santanuborgohain
Santanu Borgohain’s Blog
try not to see the world through my eyes
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happy "everyone forgets that icarus also flew" monday. i want to throw up !
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I need a beer.
Among two other balconies in Ayan’s two-bedroom apartment, the smaller, north facing balcony is the most fascinating one. It is tiny. Two bean bags and a plant is placed in the corner. The railing is adorned with string lights. Two individuals can cozily seat and get sunk in the enchanting nights of Indiranagar. My fascination with bean bags perennially persists since it serves as a fun piece of furniture that can really jazz you up with liss.
Amid the advent of Omicron, a boring house party is going on. I ask Ayan if I can have my own space in that tiny balcony and enjoy my beer with ease. Initially he insists me to join his friends but then he gives up trying when I plead and shut the glass door. It’s gloomy now. I spread myself over the bean bag. What a bliss!
I’m about to take a sip from my pint. A girl, possibly Ayan’s friend flings the glassdoor open and sits on the other bean bag next to me. An exaggerated Archies perfume floats in the balcony. “Hi” she says making herself comfortable. We exchange a hi. Mine is not very enthusiastic. Poor me! “These guys are literally crazy yeah?” She says trying to make herself comfortable. She’s sipping a different beer I can see barely paying attention to what else is she saying.
You see where the problem is, they expect you to behave as if you don’t. They ask you to be kind, for every other person you meet is fighting a bettle you know nothing about. Logic: yes, where is logic? I don’t find any. This world is beyond the parameter of empathy and apathy. If someone is being kind to somebody else: that’s a bonus!
“Yeah, they are.” I say presumably.
I don’t want this person, actually any person, to be here. I want no intruder at all. I want this space and I’m being very possesive about it. I want this darkness, this beer I’m holding right now, the moment I’m enjoying with myself, and a solitary retreat. That’s all what I want. But then again, you can’t complain. You can’t expect the other person to live upto your expectations. Can you?
I think I’m gonna ask her if she could kindly leave because of xyz reasons. Would she agree to that? There is gonna be two possible outcomes: (a) she would be modest enough to leave and (b) she would leave without hesitation wondering what a jackass I am. Or none of them may happen. What if there’s another possibile outcome of which my mind would not register? Sadly, there is just one shot. You can’t rewind and retake.
My beer is chilled no more. If this shit is running in your head 8% alcohol tastes like water. In fact, water tastes better than beer in that case.
“Are you okay?” She says.
You tell me. Am I? I am still wondering. I should try the easier one which comes out without putting any effort. I make my mind and clear my throat.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“I am sorry?” She is astounded.
“You heard me, what’s your age?” I repeat.
“Um, I’m 28” she says. She’s composed. Gosh, this is harder than I thought it would be.
“Oh” I say. Silence lingers. This is now getting awkward. I can hear each one of us breathe loud and clear.
She put the bottle aside. The bottom of the glass bottles usualy make a soothing sound when you gently strike it on the floor. Have you ever observed? God damn, is this conversation going to take a gear now?
“I know I don’t look what I am.” She laughs. “Sometimes, on first meet they often say I’m too young to drink.”
No, no, I don’t mean this. I mean otherwise. I really like the aura she has but then the aim is not to forget. Why am I not sounding repulsive yet? She continues “One day what happened, so we were in a pub and...”
“Actually you don’t.” How prompt it is! Shall I say this? Shall I cut her off? Oh well, I have already done it. Is it actually happening!!
“Huh?” she’s baffled now.
Now there is no taking back, I know. “Actually you look much older than that.” Am I just being politely rude? I hate myself for thinking in oxymoron. But now does it even matter?
“Excuse me!” It sounds like a thunderstorm. Really. A brief yet, an impactful one.
“I presumed you were 32 initially. Like you said, you don’t look what you are.” I said.
The sliding glassdoor thuds. She whizzes off. And I don’t remeber the events followed by in chronological order.
A woman holding her drink in a glass usually splashes it in the face of the moron upon him being moronic. Good for me, it was not a glass she was holding her drink in. She could have smashed the bottle on my head as well. I was lucky, she didn’t.
The bean bag is there now. Unoccupied. The darkness subsides, so does the solitude to be retreated with. The moment I ought to enjoy with myself is here. Well, I need a beer.
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When you take a Condom for granted..
This pandemic has wrought devastation in my country, yet amid all distress saw few men gleefully covering themselves in cow dung and urine in the belief it will protect them against Covid. But, hey, there’s no law preventing morons from doing moronic act right?
Anyways, let’s change the topic.
So, I went to a drug store in Khanapara last month and asked for protection. The storekeeper, inattentively gave me a hand sanitizer. I said “Condom lage dada Condom!” my voice was pretty loud to get him distracted from the news he was watching on his phone barely paying attention to the customer in need, yet he seemed to be in some sort of trauma or something to rationalize things around him. “Durex diyok... Ultrathin... Gutei packet tu diyok..” I kept on talking. Never have I ever had such long conversation in my entire condom-buying-tenure.
