and Government offices remained open including the Trademarks Registry. At my office, which is Bong infested, we had a full house in terms of employee attendance. Triviality for those who reside outside Bengal, but major change in attitude for those who have been born and brought up in the State.

In other developments the old tree at Vien that was destroyed by the cyclone leaving behind a tree stump has now been completely uprooted by the Kolkata Municipality. The surrounding seating area under the tree’s shade, affectionately referred to as the Throne, has been destroyed and replaced with a patch of the same pavement that it was on. I miss that tree. Over the years many have sat under its shade, and then lack thereof, sipping tea while fending of flying cockroaches and big fat rats that used to reside beneath it and become friends. Now its all gone. Just like that.

I wonder if its a valid excuse that something should not be maintained simply because its become too difficult to maintain or because there is a cheaper/more practical alternative than maintaining it. Personally it isn’t cause I’m not like that, but from a state’s perspective. Practicality is important I understand, but is it fair to achieve the same at the cost of one’s identity? I’m not sure there.

One of the things I liked about this city was that people never bothered replacing the old with the new and efficient. Now things are finally changing. Attitudes, as well my favourite pavements.

Also today this space turns a year old. It was started form the offices of a tax consultancy in Bangalore. It’s first anniversary post is being typed from within an IP Firm in Kolkata. Random information.

Cheers.

From A Softer World ...

To KK, Loks, Viki, Sangu, GC, Bob, DVR, Booty, Baaz, Shetti & JAA. It'll never be the same again, but it was fun while it lasted.

Ps: The above work is copyrighted to Emily Horne & Joey Comeau. Used for purely sentimental purposes.

Blogosphere to the rescue

Found this while browsing through archives of The Ordinary Man. He's the reason why some observant people at work think that I'm half crazy cause I seem to be staring at the screen intently and laughing at the same time. Haven't been snared by me boss though. Not yet.

A dreamy little poet
Sailed off to a south sea isle.
He met a girl named Laurie
Who smote him with her smile.

Often she would dance for him.
She was his closest pal
But no one ever told him
That she was a cannibal gal.

So one fine day she ate him -
A pity! But that's his fate.
How sad to be remembered
As the poet Laurie ate.

---- Poet Unknown

Kartik Pujo

Today is Kartik Pujo. Who is Kartik? Well he is the lesser known son of Goddess Durga, and is often overlooked by many as a God that must be paid homage to. Most, but not bongs. Nossir. Bongs do Pujo even for Lord Kartik. The circumstances in which the same is adhered to however, are fascinating.

All families are not required to worship Lord Kartik. Kartik Pujo happens only in the more traditionally bengali middle class areas of Calcutta. The Pujo is initiated by people of the locality - generally young and unemployed men - who drop an idol of the aforesaid Lord at the doorstep of any house in that locality wherein a new couple has moved in that year. The drop is celebrated and announced by the loud burst of crackers and cheers and is accompanied by a list of names of those involved in the drop. This in turn impugns the responsibility on the household thus attacked to take the idol into their home and conduct a Puja on the given day by feeding all those whose names appear on the attached list, every year for three years since the drop. On the fourth year their is a ceremony and again lots of feeding, this time on a slightly grander scale, and the idol is immersed thereby relieving the household from any further feeding duties.

This was explained to me today by a fellow lawyer who was looking for a half day due to such celebrations to be conducted at his parental home. His brother's marriage two years back brought with it Lord Kartik in their home in the aforementioned fashion.

You learn something new everyday.

If you aren't getting something you want..

maybe you're not ready to have it yet. --- (Courtesy Baba)

I don't completely get it though. And I'm tired.

Freedom is a weird thing. There was a time when there were parental restrictions annexed to living at home. They have lapsed now that I'm a working man and contributing to the family income. However, being 23 and having lived on my own terms (or fighting rules imposed by an authority) I'm used to a certain lifestyle I find unable to sustain at my parental home. Not because there are rules prescribing otherwise but rather out of respect for the other members of the family/environment I live in today. Its like there are no rules to break, but I'm aware of the responsibilities that exist and fulfilling my own wishes attaches a kind of guilt to it that I had never felt earlier, not even when I'd run away from campus to watch a concert in another city right in the middle of my exams.

There was no guilt, only a thrill of being wrong. I don't like feeling guilty. And wonder of wonders, I seem to care.

I'm too young to care. Atleast I want to be.

I met a pretty girl at the bus stop a couple of days back. I actually mustered the courage to go up and speak to her. Desperate, not reckless, is my middle name. But she was real sweet. The conversation turned pointless cause I didn't get her number (remember reckless is not my middle name) but I did get her name just as my bus rolled in. Was a first for me in terms of hitting on an unknown female. And it didn't turn out to be a complete disaster for my ego and self respect. Phew!

I miss getting high.

Its strange how people use the misfortune of others to express/advertise themselves and their feelings when it is totally unnecessary. Also to sometimes reveal how much they know or what they know, when frankly they know jack shit about the person concerned.

I think silence is frightening for most. And death is probably the heaviest silence of all.

To DVR. Goodbye yaar. I've only had good times with you. I hope you don't stop practicing that harmonica. Make it wicked and them notes they'll bend soon brother. RIP.