Thursday, May 18, 2006

Life

Today is my last night to be spent at ISM. Last night of the great BC session which started four year ago when I was immature, young, ignorant and above all sober and which is ending now when I am mature enough, experienced enough and drunk enough to write all these.

Satwik Pattanyak was writing a blog called “when do men cry?” I liked the title instantaneously. But I could not get the feeling. Now I am getting everything, Pattu, after seeing off Neha at the railway station and saying good bye to Lala and Budhanshu. It is 11: 59 pm now, Vikash will be going at 03:00 in the morning. I will be going to see him off too. Then it will be my turn, which will come a little 12 hrs later. But the moral of the story is that I will have to go.
There were many questions which are left unanswered. Why we have to live ISM? Why were we fortunate enough to get into this place, and why the lesser mortals could not get through? And above all- when do men cry?

The answer to the last question I got now.
Men cry, when they are leaving a place like ISM? Men cry when they leave a friend like Neha. Men cry when they become alumnus of a branch called Min mach.
There are some phone calls left unanswered. There are some stories which end at a blunt unexpected place. There are some ‘Important’ Mannats, to Viashno Devi, which are fulfilled in lieu of some unfulfilled lesser important ones.
But do these things matter?
No!
Absolutely NO!
Life has to go on, at its own pace, tracing its own predetermined path. This is the main moral of the story- the story of life. For every one. Be it a Petro Engg or a Min Mach engg like me.
Just a few minutes back, when I was drinking the Portuguese wine brought by Mohit Bhatnagar, one year back, from Germany, and kept for the occasion, Gaurav (GG) asked me to address him by the name Chirkut. His reasoning was that he will never get a person who will tell him ‘Chirkut Chamar’, after passing out from here.

Yes it is true. There will be no one to call me Dumka instead of Deepak Tiwary. There will be no one to say it in my face that I am a ganwar from a small town in Jharkhand. There will be no one to criticize my face expression while I am laughing.

Today after returning from station, I was returning back the things which I had lent from my friends. Lent is a formal word, I will use ‘taken’ instead, which shows more possessiveness.
So I was return things which I had taken from my friends. There was a book on handwriting analysis which was on my table, for six months. It was of Siddhant Dey and Koushik had given it to me. An ISM Track suit, taken from Koushik again, some time during winters and which I had not returned till now. Suddenly it came in my mind that I had given something to Venugopal Rao. I went to his room to collect these things. It was nothing but just a shirt taken from Nitin and a pant taken from Koushik and both lent to him by me.
This is the magic of this place. Here everything is yours. You have the same right over these things as that of the ‘real owner’.

There have been some bitter moments also, but why to recall them? I know that you people will understand. Mohit will not you?
Bitter moments should be recollected only to take a lesson, in order not to repeat it. That is the only purpose to keep these things in our memory space. This is the fundamental of life, and everybody should know it.

There are some persons who should be addressed here better than all those addressed above, but may be I don’t have the courage to address them.
There are some persons who deserve a phone call rather than an SMS, but may be they are reluctant enough to receive it.
There are some persons who can have my whole life rather than my humble friendship, but may be they are fortunate enough to get something better.

This is life.
A whole detail of phone calls, received or unrecieved. Of names addressed or unaddressed. Of mannats fulfilled or unfulfilled. Of dreams seen or unseen. Of stories finished or unfinished- at an unexpected blunt ending.
Yes. This is life.
Not only mine, not only an ISMite’s but everyone’s.

Monday, May 15, 2006

Inspiration

Life gives an answer in 3 ways... It says Yes. And gives you what you want. It says NO... and gives something better. It says WAIT and gives the best in its own time!

Plagiarized piece

something in life never changes, sometimes in life you don't find reasons, some moments in life aren't forgotten, sometimes you loose hope... when time rolls by, you try to forget what holds you on... some people in life are a part of you, and when you let them go, you never lose them. Because... You find them living in you.

--- A Plagiarized piece, taken from somwhere.

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

MY LAST CLASS IN ISM

The twin Gulmohars in front of our department are in full bloom, orange flames of knowledge on its branches and a carpet of red petals rolled up at ground, near the entry gate. This is the 27th time the Gulmohars are giving farewell to a Mining Machinery batch, every time in the same manner. Probably they know that every exit is an entry to some other place and so they bid us farewell by rolling a red carpet.