Sadly, condom has become such an underrated commodity these days even the storekeepers are barely recalling them upon being called as “protection”. The hype and soaring demand of hand sanitizer has completely subdued this product leading to an existential crisis for itself. Now you can’t blame the people though, it’s a tough phase we all are going through, so there could be an excuse.
But what made them not give a damn about a condom few decades back when there was no pandemic as such, nor any civil war to traumatize one’s mind? Why did they take a silly condom for granted? I’m talking about those gentlemen who’s ‘silly mistakes’ are cheerfully smearing themselves cow dung, drinking cow piss and what’s not!
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Where are you lost these days? No story, no sequels, nothing. What's wrong?
Running out of some inspirations may be. What do you think? Just kiddin’. Sorry for letting you feel my void. Will try to post something real soon. And hey, thanks for your concern. Cheers!
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Oh-ffice!
Episode: 1
For Dikshit it had been quite a habit for a while now. It was already half past three in the morning and the insomnia was still onto it’s play. He kept tossing around on the couch putting an effort to sleep but everything went in vain. After twenty minutes of struggle he got up and sat clumsily stretching his legs on the coffee table. Unwittingly he turned on the TV, put it on mute and stormed off to the kitchen to brew a cup of coffee for him.
He switched to his favorite Pink Floyd track and sat back on the couch again in his living cum bedroom. There was no catching up to do other than checking Donald Trump’s latest tweets, innovative features on Tesla’s Model 3, random updates on last La Liga match and so on. The coffee was good. He sniffed the steam and sipped slowly while scrolling down his Twitter feed.
Eventually he ended up stumbling across Alankrita’s Instagram profile. She had already removed their pictures: the stunning sunsets, weekend-coffee dates, throwback images of their Goa trip with ‘love you to the moon and back’ and other cheesy captions—all of them! He did not feel bad though. Indeed, he barely felt anything these days. By now, he had got an intense urge to have another cup of strong black coffee. But soon he resisted the urge realising he had enough caffeine for the day. Another Sunday successfully wasted, he thought. Wait! Did he say Sunday? His mind started boggling for a while. Technically, it was Monday-morning and already five. Damn it! He turned off the TV, kept his phone aside and laid down on the couch expecting somehow to get at least, well, a nap. Deep down he did not want to go to the office for the day. But he knew he had to. Paying bills is the biggest motivation to work after all!
At nine in the morning he reluctantly took a lazy shower. Dropping the idea of having breakfast was pretty obvious as he was already running late. It took him another half an hour to get ready, book a cab and set off for the day asking the driver to pace up. His phone buzzed. He squinted on the screen with his groggy eyes and witnessed there were already two missed calls from Ayush but didn’t bother to call him back. He reached office on time and walked up to the elevator but soon got disappointed having spotted the board stating that it was under maintenance. He took the stairs and made his entire way to 4th floor. To make it worse, he ended up realizing that he was really having a bad day when the access card did not work. He tried for the third time. Access denied: it kept getting reflected.
“Can I help you?” said a voice behind his shoulder. He turned back and saw Kavya standing right behind him, possibly being a silent spectator, watching him struggling with the access card.
“Hey!” he greeted her with a prodigious smile. Dull moments are always history whenever he encounters her. Even the most boring moment gets enliven with her mere presence. For a moment he forgot all his worries.
“Let me try.” she grabbed the card from him.
“It, uh, doesn’t work sometimes.” he said scratching his forehead, trying so hard not to sound irate.
“That’s okay.” she casually observed both the faces of the card, “here we go.” then swiped the card and it did work at the very first go.
“Well, sometimes, it works as well.” he said apologetically. She said nothing but smirked and passed by through the corridor making a harmonic sound by tapping her stiletto heels against the floor.
He walked up to his cubicle and pulled up his work station. Your password has been expired. Please update your new password now. A pop up window appeared on the screen. Damn!
“Hey Dik..Dik..Dikshit” Rabish stood up from his seat and leaned towards him, “bhai, round table conference” he said in code words about the board meeting which they needed to attend in no time, followed by an HR session. Out of all his colleague Rabish seemed to be an absolute nuisance to him not only because he used to bring all the awry updates to one’s table but also his dreadful stammer made his not-so-filthy name sound like a dick and shit. “After you.” he made a gesture with his arm. Both of them proceeded towards the conference room.
Inside the conference room, he felt like dozing off on his chair watching the pie-chart on the projector screen. It was basically about appreciation for the last month’s turn over and discussion regarding the increments respectively. He wondered even Calculus was less boring, back in school, than one might think, if it’s compared with the first meeting of the session with David, his assistant manager. Nothing was interesting about him apart from the Black Jaguar F-Type which he drove.
“Shout out to my most competent team.” David seemed to speak more like a motivational speaker in a leadership funnel. “Give yourself a big round or applause! All of you!” he announced and everyone around started clapping which woke Dikshit up from his siesta.
“Dikshit, are you okay?” asked David.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” he said as composed as he could sound.
