As Time Goes By...

So the last few days have been a whirlwind in motion, what with my never-ending interviews with no luck and the trip to Sikkim and all... *sigh* painful, painful days spent at Oly, sweating and sipping long glasses of alcohol-tinged soft drink drowned in Ice.... and then waiting to get the return tickets confirmed... Ah what extreme life I lead!!

And then the Peep and I over dark darker darkest chocolates discussed the pains of being alive, and how to drown it by getting a tonne of lard and God-knows-howmuch caffeine in our veins in deliciously shaped packages... Ah the horror, the Horror.....

So then I was returning from Cheeni Kum the other day.... The MAN can still run, I say!!!! I was bowled over yet. Somehow a man above 60 should not be allowed to be that sexy. Its just me. I just saw him.

And I was coming back and the auto was amazingly packed, and I had the side seat and was getting all the air on my face, doing Lord-Knows-What to my already unmanageable hair. And I was quite outrageously happy despite my Mother who had come to see the movie with me... and been gushing lyrical over it. So I got down from my auto and what do I realize?

The print on the auto seat was one large picture of Gerard Butler from 300, this one to be precise.




And well, his mouth was open, and I had been sitting on top.


Btw, I shall be imparting erotological wisdom pretty soon so stay tuned to the next light year or so.

"I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,

But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,

Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;

And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,

Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:

I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion. "

Dowson knew what its like. When the pain in your gut eats you away and you hide your face against the pillow and scream and cry your heart out but still there is no relief, and you promise to the distant North Star at three in the morning to make you forget.... to heal... but it does not help.


It just does not. Its so pathetic... this sham of indifference that you adapt. "I Do Not----" is such a lie, and your friends listen to you sympathetically but you still feel guilty because half your mind is not there, its been locked away for life, and the effort is so much that you feel drained.

Damn I am being sickeningly pitifully "nyaka"....


So dushhala, I dont bleeding care any longer. I dont think I am all that bad. I am healthy, apart from the ache I have from the Topple... and all, I think I am just fine. I am dancing and boozing and singing and basically my exams are over and I have got myself a JOB. So I am fine. Fine.

Oh me who must have to fight over the Kaichu with The Peep and the Sen. I shalt not chharify ek piece of medini in this.


Kaichu you are MINE, and MINE AND MINE.

There, thats done.



MINE I TELL YOU!!! MILLS AND BOONS KI KASAM!!!


DIBS.

Oh me!! Who saw the bad movie of the year.... and has to fight over the Kaichu and find cash ASAP.

Taaaaaaaa---------g

Peep tagged. I tag others. Just you wait... heathu and cheshire cat.





1. Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it:


I have one on the forefinger of my right hand. Age 9. An argument that I won against Ma.






2. What is on the walls in your room?


An amazing Poster of Two brown and white puppies dominate my North Wall. One of those puppies have eyes that make me want to do the "BOOCHOO... OOLIKIMITTICHHANALEBABA" to it. My South Wall has a poster of Harry Potter. And there is a bookshelf on that wall that lost a door because of overflow. Knowledge! How heavy it sits sometimes.






3. What does your phone look like?

Its white and pink and violet and blue. Very Girlie. My Dad chose it. Its Nokia, so basically Indestructible (I have tried, trust me) and the only thing that has happened to it after four years of misuse is a little scratch on its cover.






4. What music do you listen to?





All sorts. I am not picky. It all depends on my mood.






5. What is your current desktop picture?





This picture:
Courtesy : Avikda. He is a fabulous artist.



6. What do you want more than anything right now?

Peace. And a Vacation.

7. Do you believe in gay marriage?

I do. As soon as it is legal in India, I am marrying Andro. And Kaichu. And Jane. And D. And Jhumpus. And Maddy.

I think Polygamy is punishable... na?

8. What time were you born?

Bikelbela probably. I forgot. I just know that the day was Bangla Bundh. So my dad and my grandmother had to walk 6 miles to reach the hospital.