A painted board over the entrance reads

“DEPARTMENT OF MECHANICAL ENGG. & MINING MACHINERY ENGG”

Today I am seeing this board for a little longer than usual, trying to capture its image in my mind, to recall it whenever I need, for the rest of my life.

It’s amazing how we perceive things. Because whenever I try to recall the face of our department, it is EMM, which comes in my mind; as if it never changed its name.

Today we are going to attend the last class of ISM and we are dressed for the occasion, everyone in full formals. The whole department seems very perplexed at seeing us in this attire. ‘Are these guys having campus interview today? Or is there any conference or seminar?’ Lots of questions in there mind. The last thing they hope about us is to see us dressed like this.

But we have made an example and that also, a better one. I am sure that others will follow suit, some out of inspiration and some out of desperation, when they will be attending the last class of their B.tech tomorrow.

This is how traditions are made.

But the price for making this tradition is a dear one. Since we took some time in arranging the formal stuff, we were late for the class and so we guys have been kicked out.

No class today! On the last day!

We move to Prof Chattopadhyay’s chamber. To request, to plead, to beg him to take our class, but he is unmoved. He is a man of principles and he will never tolerate any amount of insincerity, doesn’t matter that it is our last day. Time and again he has tried to instill in us an iota of sincerity and attitude, some time in soft and most of the time in harsh words, but we were incurable. And you see the consequences; being kicked out for the last class.

We have learned a great lesson today.

Chattopadhyay sir, you are a great teacher. At last you have made us learn the most important lesson of life.

Learning this lesson we moved on, to some other teachers of department, to take their picture with us and record them wishing us goodluck on our handy cam .Today they are a different entity, a little different from their usual self. Their eyes are speaking of emotions today and there is no discussion about studies. Dr. T.K. Chatterjee has not told the usual ‘na…! padhna padega!’ even once. Instead he has traveled three year back, down the memory lane, recalling our irresponsible attitude at that time. He had been very concerned about our future at that time, even now he is. But now there is a feeling of re-assurance instead of insecurity, and yes, there is no ‘na....! padhna padega!’

Something in this world should never change. Like T.K.C. sir, like Kabir Dasgupta sir and Alok Mukhopadhyay sir, who are the very symbols of this branch. Mukhopadhyay sir has always been very supportive of us, very protective, like a father who is very confident of his child. Today, there is a gleam of delight in his eyes to see us standing on the threshold of our professional world. There is Dasgupta sir, with a straightforward approach, like always, wishing us good luck.

We will miss you both, sir!

So finally our last class is over. Someone suggests going to canteen before we return to hostel and so we move towards the ISM CANTEEN.

In canteen there is Vinod, to take orders- which means a delay of at least half an hour before being served our actual menu. So we sit idly under the Canteen tree, facing Opal hostel, chatting with each other about the amount of oil in samosas and day by day reduction in the amount of Maggi in a full plate.

Four year back we were here, in the same hostel queued up for our admission. Time has flown with such a high speed that it seems that it was just a few days back.

This is the distinctive feature of ISM; you loose count of time at this vibrant place.

Soon we will be going out of this place, becoming a part of the vast record books in the Admin block, carrying with us a large bag of memory along with our luggage.

There are so many things which I will miss out of here.

There will be no mess, with dogs running under the table. There will be no yearly athletic ritual called P.E.T., no matki fodna during Janmashtmi, no Srijan, no Basant, no soporific lectures to sleep through and no GJLT to hoot in.

Though we will get a better stage, it will not be Penman.

Though I will continue to play volleyball, but there will be no Diamond volley court to sprain my ankle in.

Though I still believe in love at first sight, but there will be no ISM girls to fall for.

Out of these what are the things which I will miss most?

I think its everything.

Yes, its everything.

keep running

Every morning a gazelle wakes up in africa,
it knows that it has to run faster than the fastest lion to survive.
Every morning a lion wakes up in africa,
it knows that it has to run faster than the slowest gazeele to survive.
It does not matter whether you are lion or gazelle,
when the sun comes out, you better be running.
- An old African adage

My Date With Chameli

Before I start, let me just tell you one thing- this is not a work of fiction. It is just a fact, a fact with no moral, no theme, no inspirations. It is a real life incident encountered by me some six months ago, which I just wanted to share.