“All right.” he nodded and continued. “So as we were saying— ”
The meeting went for another twenty minutes and once it was over he badly needed a cup of strong black coffee. He occupied back his seat and updated the password watching Kavya attentively working on her desktop. Her dark brown eyes were constantly staring on the screen without even a single blink and her lips were poised between a suppressive smile and silence. It occurred to him that time stood still, and the soul of the world surged within him. But then—
“Hi Dikshit!” Ananya flushed a wide smile standing next to him. She had recently rebonded her hair and was curious whether if Dikshit noticed the change.
“Hey, what’s up?” he flashing his eyebrows.
“I’m good. How’s your weekend?”
“Not bad.” he briefed. She noticed the dark circle beneath his eyes but didn’t felt like bothering him asking if he had a good sleep last night.
“Listen..” she faltered. “I was wondering.. if, uh, we can go out for coffee this evening after work or..” she faltered again “..or may be how about this weekend?”
“That’s really a good idea…” he emphasized.
“Great!”
“But you know what, I gave it up completely you know. Really sorry.” he winched, pretending apologetic.
“You gave up coffee, I mean, seriously?” her eyes flung open in disbelief. More or less, she quite knew his obsessive interest on coffee.
“Yes. That’s unfortunate,” he shrugged. “my doctor’s been warning me since ages and now he’s clearly instructed me to avoid it. Gents problem you know.” he knew how bad he was at cooking stories, but still he tried pondered whether if that made any sense. Her face dropped.
“We can still go for Karim Chacha’s chai though. Shall we?” it was pretty obvious she would refuse to ‘tapri ka chai’ on a crowded footpath right next to their office. Offer them a worse option rather than clearly saying no, that’s what he learnt in his management lessons.
“Let’s see.” she said deadpanned and excused herself.
He quickly finished quarter of his work and whizzed off hunting for Ayush in a different bay.
“Why aren’t you picking up my call, asshole?” Ayush saw him from a distance.
“Bhenchod, isn’t that you who’s pinching that naive girl over and again after me?” he probed.
“Who are you talking about, Ananya?” Ayush laughed out loud. “She likes you bro. It’s an open secret.”
“That’s not the answer to my question. Is it?”
“I was just trying to help you.” he giggled. “On top of that, you need to move on man.”
“Screw you man. Don’t talk like aunties now.” Nobody screws Ayush. Nobody dares to do so. He’s tech-savvy. A Google intern. If anyone messes with him, he messes with his firewall. He used to live, eat, sleep and poo in dark web for most of his time.
“Look at those dark circles, again, aren’t you sleeping well again?”
“No, it’s just—”
“Just what?”
“Nothing. Just leave it! I just need to have—”
“Sex?”
“No, not at the moment. Perhaps, a cigarette will do for me now.”
“Even I think so. C’mon.”
They went to the smoking zone on a short break. That’t what they usually do—exhale the frustration, inhaling a bit of hope and whole lot of courage in each drag of puff ever since they joined this IT firm after getting their H-1B VISA repeatedly rejected. Friends who smoke together, die together —it was quoted on the wall. Ayush told him about some jugaad he’s working on to shift to Toronto later this year and asked him if he was interested. Dikshit replied in negative dragging in a very long puff and left.
Prior to lunch break He had summed up almost half of his work. Kavya was still working as attentively as before. Her work ethic and the elegance was a loud resonance to each other. The moment he thought, she stood up and came towards him.
“Hey, what are you having for lunch today?” she asked. That was quite unusual.
“Huh? Um, actually I didn’t even have breakfast today.” He did not intend to say that but it came out spontaneously.
“Oh my god. Seriously?” she said she had brought some home-cooked delicacy and asked him have it with her.
���I’m starving already.” he said even though he was not hungry at all.
They walked up to the Cafeteria. He ordered one ice latte and one espresso for him from Costa coffee. She offered him a dish of Shahi paneer. It was not the food but mostly the company that exited him much. The coffee was ready and his token number was displayed on the monitor. He went to fetched the coffee settling the bill. The moment he rushed back to his seat, he rammed with someone and the cold coffee flushed out of the cup. “I’m so sorry.” he yelled.
“What the f—”. Ananya yelled back did not even knowing it was him. Half of the people inside the cafeteria turned around. Her white tank top was painted with froth and coffee.
“I’m extremely sorry.” He wished he could disappear.
“No, that’s…that’s—” she faltered with irritation and anger.
“I can clean it. Let me bring some tissue.”
“No, that’s fine.” she said even though it was not.
“I’m sorry, I can clean it wait.” he insisted.
“I said that’s fine. Just leave it!.”
“Well, actually I do have cold coffee only. That’s why I—” he said as awkwardly as shit not sure of knowing what should he do or say.
“Whatever!” she said, clearly climbing the Mount Everest of irritation, and shoved off from the cafeteria. He wished he could undo the whole event. Rabish passed by towards the billing counter and saw him standing there. “What happened Dik…Dik…Shit, a..any problem?” he said. For the first he didn’t get annoyed by Rabish’s stutter for spoiling his not-so-filthy name, making it sound like a bin full of trash. Indeed, he felt completely otherwise.