9.Are your parents still together?


Yes. I still think they made a mistake, though.


10. What are you listening to?

The Night.

12. The last person to make you cry?

K.

13. What is your favourite perfume/cologne?

Gucci's Envy. Calvin Klein's Contradiction for men. And the smell of roses and Lavender Talc. And the wet khus khus on hot summer days.

14. What kind of hair/eye colour do you like on the opposite sex?

Umm... Hair colour? Eye colour? erm.... I think it depends on the person and suitability.... though long hair turn me on. And piercing.

15. Do you like pain killers?

Can anything kill pain?

16. Are you too shy to ask someone out?

I did ask someone out once, so no, I dont think I am.

17. Fave pizza topping?

Pepperoni and plenty of cheese. And jalapeno peppers and mushrooms and shredded lamb.

18. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?

Chocolates. Dark chocolates dripping with caramel... oozing nougat and more caramel. And a glass of frothy cold machiatto to go with it.

No matter what People thinks of my taste. Dark chocolates, NOUGAT and CARAMEL.


19. Who was the last person you made mad?

I make everyone mad. I am insane, je. But I think the last person I shall make mad will be Panu.

20. Is anyone in love with you?

I wish.

I really do.
There. I does allsorts of stuff. I tag two people, ar parina.

Wonder of all wonders, why must I turn my head and smile graciously at every mistake I have ever made in my life?

Because I am a pushover.

A pushover who knows she is a pushover. That's the worst kind.

So screw me!

Anyway, whatever. All these amazing love affairs just pass me by, and I am left holding the glass of Vodka (Fuel, by the way).

So there was this man who told me he was going to come down in the merry month of May, but did he?

Nooooooo. He is too busy getting screwed up by his job and his precious CEO who is as big a jerk as he is.

And is Panu getting any thing out of this? Just because this is just another time a jerk has stood her up (well, except, this time, she has been stood up for a whole frigging month rather than a lousy two hours… but anyway, how does time matter here?) and all this humongous annoying shit is just buggering the hell out of her, and I am tense and wary because this world has ended and the bleeding sky has fallen, and yet another fabulous faux pas has been committed by the DAD early this night, and well, MA being Ma, is rattling on about her historical lessons (Chapter One: So in 1984 your mother told me that she did not want the curry too salty and I was only a child of 24 who barely knew anything……) and the SIS was being nasty and painted a few masterpieces on her canvas in revenge and I ended up throwing caution (read carefully charted out diet plan for the next lifetime) to the wind and indulged in a plate of Chicken A-La Olypub (and Oh Lord was that Bliss or What) and then came back to a roomful of nastiness… not to mention the half an hour I had to stand outside a seedy joint, waiting for someone to come out who did not at all like me standing there waiting…

And that's where this post ends.

This Image.

Need I say more?

Twist... Twist....

so everything went sort of surreal this evening.

There I was walking down College Street in the afternoon, my mind clouded with worry over my impending doom (read MA finals without studies) and Andromeda's general physical condition, and I was on my way to meet Maddy for a simple tete-a-tete at coffee house, only to find out other members of my gerobaaj group

So over Chicken Kabiraaji and cold coffee and The Diary of Don Rigoberto and Tutu Bhutu and lots and lots of adda I was basically relaxed, and it stretched till Paramount where over cold glass of cream green mango sherbet we were discussing Satyajit Ray and Soumitro and Sibram Chakraborty and whatnot.... and I looked at the shining faces (sweaty and glistening) and realized that this was what I was going to miss.... this sense of relaxing shall just leave.

And suddenly I did not want to stay with them any longer. I felt like the serpent in Paradise and I wanted to get away. But then I was stuck in a little shop around College street corner, and I was back five years, when I used to pay 5 rupees for one book and come home loving the bargain and the book. Animal Farm.