I was waiting at our railway station, Jasidih junction, to catch Patliputra Express to my way back to Dhanbad, after a weekend at my home. The platform was not as much crowded as it generally is. There were even some unoccupied benches, which is a rarity at a railway station nowadays. I was sitting on one of the unoccupied benches, totally engrossed with myself. Suddenly my train of thought was interrupted by a female voice in Bengali, who was asking me the platform from where she could board a train to Malda. I turned to see a girl sitting on my bench. She seemed to be 16 or 17. Though she still had the innocence of child on her face, there was something which looked very unusual in her. I tried to think but could not find it. I just told her plainly (in Hindi) that there was no train for Malda from Jasidih and slid a little away from her on my bench. Now my thought pattern shifted towards her. I was trying to figure out what it was which made her look so unusual, so different from other girls of her age group. I stole few furtive glances to see that she was wearing a dark lipstick. The way she had dressed herself looked cheap. I must confess that even a wild idea came to me that she was not a girl but a eunuch, but her female voice and soft features made me discard the idea as quickly as it had come.

She tried to say something, this time in Hindi, but her vocabulary failed her and she ended up asking me in Bhojpuri(a dialect of Hindi) how she could reach Malda from that station. I was trying to think about some break journey route to Malda when a man in his 50s, who was trying to hear this piece of conversation, interrupted. He started telling her some route and then both of them engaged themselves in some casual conversation in Bhojpuri. I felt a little relaxed and happy over the ‘divine intervention’ and thanked god for sending that man to my rescue. But the fact that she was not able to say even any word in Hindi and was very fluent in Bhojpuri, started to give me some concern and other sort of thought train started in my mind.

I originally belong to the Bhojpuri region of Bihar and so I know that region very well. They have still retained the feudal culture and there is still the tradition of mujra and ‘whore-dancing’ during marriage ceremonies in that region. The prostitutes for that purpose are imported from the poor villages of west Bengal. Those Bengali girls end up being fluent in Bhojpuri without knowing a bit of Hindi. Summing up all those facts I came to one conclusion that she was also one of them and this made me a little nervous.

Meanwhile the duo was continuing with their casual conversion. I heard the man asking her about her home etc. and then the girl asked him whether she could ask him something. Getting the reply from the man in affirmative, she asked,

‘Can you give me Rs twenty? I don’t have money to buy me my fare’

It appeared from the man’s expression that somebody had asked him his whole fortune.

‘What do you think; you will be able to buy a ticket for Malda in just 20 rupees?’

‘no, actually I will travel without ticket, by train, till Malda. But from there I will have to take a bus to reach my village, and the Bus-wallah will not take me without money. So I need at least twenty bucks’

The man paused for a bit, after some thinking he said that he didn’t have extra money but a friend of his would be coming in few minutes and then he would be able to give her the required money. Saying this he quietly slipped off. After his exit, my comfort level started dipping. I noticed that she had two heavy bags as luggage which she had carried herself. It seemed that she was running away from somewhere. I sat there for few seconds and then decided to ask her about herself that who she was and why she was traveling alone and under this condition. Collecting my whole mental strength I asked that from where she was coming.

Her reply knocked me off my senses. She was coming from Bhojpur. Now it was almost confirmed that she was one of the horrendous creatures, whom some of us love to hate and some hate to love. Before I could make a quick exit from the scene I had done a grave mistake. I don’t know which bug bit me in my mind that I asked her the most insane question you can ever imagine.

‘Are you a baai jee’ was my question. (Baai is a euphemism used for prostitutes)

Even today also, after six months have passed I become uneasy when I think that how could have I asked such type of question.

You can’t ask a question like this from anyone roaming around, or for matter of fact, anyone sitting on a railway platform. It doesn’t matter that whether you have used a euphemism or a dirty slang.

But what could I do?

Words, once spoken, can’t be taken back and so after this formidable mistake I was sure of a tight slap on my face. But hearing a cold reply which said that I was correct surprised me. I looked up to see her face. It was blank, without any sign of anger or guilt. She reacted in the same way as I when asked that whether I am an engineering student

Wasn’t she ashamed of herself, was my first reaction. She could have easily told me a lie, or even she could have shown some fake anger over my question. But all she did was she answered me in affirmative that I was correct about her profession

. Now when I think more closely, I ask that why should she alone be ashamed?

The whole society should be carrying the same amount of shamefacedness on their faces. But then, there was no time for all these things. I was just another guy from a reputed background, sitting very uncomfortably in a ‘tainted company’. My first impulse was to run, but something held me back. I decided to wait there, as only 5minutes were left for my train besides, I wanted to see that whether that middle aged man would turn up or not. I just slid away on my bench, as far as possible from her, just sitting on the edge. I was so nervous that I could hardly think anything. Only one thing was coming in my mind that I was sharing my bench with a prostitute and it was giving a shiver wave through my body. I was on verge of trembling.