“Nothing.” he responded unmindfully, feeling like a dick and full of shit.
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Hey, have you deleted the story called “The playgirl” from here? That’s unfair if you did so, you know. I was reading it and was kinda relating myself to it.
Yes, I did. There were some errors which needed to be rectified. In hindsight, never thought it was even worth reading. Thank you so much for proving me wrong. Will upload the second draft which will be a better version of the initial one, I promise. Please accept my sincere apology.
I’m flattered to have known the fact that it was relatable. Thank you for acknowledging this. Will do my best to keep you amused.
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Hi, we're quite interested doing business with you in terms of creative blogging in a new project. How to reach out to you?
Hi there, feel free to mail: [email protected]. I’ll catch you there. Thanks.
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Any pen name?
well, haven't given any thought about it. is it necessary to have one?
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Hey man. We want you to hire for something big. You interested?
Hi, sorry didn't notice your message. Keen to know about it.
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Episode 1
Having stuffed an omelette with few pieces of crispy potato chips inside a bun I was about to gobble it up but right then, the doorbell had chimed annoyingly. It was early in November. The ordeal of having to spend a reluctant Monday-morning in Pune had already started with the new dawn. Gunjan, my host, was out for work and his corny apartment in Koregaon Park was confiscated by me.
The sweeper boy seldom used to come at that time to collect the dustbin-treasure. I always have the audacity to open the door without even peering out through the peephole despite knowing the fact that most of the sweeper boys turn out to be the murderer at length—which the eternal episodes of Crime Petrol have taught us from our very childhood. I was in my best attire that day: wearing but the only towel wrapping up around my waist for a frugal sauna bath. The doorbell had been hooted for the third time. I opened the door and encountered a someone who, for sure, wasn't coming for the dustbin.
“Yes?”
“Do you have that lighter?” she asked looking straight into my eyes. Such an encounter was never expected. I was, wearing the only towel, standing shirtless in front of a stranger exposing my emaciated physique. She was tall. Demurred in a silky white night suit, tucking her hands inside the pockets standing right in front of me.
Her pierced nose was embellished with a tiny nose-jewel and there was a small dot-like mole right beneath the edge of her lower lip. Her dark black eyes were constantly staring straight into my eyes which rather had taken me aback. I did notice everything with an astute observation at just one go. Damn! I was clueless.
“Lighter?” she asked again, this time knitting her eyebrows.
“Lighter?” I asked her back, surprised, holding a half eaten bun with potato chips jutting out of it, and of course, not knowing actually what to say. I chewed the remnant of whatever little food that was already stuffed inside my mouth and the crunchy sound of the chips did seriously made the situation a little bit more awkward.
“Never mind.” she entered my house (okay, my friend’s house) almost shoving the door and I did nothing but stood still like a dumbass still wrapping the only goddamn towel. She stumbled through the table, pulled out the drawer and created a hell lot of mess. How could she just do that ignoring my existence in this house? I wondered. But that was just a beginning. Then she pulled out the couch, shuffled the newspapers and magazines, the mattress of a bed and started wrecking havoc in the entire room. Finally she found whatever she was searching for so long—the lighter. The degree of my impatience was rising to an extreme level. All I wanted her to leave at no time. She pulled two cigarettes out of the packet and offered me one.
“No, Thanks.” I shook my head clumsily, trying to magnify the mere nuisance which I was bearing for this long.
“As expected.” she mumbled and hastily stepped out of the room. Huff, I exhaled a sigh of relief. Before I could shut the door she turned back. Christ, not again. I thought.
“Nice legs by the way.” she added and that sort of mockery was completely unnecessary. And then she entered the elevator. What the bug! I shut the door with a thud and took a vow of not to open the door until and unless there is a confirmation of the outsider. Bitch! How does Gunjan bear such a lousy neighbor? Before the doorbell would chime again, I whizzed off to the bathroom and took a lazy shower.
_____
“That was a living tsunami I saw today, you see.” I narrated the whole thing when Gunjan arrived later that evening, quite exaggerating the whole mess which she had created. He seemed to be cared absolutely nothing about it and on the contrary, he cracked out laughing like a nitwit.
“So she’s back, eh?” he wondered.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Nothing, I mean, yeah, welcome to Pune, bro!” He kept on laughing stuffing the water bottles inside the fridge.
“Duh!”
“She’s like the monsoon rain you know; comes to Pune once a year.”
“She seemed to be the hurricane instead.” I said.
“She’s nice by the way.”
“Whatever.” I said.
“So, didn’t you like her?”
“Negative.”
“Don’t you want to know who she is?” asked Gunjan with such a contorted facial expression for which even I began to doubt myself for a second if somehow I knew her.
“Definitely she isn’t the Queen Elizabeth. Why should I bother to know about her?” I said.
“Just because of the irrefutable fact that she’s an amazing lady!” he said.
“She’s a crazy bitch.” I said applying more gravity to the word ‘crazy’.
“Actually, she’s not. You gonna long for her company once you get to know her. I bet you.”