The man looked at me with accusing, yet strangely gentle eyes, and said, "Why have you not come for so long? "

I gave some non-committal reply, feeling guilty. It was as if I have not looked after my best friend... and I was guilty of ignoring them.

And I looked at the books and I walked on.

And then the world went *topple*.

Can topple be a sound effect? It so is what happened to me this evening.

And I looked at the scattered books and my purse and my ankle turned in a strange angle, and I vaguely realized that it was not the way it should have been.

So I pulled it back to normal with a little twist and then crawled into a taxi that one of those pedestrians called up and then the world went black for around five minutes.

I woke to pain and pain and pain.

And then My Dear Dad gave me the dose of two painkillers and two large whisky.

And yes, I am shot.

I am twisted and back on line. I am BAAACKK!!

Unki yeh shikayaat hai ke hum kuch nahin kehte,

Unki Yeh shikayaat hai ke hum kuch nahin kehte...

Par apna to yeh adat hai ke hum kuch nahi kehte.

Kehne ko bahut kuch tha agar kehne pe aate,

Kehne ko bahut kuch tha agar kehne pe aate...

Par apni tp yeh adat hai ke hum kuch nahi kehte.

Kuch kehe to tufan utha leti hai yeh duniya,

Kuch kehe to tufan utha leti hai yeh duniya...

Chup rehe toh duniya kehte hai hum kuch nahi kehte....


Ghalib.

You told me lies tonight. Showed me no future. None. I hate you.

I hate you and I love you and I know I can never get over what you mean to me.

If only you knew. If only.



Meandering through the narrow roads to eternity... all falls down. This world is mine. I own it. Worthless shit.

Fringes of hair fall on my face, the whirring motion of the fan irritates me, but I still walk on, move on... never give up. Don't look back. Don't please give me this shit about you caring, because I know you don't give a damn, but I do and that is that.

Question to myself: am I losing in this situation? Am I the biggest, sorest loser born on the face of this sorry-assed universe?

Sadly, yes.

I am. And the tragedy is, I can't even stop it. Or unwind it. Or give up.




I just have to give in.

No... it is not working

To tell you the truth, I do not know if I am fit to write all this in the state I am in. I have not slept in 23 hours and my eyes feel like they will pop out any moment. But this I can't resist. I know this is not really my forte. I do not know if I do emotions well. My one display of true emotions got turned down as Illogical Psychological Reaction. So there!

But today after we were coming back from Milonda's canteen at JU, I was lagging behind Peep, watching her butt sway slightly, enticingly as she moved like a dancer, and Fish was giving me little, concerned looks behind her back that made her eyes glow in the dusky lamplight... I do not know how often have I seen a scene more beautiful, the sky darkened to an iridescent shade of near-midnight blue, transluscently the dusk fell all around us and I never wanted that moment to end, just stand there and have meaningless chit-chat with the two of them and let the moment continue. But that moment reality called, and I was on the bus to my way home, and on the way I was thinking of the way our farewell in Xavier's went where there were long boring speeches interspersed by Saru pulling on his tie because he was getting sweaty and hot, and Anni's yawns that were never-ending, and Sabby wanting to go to the loo and T S clicking photos. Andro was the rock, sitting beside me and letting me play snake in her cell-phone.

Afterwards we had gone to the little coffee bar where over Nestea and hideously sugarless coffee Anni had suddenly asked, "Achha what do you think about me?" to everyone else. It led to a long discussion about how everyone felt about everyone else and in the end nothing was resolved or said really, just a list of what we liked/did not like about everyone else in the gang was established.

And then there was the time in my school when we were given some glitter powder and asked to sprinkle it over someone else's head and confess whatever we wanted to. I remember wanting to use it on the crush I had, only to find someone else getting there first and being readily accepted. I stood back and let the couple move away, then charged on the Professor whose classes I hated because I was a perpetual mathophobic and he was the worst of the lot....