Time passed very slowly. I was literally counting every second due for my train. The man turned up after about 2 minutes. As expected, his friend had not come and so he was unable to give her the money. But he had some very good suggestions. If she asked from some other person, she would definitely get the money. Saying this, he disappeared. What a suggestion!

I saw an expression of disappointment on her face, as if something on which she had banked heavily, had failed. I started thinking that what should be my step. Should I give her money? Since I was returning from home, money was not a problem and that too twenty rupee we waste on cold drinks everyday. But the main issue was that, was I supposed to talk to a girl after knowing that she was a prostitute? From whatever faint knowledge I had about Malda, I knew that she wouldn’t be able to reach there before 10:00 in the morning. The electronic clock on platform showed 8:45 PM. So, she wouldn’t be able to eat anything for about 12 hours. And god knows how far her village from the railway station was. I had become concerned for her by that time. But would I give her money? Suppose anybody saw me then? What if my hand touched her while giving the money? The very idea seemed so outrageous that I got up to go away from there. As I was picking my bag, my sight fell on her again. She was looking at me and our eyes met for a moment. It seemed that her eyes were pleading something. I stopped there for a moment, took out my wallet. There were some 10 rupees bills. I kept one bill for myself for paying the rickshaw-wallah and threw the rest on her lap telling her to buy something to eat from whatever she would be left with, after paying for the bus ticket. Saying this I ran as fast as I could, from that place, without bothering to see back that whether the bills I threw, landed up on her lap or not. Luckily my train arrived at that moment itself and so no one seemed to notice me running there, like a madman.

I boarded my train and sat on an empty seat. The gush of wind through window was giving a soothing effect. But still I wasn’t able to concentrate.

From what brutality was she fleeing from?

May be, she was the sole bread earner for her old parents.

How her parents must have been feeling while eating each bite of their food.

How unlucky are those families, who have to use their 16 year old daughter to satisfy their hunger?

And how unlucky are we people, who are lucky enough to throw money over their 16 year old daughters.

Chanda mama

He was a small child. A child living in the Fantasy Island just like everybody at that age. An island dominated by fairies & ghosts. An island decorated with flowers and littered with toys. An island, where trespassers were welcome, but only during the night, and that too for singing lullabies and telling the stories of Rajas & their Ranis.

He was passing through that phase of life when there is only innocence without any trace of treachery. When there are only emotions and no reasoning. Where it is easy to differentiate between grief and joy but it is irrelevant to think about its implications. Where you can start loving something to extremes without thinking about the end result. And so does our story starts.

He was lying on a charpai in a full moon night with his mother on his side singing him a sweet lullaby to sleep. He was staring at the moon. Intently. Very intently.

Chanda mama dur ke,

Pooa pakai gur ke.

Not paying any attention to the sweet voice of his mother which seemed so faint at that time. The moon seemed so bright and serene. There was an absolute aura of calmness about it. How can be anything so beautiful? So radiant yet so calm. So bright yet so soothing

Aap khaayein thali mein,

Munne ko de pyaali mein.

Suddenly a gush of dark cloud came into sight, coming straight towards the moon. Black monster eying a silvery elf. The beast neared. A chill went in the body of boy. The gloomy cloud had started engulfing the moon. The sight was terrific. King Kong holding the delicate Jessica Lange in his hands. Something shattered deep inside the boy.

Pyaali gayee toot,

Munna gaya rooth.

‘What happened?’ mother suddenly noticed the restlessness in his child.

‘Maa, I want the moon.’

‘When the clouds will be gone, you will again see it my son. It has not gone permanently’

‘No maa. I want it here. With me. Away from those sinister clouds.’

‘Ok boy. We will get it for you tomorrow.’

‘Thanks maa’

Now go and sleep, goodnight’

‘Goodnight’

Night gave way to morning and he was awake. Unexpectedly, he again started demanding the moon. The mother tried to persuade him but he wouldn’t listen. He would have his moon.

‘But son, god has made it for everybody than how can you have it for yourself alone?’

‘There will be thirteen more for others’

‘There is only one moon, dear’

‘Don’t fool me. There are fourteen. From crescent to full moon. Cant I have one’

‘Oh son, there is only one moon. What he does is change his dress daily. So he looks different on different days.’