“Forget it. I’m already getting headache thinking about it.”
“Tell me, you gonna buy me beer for tonight if you get me proved that I’m wrong.” he challenged.
“Just leave that shit.” I denied.
“Well, at least let’s go and get that goddamn lighter.”
“Forget it.” I denied again.
“You do not have the guts, yeah?”
I was unknowingly biting my nails and then I stopped doing it when my guts were being questioned. “Say that again?” I said. Somewhere deep down, that sensitive thing called male ego was being hurt now.
“No, I’m not saying that you’re saying so. What I’m saying is…”
“Hold on.” I cracked my knuckles, wondered a little about what to say and then decided to bargain. “So what am I supposed to be getting if I win?”
He jumped up and sat on the couch. With all his excitement filling right up to the brim he asked “well, what do you want?”
“A car— Aston Martin DB11” I said, “and one thousand pounds in my account and a blank cheque with your…”
“Okay, hold on. Let me decide.” he cut me off without letting me finish my list of requirements. “If I lose, beer will be from my end for next seven days.”
“With complementary crispy chicken nugget. Every—Single—Day.” I added.
“Deal!”
I accepted the challenge being so sure about the fact that I was to win. I was not to buy him any beer at any cost.
______
Both of us went to the 3rd floor. Gunjan pressed the doorbell of her room twice and we did wait more than a minute to get the door opened.
“Hey! Look who’s coming?” she was astonished to see Gunjan barely noticing my presence. She’s wearing a pair of cat eye glass and I was not pretty sure whether she was looking good with the glass or the specs itself looked good on her. “Don’t say you guys are here for the lighter.” she said and cracked out laughing. I tried to figure out what actually was so funny. She welcomed us inside. The evergreen retro of Mohammad Rafi shaab was rolling on “abhi na jao chhodkar ki dil abhi bhara nahi.” She lowered the volume of the music player.
I shot a panoramic view of her room. It was too early to judge her. Little did I know a girl like her could have a good number of eye-catching books stacked on the shelf. Some of them were piled up like a mountain in a wooden crib. It was quite beautifully decorated. A pleasant smell of aromatic candles was rafting inside the room. There was a sensual poster of Marilyn Monroe taped on the wall next to her bed and some photographs were clipped on the string lights twinkling on the corner wall.
“So… would I be wrong to assume that you brought your guest here to introduce to me?”
“Yeah, kind of. Where have you been all these days?” he asked.
She fetched a bundle of UNO cards and dropped on her reading table and then shot a sharp glance at me ignoring his question.
“We’ve already met.” she said looking at me “my goodness! I saw him naked.” and she laughed aloud cupping her face with her palms.
“No!” I protested. “I was wearing… well, a towel.” Gunjan looked at me in disbelief. I tried to decode his exaggerated facial expression which was portraying aur-ye-tu-mujhe-kab-batane-wala-tha? sort of interrogation.
“Dude, I swear” I laughed. “I was in…” I ginned stupidly.
“Just relax. I’m just kidding. That’s fine.” she said
That was not fine. Out of embarrassment I thought of getting out of her room in no time.
“What do wanna have: tea-coffee-milk shake?” she asked in banter way.
“Isn’t there any fourth option available?” Gunjan asked.
“Actually, we just came here to fetch his lighter.” I said.
“Oh I see.” she said.
Gunjan coughed. Twice.
“Well, that is her lighter indeed.” Gunjan corrected me as politely as he could. And this time I shot that same aur ye tu mujhe kab batane wala tha?glance at him with murderous rage. That was an antique metallic lighter which she inherited from her grandmother—he let me know. It was gifted to her grandma by a Portuguese lady during the period of Annexation of Goa in 1961. And god knows, prior to this, who gifted this lighter to whom generation after generation since the evolution of the mankind.
“Oh, I see. Well, actually I thought—”
“That I am a desperate chain smoker?” she said cutting me off.
“Not really.” I said.
She laughed and fetched a packet of cigarette from the drawer and started spinning on her fingers.
“I collect cigarettes for fun. I do not burn and smoke them.” she said with a pitying grimace.
“Cool.” I said and I thought how weird that was! “And you have a good collection of books too.” I shot a panoramic view of her room again. That’s what we usually do when we visit someone for first time and sometimes when we’re not so sure of what we are doing and what we should talk about.
“Yes. I do.” she smiled and went off to the kitchen.
Gunjan shot a blank look at me.
“What?” I said.
“Nothing.” he shook his head and kept quite.
“Dude, she’s not that bitchy as I thought.” I whispered to him.
“I told you.” he smirked.
“Shall we go now?”
“Wait. Are you crazy? The best thing is yet to be.” he said.
I was not sure about what he was talking about. Meanwhile she came out of the kitchen with three wine-glasses.
“Guys, let me get something special for you.”
“Whaaao!” Gunjan’s face got lit up just like a kid when he’s given a candy in his hand.
“Pleased to have you both around.” she said stretching out a bottle of red wine from the fridge and offering it to Gunjan. It took just a few seconds for him to pour it in the glasses. We all sat on a Kashmiri silk carpet on the floor. She had grabbed a cushion in one hand and the glass in another.