And then on Friday, I did not quite understand the impact of leaving JU. It was only after I came home and was preparing to go out, I received the full impact of it, and I was suddenly afraid. I hated feeling lost, and it was exactly what I was feeling.

But then, I have regretted my life sometimes, and loved it in moments. And today I was being jerked and thrown virtually everywhere on the bus, and finally I hung on to the window ledge and looked back and wanted to tell all those people whom I have met in JUDE and around JU exactly what they were to me... but I failed to tell them.

I wanted to tell Fish that I would miss her because she is one of the people I care about in JU.... but I forgot.

I wanted to tell Kaichu that I love her, but I was too afraid.

I wanted to tell Rimi to be a bit more responsible in real life, but I wondered if my advice would be welcome or not.

I wanted to tell Mou that people come in all shapes and sizes, and are loved for it. And she too shall be... but she was not there.

I wanted to tell Bimbo that she was the most beautiful little thing in JUDE I have had my pleasure of meeting, but she slipped away.

I wanted to tell Peep that she will always bounce back because thats the way she is... but I was sort of dazzled by her splendour.

And I wanted to tell my agesake to not impart wisdom where it was not required, but I realized that the effort would be too great... and it would not be appreciated at all!

All this, and more. Sometimes, I wonder why I do these things... tell people. But then, I do. I have seen that putting things out in the open tend to make them lose all their importance.

Sitting here in front of the computer typing down endless lines of my never-ending term paper is hell. I hate it. Thats why sometimes I like typing meaningless lines just to make it better.

I got a few saved.


Heroic and-tic-lime-axe. (Macbeth)


More for gits, hmm? (Samson Agonistes)

Eminem and unconscious souls of Eliot perhaps shall rule. (The Autobiographical elements in Rap term paper)

Growing up, I had nose-picking moments. (Araby - James Joyce)

Ewes might not have udders. Who is to know? (erm, King Lear)

Fandays should be made. ( Grateful Dead presentation )

Porlock and Kubla are on simultaneous planes. (No prizes for guessing)

Quite western frontiers are never true. (Strangely, this is the English Patient )

Ah well... on the other hand, Mortification is the dish of the day. In fact it has been the dish for the last three days.

Another Day....

Just when Panu was thinking about giving up on life, and love and everything in between, I found out that there is more to life than the occasional grief... you know. And it passes pretty soon, leaving a void that I had to fill up.

So there I was shouting at the top of my lungs : "Whose Kubla Ij It?" and smearing chocolate cake on general unsuspecting (and suspecting and appreciating a choco-facial) public who were equally maenadian in their gestures, and among the sound and the fury, I walked off to see 300.

I dont care what other people says, I loved it. It was the beauty of savagery in motion, and I liked every bit of it. Panu thought it was perhaps a tad too on the scary side, but it was all right until the hunky guy she liked lost his head (literally).

Home, heart filled with joy at the sight of my cousin, my Guru... I lay my head on her lap and inhaled the smoke-powdery sari and mild sweat flavour she wore on her. She is so cool and untouched, poised and benign. My first love, my first protector against the ministers of darkness.

And the night brought on something new. Panu found on her message box a friend request at orkut. What was interesting was, this person was NOT interested in scrapping. When asked, he gave the following reasons:

U have a point there - about the scrap heap of this life being already too littered!! Though never thought about it from quite that perspective. (But, my objection to the scrapbook is sort of related to it.) Obviously, it pays to interact with perceptive people! Well, I have a three-fold distaste for the scrapbook.First : The scrapbook is accessible to everyone and there is no privacy. Somehow, I am not comfortable about some third party( or parties - to make it worse) being a privy to what is essentially private communication - however innocuous - between two persons. (When I say 'I am not comfortable....', I 'd rather like to share a personal secret with u; I am more with the British in the penchant for understatement!) Second : I find the other connotations of scrap rather disturbing. Scrap as a verb is really abominable; I just can't think of scrapping anyone !! Scrap is not a word of choice for me here. And so .... I don't send scraps and I don't scrap anyone! (yea, it takes all sorts to make the world - particularly some quaint types!) Third : I find most entries in most scraps just that - a heap of scrap! And, I prefer more august company. (Pardon me if I sound too bloody egoistic!)