‘Whatsoever be the case I want moon. I will not eat anything till you give me one.’ The boy looked obstinate.

Every trick to persuade him failed. He wouldn’t budge from his bed, just ask for moon. No food for last five days. He had fallen ill and his condition was deteriorating. But he wouldn’t listen. God knows from where he got such an obdurate attitude. He had never been normal, but this was height. God knows what he would do when he would grow up. But there wasn’t any time to think about all these, for his life was in danger. He was hardly able to move his lips. Doctors said that he has lost the will to live and so they couldn’t be of any help. Sorrow was in air.

He was on his bed. It had starting to be dark. He had started feeling dizzy. Suddenly he saw a shaft of light in the room. So bright was it that he could not fix his gaze on it initially. Slowly his eyes adapted to condition and he saw a very handsome man with an absolute aura of calmness on his face, staring directly at him.

‘Who are you, and what are you doing here at my room?’ he wanted to ask, but his lips had failed. They just quivered a little.

The man’s expression didn’t change. His lips gave a hint of a faint smile. Then he spoke.

‘Son, I am the symbol of unfulfilled desire in this world. I am Moon, Symbol of all those cravings for which people are so desperate, symbol of all those unsatisfied longings for which they are eager to give or take lives.’

‘Oh, I am so glad that you have come. I knew that you will, one day. I had read in one book that there is no object which is away from the reach of a person. Just long for it from the core of your heart and never give up, and you can win any thing you wish. Now I know that I have won’. The boy was so overwhelmed with pleasure that there was no sign of weakness in his body.

‘you are too young to understand all these things, but at the same time you are so stubborn that I had to come. I have not come here because you wished for me. I have come here to teach you something. To teach you the art of letting things go. Now listen carefully to what I am going to tell now, as you will need it for your whole life. Such type of problem will keep on coming to you even when you grow up, because there is a little bit of child in everybody.’

“The first thing to know is that there are some things which are not made for us. No matter how hard we try or how earnestly we desire. The best example is me myself. No matters how much earnestly you long for me, you won’t be able to get me.”

“The god has given the mortals everything except the control over their destiny. This power he has kept for himself to show his supremacy, which nobody can challenge. I am not telling that we should leave everything to destiny, or give on trying when we fail. We should keep on trying till we achieve it. But if we don’t get it despite repeated effort, then there is no need to kill ourselves on that issue. The more you will cling to it, the more will be your loss. It is like clutching the grains of sand in your palms. The firmer the grip, the more the sand-grains will come out of your hands.”

“It’s very good to dream about something. Success is all about daring to dream and working hard to make all those dreams come true. But don’t hold these dreams so near that their thorns start pricking you. Dreams are made of glass. Don’t lean over them so closely that when they break, they hurt your eyes and when they die, the smoke of their funeral start smothering you.”

“Look at me. I have been made to remind the humans of their frailty. I come in different shapes and sizes to tell you people that the intensity of your desire can be varied. I don’t come on New moon day to tell you one thing. That however dear an object may be to you, it is really possible to live without it.”

“I hope that you have understood my point. So don’t desire for anything which is not possible. And life has to go on, whatever may be the circumstances.”

With this he was gone. There was no one in the room except for his mother, who was staring at him perplexed. ‘To whom were you talking?’

‘With the moon! Didn’t you see?’

Probably it was a dream or some hallucination, she thought. She was too much worried by now. But suddenly she was startled to see a much unexpected thing. His son walking out of bed after five days, and that too without any persuasion. He walked straight to the balcony. His mother went behind him, too puzzled to speak anything.

Probably he was looking for the moon. Not finding the moon there, he seemed disappointed. His mother was more worried by now.

‘Today is the New moon day’

‘New moon?’

‘Yes, so there won’t be any moon today. You can see it tomorrow. But son, please eat...…….’

He was not listening any more. Only one line was coming in his mind.

‘However dear an object can be to you, it is really possible to live without it. Life has to go on, whatever may be the circumstances’

He saw his mother looking very worried, telling him something, he had no desire of knowing.

Her mother was perplexed.

‘What has happened to you son? I have no idea what are you talking about?’

The boy continued with his thought process, he didn’t hear anything.

‘However beautiful the moon can be, it will not be able to match the beauty of life.’

‘What! What are you talking son?’

‘Nothing Maa. I am feeling very hungry, can’t you give me something to eat.’

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