“For this beautiful evening.” Gunjan toasted the glass.
“Cheers.” Our glasses clinked.
It was an old red wine which, as she told, was to be found nowhere else in this country apart from Nashik. She knew lot more about vineyards and wine than any one of us did. I sniffed it and sipped a little from the glass and tasted the tangy wrath of grapes daggling on my tongue. Gunjan appreciated it for nth number of times. I took a sip and started to aerate it swilling it round my mouth.
“Savory!” I appreciated the wine and she nodded.
“How did you get this cut mark here?” she asked somberly pointing near my eye.
“Old story.” I said.
“How old?”
“Almost twenty one years old. Childhood memories, you know.” I said.
“Childhood memories.” she mumbled and she seemed to be repeating it in her mind. Then she started shuffling the UNO cards. She didn’t ask anything further about the cut mark but started distributing the cards. We played three rounds and each time I lost pathetically. The clock ticked eight and then we finally decided to leave.
“What’s your plan for tomorrow?” she asked looking at Gunjan on the doorway. Weekends have never been any special neither for him, nor for me.
“Nothing as such.” He said.
“Superb. Tomorrow a friend of mine is throwing a birthday party and you guys are going with me.” she announced.
“What say?” he pushed it to me.
“What?” I said, awkwardly. “we barely know anybody there.”
“Just ignore him. We are in!” he announced.
“Did we know each other until yesterday?” she asked me.
“We still don’t know each other. Do we?” I said. “In fact, I haven’t even asked your name!”
“Why so hurry, mister?” she smiled. “Nobody is running away. See you guys tomorrow!” She said goodnight and shut the door.
We came back to our room. I sloppily sat on the couch and asked Gunjan who she was. He said nothing but shot a smile. I asked him again.
“She isn’t the Queen Elizabeth for sure. Why should you bother to know about her?” he quipped.
“Just out of the curiosity.” I said. The vinous tang of the wine was still lingering on my tongue. I wasn’t so sure whether I was getting drunk or what. But it just started making me feel good.
He came and stood right in front of me and asked “so, tell me, did you like her?”
“Tell me, which beer do you want to have?” I said.
______
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I met a girl. We talked. It was epic. But then the sun came up and the reality set in. And the reality is now, right here.
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An essence of freedom!
Lado Sarai, New Delhi. April 2nd, 2019 3:01am
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“Your twentieth birthday comes only once in a lifetime, young lady. It’s an irreplaceable day.” Just finished reading Murakami’s Birthday Girl and it was a truly driven, purely thought impeller. With his unique take on magical realism, Murakami shows us that something fantastical could be happening in the very mundane reality of life. Interesting story. Highly recommended!
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Fat jar!
“To experience a positive vibe and harness a state of mind Iskon temple is one of the finest places.” said Niki. We met at Connaught place, New Delhi after so long. She was sitting along with Partha—her better half, who is one of the good friends of mine from college. Upon meeting, I was offered a glass of boiled-sweet corn and then we got ourselves engaged in random banter. Needless to say, we managed to laugh at each other’s dry jokes no matter how bad they were.
We set out for the same venue set by her. The temple was a few kilometres away from Kalkaji mandir metro station. A mere disappointment has frothed after having made the pilgrimage and not enjoying the vibe at all. Forget about state of mind. However, the degree of my mere nuisance had reduced to a minimal level when I got to enter a kind of spirituality-bookstore. I bought the ‘Bhagavat Gita’, a Sanskrit to English translated version of the epic which was a cherry on the cake. Then we left the place in real quick.
It was an utterly cold December-evening. We kept looking for tapri chai stall on the footpath and the coffee shops nearby. We walked a mile back and forth. But keeping up the tendency to flout my expectation everything went in vain. Finally Google map suggested one coffee shop within a walking distance when Niki made a quick search— Fat jar, it suggested. “What’s in a name?” Shakespeare once quoted. Perhaps he was not right all the time. This witty yet intriguing name was the obvious and only factor which propelled us to get inside to wave off the frostbiting cold and to carry out an useless gossip together sipping a streaming hot cup of coffee.
Yet again, the coffee shop was a severe disappointment for that particular day in terms of design and decoration, lack of variety in beverages and last but not the least, the cost for each and every single edible article they had. Later, the coffee’s being served. It was horrible in taste. The complimentary snacks were awful. They reminded me of those bakery cookies to which nobody pays attention to. Not even the cookie-hungry kid in your house gives a damn about it to snatch it off from the plate when its left untouched after being rejected by the guest. Yes, it was exactly like that.
On top of that, they provided us Demerara sugar which was out beyond my limited knowledge. “It’s a kind of sugar made from jaggery, nothing else.” said Niki, showing her phone making a pout face with full of distress. “No! it’s brown sugar, you see!” Partha mocked. Little did we enjoy the coffee, yet more did we cherish the madness together. The caffeine was taking its toll. On our way back we never failed to laugh at our experience and make fun of the Demerara sugar. Had it been a person, for sure Demerara sugar would have sued us for such verbal abuses. That’s the story for today.