At this point, one must pause and think. And wonder.






Okk and I found a friend. One who loves music as much as I do, If not more.

Afterlove

He came to her in the middle of the night when she least expected.

And then the sky darkened, and rain fell, and they twisted in the middle of the big bed, clawing and fighting with each other, hurting each other and marvelling at the extent they could hurt if they really tried. They tore off their clothes, they did not care what went first, as long as they did. And then they were pushing each other, straining and restraining to prolong the contact, as if this was the last time they would. And he entered her and they shook and trembled at the intensity and friction... and then the short climb to ecstasy began, but it was more than that, it was a beginning and an end, and she could not stop her tears as he buried his face against her neck and trembles with the bliss and the joy. She mouthed the three words over and over and over again as he poured inside her the fruits of their passion, her legs spread obscenely wide in acceptance.

And then all stilled and she could feel the cold air hit her wet ears. She was so tired. So was he. They fell asleep. locked in the embrace as primitive as life itself, and when the morning came, he was gone.


* * *


Even before she opened her eyes, she knew he was gone.... there was just an emptiness beside her, a place was barren where her heart had placed him. It was strangely numb------ this feeling of loss. She could not really believe it was there at first, but then it hit her ------------- the cold. It struck her smack in the chest and she gasped pitifully and scoured her head to dredge up the thought of what to do next.

She was so tired.... she did not even know if she could open her eyes and face the day again. She just wanted to shut out the world and all and forget herself in sleep.

But at that moment, betrayal struck. Sleep eluded her. She tossed and turned, but the cold that had spread inside her refused her the warm safety of slumber. It denied her the only escape she would have had. She stared at the ceiling and counted away the whirling time, as the morning passed to day and moved towards the afternoon, and she twisted her fingers and contemplated her loss. Soon she began to shake silently, that turned into a gentle sway------ to and fro----- to and fro------ as she came apart in her knowledge.

He was gone.

Gone.

GONE.

For Ever.

For Life.

He was not going to come back.

Ever.

And the tears did not fall. What fell so easily last night at the beauty did not fall in grief. She started to whimper but the tears did not fall. Soon she realized that there were no moisture seeping from her eyes.

It enraged her. It made her so angry that she began to scream ------ short, staccatto bursts erupted from her throat that changed quickly into high-pitched wails and shrieks of disbelief and denial.

Where were the tears? Why could she not cry? Why? Why why why?


She clutched the pillow and bunched it against her chest, bringing her knees up together as she lay on her side, her long hair spread on the pillow, her eyes widely open. She breathed rapidly, in short gulps she inhaled and released the air just as quickly. She was bewildered and angry. Where had all the tears gone? Why could she not cry it out? What was wrong?


And she heard the lady downstairs play on her ancient cassette player something familiar. Something that she had once listened to as a child-------- when her parents used to look at one another with a smile on their face, but refused to share the joke--------- and the shadows fell across the room from the window, making patterns on the tiles as the sun began to set.

"Maine poochha chaand se,
Ke dekha hai kahin
Mere Yaar sa Haseen.

Chaand ne kaha,
Chandni ki kasam,
Nahin, nahin, nahin.


The room was a mess. The books had fallen from her bed, clothes were randomly spilled in colourful puddles on the floor, dust had settled on her shelves, and an empty cup graced the nightstand. She got up, rubbed her eyes with the back of her left palm and yawned. Then she began to pick up the clothes and fold them into a neat pile. The song went on outside. She pushed aside the falling fringes of her hair as she worked, and slowly began to hum the tune.

And then....

Gloop. Gloop.



The world has folded upon itself. And it makes a sound something like this.


I took it from Equal Rites. Pratchett is the Saviour.





He really is.

Of Monos and Men.....

Read this. PLEASE. * After Monday.*




I ask those people who have read the post I have been pointing at with bold types, when you go home and face yourself in the mirror at the end of the day and sigh a little sigh that thank God I was not involved directly then you feel that the world is a selfish place.


And this man takes the cake around JUDE. Thanks to him, JUDE shall always be accompanied in my memories as a place sullied by his presence.

I shall not forget my professors.... who have been staunchly supporting our cause.

Kudos to Babelfish, Teleute, Somnath, Aritra for sticking up for those who are in the mess.

This sounds embarrassingly like a thank-you note, but I shall not continue in this area because I feel that personal involvement is equal to being biased. And I am personally involved in this.

leaving on a freaking train....

which is at 10 tonight.


Miss you already Kolkata.


Havent left it though.


I hate best friends getting married. I will miss my first best friend. I dont care even if people think we rule the greengrocer's shops.




I dont wanna see her hitched. I DONT!!!!

26th February. Seven days to Best Friend Getting Hitched.

So there I was, twirling my pen idly and wondering what the hell was this exam for and why was I such an idiot so as to give it? Sitting for it made me realize that I knew nothing of such matters as what is the first "rockumentary"... and stuff like that.

Friggit.

Ah on the other hand.

Have freaked out last night with buddies and generally have been musifucked till the head groaned in protest.

Have had Flury's er Black forest Cake after cocking a snoot to my diet chart, with the chant "50 crunches" rolling around my befuddled head.

Have effectively lost my voice for the umpteenth time due to dust allergy in book fair, because Panu had to go and look at a book called "Sex tips for Straight women from a gay man". ENLIGHTENING. Very.

Have bought four major Tennessee Williams novel for seventy rupees. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, A Streetcar Named Desire and Sweet Bird of Youth has the stills from the film.

Bought my laptop. Own money, apunka pride rules.

Have got best friend her complete wedding cosmetics set. Woman is jumping with joy... because of a promise for a male stripper on her bachelorette party. I NEED a Stripper. Male. Someone who can carry off Black Leather.

Have also got her a brand new peach lace teddy. Future Hubby's expression is what I want to Find Out.


Lots of things.


I Am making lists.

Oh Oh Oh, and have finally decided to get a life. ASAP.

Update: Asked Deep and Iru about the Stripper bit. Both declined.... quite unpolitely that is. Men. They can be so shy sometimes, I tell you.

Hmm. The season changes with misty murkiness, and Panu realizes that her time in JUDE is almost up. Another three months, and she shall be able to put the words M.A. after her name. And be off to the wider world of nasty, annoying superficiality that awaits her star-struck gaze.

So what’s so new about the world that she has not seen already? Now, now, lets not pretend here. Panu has seen the world. She has seen this little universe she inhabits to the minutest details… and experienced and criticized in her mind, analyzing and putting away the bile that has been stored up within, only to vomit them out here, in this particular post she is writing.

No, strangely enough, this is not a bitch post, as her friend Rimi calls them. Panu cannot bitch about people all that much. She really can’t put people down at the drop of a hat, either. That's because Panu believes in looking into a person’s face and telling him/her exactly whom he/she is messing with.

By the way, to tell the truth, bitching does have its advantages and sometimes Panu does indulge it in a bit, but nothing she cannot repeat in the face of the person concerned.

You know what? Lets make this a funny post, filled with nothing in it. I would like to be superficial. I do believe that it takes a lot of depth to be superficial. But to be nasty and superficial, it takes a lot more.

Panu is becoming famous. People are bitching about her behind her back. Wow!! That's like… super good, cause that means, they somehow feel threatened by Panu’s existence. It means, they consider her to be a challenge, and therefore needs to be put down. Panu would like to say that she feels like Shylock, who had to be sent out of the play for all to be better. Or like Feste in Twelfth Night who became steadily numb as “rain it raineth every day”.