(Few days later, while surfing through the internet just to get clear picture, what I found was that Damerara sugar was nothing but a large grained, somewhat crunchy, raw sugar with origin in Guyana (a colony formally called Demerara). Owing to the rising popularity of Demerara over the years, this particular type of sugar is now produced in Mexico, India, Hawaii, among other countries.)
What I believe is that, when you experience something horrible there must be something good within the same. Sounds corny but its true. I’ve noticed this many a time. All you need to keep your eyes open, set all rest four senses active and observe. It’s just like the the ‘The Yin Yang’ symbol of Chinese philosophy and Kung Fu. In this regard, see, I’ve at least got a chance to learn what this ‘damn-e-rara’, I mean, Demerara sugar actually meant! Pheeww! Final time wrap up before you start getting bored.
Well, what makes a cup of coffee great and memorable? Neither it’s taste nor it’s odor and obviously not something called demerara sugar. When we recall the time we barely remember it’s taste or odor. Nothing makes it great actually rather than the quality time, ambiance and the conversation we usually have while sipping it. Keep it simple silly. Enjoy your coffee!
January 4th, 2019 20:14 pm
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Confabulation with a half-written poem.
“Life without art is just-eh!” You might have heard this line every now and then. Or perhaps, you might have seldom wondered ‘what it would have been had there been no such thing called art’ when you supposed to think of sitting alone in a cozy evening grabbing the steaming hot mug of tea, gazing at the twinkling stars.
Once in a blue moon we listen to a wonderful song, watch an incredibly beautiful movie, or behold an enigmatic painting which tries to make us feel connected, rejuvenates us giving us an enormous joy that we can’t find anywhere else but in the elements so mixed in the art itself. Fortunately enough, I met a person who is so close to art, music and the pursuit of life.
Alakesh Dutta, a passionate singer, songwriter, composer and musician who lives the life of a minimalist, puts forward an incredibly hypnotic impact on the receivers through his unadulterated, experimental music in the sweetest form of delight.
One fine summer day of June we made a pilgrimage to the Indian International Center (IIC) as invited audience to behold the paintings in an art exhibition which was organized in the collaboration of Slovakian embassy and the joint venture of different artists and activists across the globe.
It was one of those mere occasions to get engage in banter with someone you get emotionally welled up listening to. It was a pleasant afternoon and there was a lot of catching up to do. Owing to our brewing curiosity he welcomed us and showed the very different paintings that had been hung on the walls for the ongoing exhibition. Not even wasting a single moment idly, we began to have a table talk.
Upon asking how he would like to define himself he said, “It is not so easy for me to define myself. But one thing is for sure that I always like to live in my own world where I have a castle of my own: where I use to treasure my words, tunes and my emotions.
I like many things as any random guy does. Especially, books, guitar, boots, old castles of Europe, horses, knives and so on. I am a nature addict, you can say. I love hills, sea and the eternal music within. I would love to live like a knight! I really like that old Era.”
“I had a radio when I was a kid.” He continued while being asked to tell about his early days; his journey into the music. “I always tune into some strange channels where some unreadable music in strange languages was broadcast, albeit those were not strange but I just simply didn’t understand the language. Eventually I started loving those tunes so much that sometimes I used to listen to them through the whole night. Those were the tunes which pulled me to hit a note.”
“I read, in my earlier days, story books a lot and various poems as well. They were my best friends and they are still like it used to be years before. Okay, here you can see the dots getting connected: I use to find myself in those strange tunes and in those story-books from my childhood which showed me the way to dream about something amazing, taught me to listen to the howling wolves and to count the stars while singing in the moonbeam.”
What propelled you to become a musician? That was one of those typically asked questioned, which every artist might have gone through being asked to him or her. “From my early age I liked music.” He answered.
“I discovered my first guitar in the garage of my cousin. It’s a magic guitar. I have composed many of my compositions like- Rajpath, Picadeli park on that guitar only. I started to strum it and tried to compose some tunes. One day I received a Philips walkman from my father and then it became an inevitable part of my day to day life. I used to start listening to many legendary rock bands and some of them I really loved. I guess all these were started whispering in my ear, making a buzz and they had raised an urge in me, telling me to sing out my thoughts and emotions and let the world know what I feel and think about.”
I was fascinated and was headily curious to know the back story behind the birth of their band: ‘Papyrus Rain Of Heart’. In 2010 they won 1st position in North- East folk-rock competition called ‘Pulse’ held in North Guwahati, organized by News Live. Their first live show was in World Music day organized by Aucto Creation.
“We are always thankful to Rana da, owner of Aucto Creation who gave us a great start off in such a great show.” He said. “It was a rainy evening of 2009.The hills of my town were now playing hide & seek with the drizzle. We three: Mrinal Rabha (bass+vocal), Jitul Das (lead guitar) and me, were chatting around by having tea and samosas. Fifteen minutes prior to this we were strumming our guitars. There was load-shedding. In candle-light we were discussing about the future possibilities of continuing such music which we would really like to do and I think It was the beginning of “Papyrus Rain Of Heart”.
“Our band members are- MrinalRabha (bass+vocal), SurajRabha(lead guitars), Kangkan Rabha (lead Guitars) and me (rhythm guitars and vocal). Previously we had Naba Roy (drums), Bhuchan Pathak (piano, synth.), Jitul Das (lead guitar) and Prandeep Das(backing vocals/percussion) Sometime we use to collaborate with our previous band members.”
Alakesh Dutta is also a founder member of an NGO called ‘Picasso Pupils’ which is registered in NE India and in Slovakia, Europe. They have been organizing International art residency since 2016 in Meghalaya, NE India and lately in the month August 2018 they have organized an International art symposium in Slovakia. Since 2016 they’ve been doing some shows (solo and or with other Professional musicians) in Europe. Recently, on August 2018 he and Jana Bednarova, MVA, the Founder of PPIAC, SK and a professional painter from Slovakia have organized an International art symposium in Slovakia. Since 2016 he has been doing some shows in Europe, sometimes solo and otherwise collaborating with the other native musician.
What, according to you, music is? How does it come to you?
“According to me, music is the most precious gift from nature. Sound of Rain, thunderstorms, blowing wind, sound of a stream, call of birds, roar of a sea all these are the finest form of music. That’s why when we walk through a forest, or watch the rain down pouring through the window, we spontaneously whistle or sing a tune.
In this new world technology is undeniably important for music. To record a musical creation- it may be a song or an instrumental piece of music, we need to go to a recording studio, similarly in live shows we have to use technology. But we shouldn’t forget the difference between the technology and music. Someone, with costly gears or computer or a MIDI synth., may not be a composer, musician or an arranger. A software and a laptop can’t create music itself and I think it’s the high time to realize it!
An amazing song, beautiful poem or lyrics, a heavenly tune, always comes from a person’s own feelings, emotions, dewy memories of life which s/he has walked through, and technologies like amplifier, microphones, mixing consoles, software etc, doesn’t have any one of those. For me music is my confidence, my courage and obviously an addiction which helps me to imagine anything from a creative point of view. Music is the only universal language that can transmit and be received from one soul to another.”
He has a few masterpieces: the rendition of some of them are soothing, profound and a few are remarkably great that can make your hair stand on end. ‘Rajpothe di jetiya roja jai’, ‘Ei nodi nirabadhi’, ‘Kola akax’, ‘Picadily park’ etc are the cherries on the cake.
“I write the lyrics of my compositions from my personal experiences and fantasy. Some of my compositions are based on social issues, spirituality and some are based on romantic fantasy.” He said when asked about the concept, lyrics, compositions and the poetry lying within all these creations.
“I always like to focus the depth of a traditional folk piece of music which I blend in most of my compositions. In case of some of my compositions like Rajpath, you can hear the vital space of Rabha-traditional folk tune, notes and vocal approach in the entire song. The lyrics of the song is based on some social issue just like my another compositions like- Kola Akax, Eiya janu bhal manuh, Blood on the street, Jiwon jodi hoi kagozor note etc. On the other hand song like Picadily park, Ei nodi etc are the imaginary romantic compositions.”
Blending, locomotive and the variation in western folk-rock culture and especially in ours?
“Blending of a folk content in a composition is not an easy task if you want to do it in a meaningful way. The entire vibe of that particular composition and the folk content should be perfectly connected if you want an effective result.
Though the cultural habit or practices are different in western countries, but at the end of the day human emotions and behaviors are similar and specially music is a creative output of those. So, though there are some differences from some technical point of view (chord progression, rhythm pattern or way of singing or playing) according to me, music is same all around the globe. That’s why, perhaps, it sounds great when I play an Irish folk on a traditional Khasi dutara or when I sing a Slovak folk with one of my composition.”
About muse?
“Me and my band -Papyrus Rain of heart will be always thankful to you all who have been always there with their well wishes, bestowing love upon us with tons of appreciation and support. For you guys our music is alive.”
“For upcoming musicians I would like to say‚ be yourself! you can be inspired by someone’s creation but always try not to become a copy version or try not to kill your creative ideas or talent by running behind quick glamour by singing or playing covers in a reality show. Try to create something unique and meaningful which you really like, so that we can understand you better and can listen from you something new, something amazing ,which we have never heard before. Be polite, keep the entire ego aside and never miss any opportunity to learn, it will pick you up even more higher than you imagine.
And finally say no to drugs, it can’t make musician, believe me. It didn’t make Michael Jackson, Jim Morrison, Nirvana or Aerosmith. It was their passion for doing something new, something path-breaking which made them the milestones in the world of music.”
And meanwhile, the dusk had fallen. Yet there was still lots of catching up to do, time ceased it pretty well, like the way it always does. When everything gets apart, when the memory fades, what really remains with us is the conversation once we have had. It was one of those; like talking and passionately listening to a half-written poem in a man. And sometimes, the charm of half gives you way more delight than a complete one.
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