What else? All right. This was not a post in defense of me, or an apology for being me, although this might be called by the backbiters both… This is an acknowledgement of me being me. I am, and therefore I am. And I will be me. No changes. I wont change… not become anorexic because my haute friends thinks I should lose 20 kilos right away, not change my attitude though people might think I am slow and stupid… and yes, basically be exactly the way I am, and remain uncaring and unconcerned, and in general the Mary Poppins attitude I do possess.

P.S. this post was to vent the irritation. I hate losers who have nothing else to do but be nasty to others, however learned they might be. Otherwise, I’m cool.

St. Valentine's Day, 2007

In the shadows of broken images

My half-lies become truths

I fight through the valley of darkness

And gain the sordid sense of perfection

That contaminated me. I who am so imperfect,

Unsound, unsung, unheard, must hear

the Voice of those who still live, and wonder

When will my time come?


Its just me. Today, I learnt how to exist

Tomorrow, I just might learn to live.

Just might. But its all in the murky depths,

Where all is lost.

I hope to find it one day, and realize

The glory of this loss, and that fulfillment

Till then, let me lie in peace.

The Fare of Intellect

Well, the winter is almost off Kolkata, but the chill left around the middle of December when the first Singur issues came over, followed by the controversy of book fair to be held in Maidan.


I love book fair. When I was 9, my aunt took me to the book fair for the first time, and I was hooked. It was everything I dreamed of and everything I wished for. My only regret was that I did not get enough time to browse through every bookstall.


I go to the book fair every year, without fail. Most of the time I go alone. I enter and get lost in the immense number of people moving in snail’s pace all over. What do I love the most? The books, of course. And yes, I like bumping into a celebrity and utter a half-muffled “sorry” before realizing that “Hallo, This is-------!!”


But this time it was to be shifted. The High Court believes that the book fair will be a great source of pollution, so it is to be shifted somewhere other than the Kolkata Maidan, right at the heart of the city. Yes, that's actually something I support. Despite the fact that I want the Book Fair to be held, I believe that it can be held anywhere… the “Sanskritik Paribesh” (Cultural Environment) is an essence that can be achieved anywhere, given the right attitude.


It is not fair anyway for any fair to be held in the Kolkata Maidan. But for three years our chief minister had literally bullied the law to gain permission for the book fair to be held in Maidan. Why is this?? Because the chief minister does not want to ruin the “culture” of the Bengalis.


What culture?? Is the culture not ruined when Bengali language is compromised in the schoolbooks?? Is the culture not ruined when Bengali filmmakers directly copy and paste Hindi movies, word & action and all?? Is culture not ruined when in the name of protest a farce is played out right at the heart of the city??


I shall not vent my wrath on this issue further. It makes me wonder why do the media make such a big deal out of the shift of the book fair. There has been shifts and changes all the time, and in time, acceptance shall come. To tell the truth, I know that only about 5% of the vast population that streams through the book fair actually come for the books. Most of them give an appearance to –


a. meet celebrities,

b. appear intellectual and well-read,

c. meet and hang out with friends,

d. sample food from the numerous stalls,

e. look with wonder what a huge funny Disneyland type thing is on, without the Disney bit hanging out.



And I love book fair. Yes I do. But this is not the way it should be held. It is becoming an issue of grave political power play and that is where the line should be drawn. I as a book lover would not ever support that.


Now for the other bit. I was watching the debate today after the high court passed the decision, and in the news channel, they were holding a sort of opinion poll. SMS after SMS came in favour of the book fair, and most of them have horrid errors. From the Cultured, Educated Bengalis who are trying to promote book fair in Maidan, here are a few gems:


1. Certainly it must be held in Maidan. We wan our bo ok far. (Ok-ay)

2. This is very humiliating for the books. (It is?)

3. We want proper athurity to juge. On it is not cultural program. It is only buisness (Go tell that to the authority)

4. Great decision. Its high time someone care about envoirnment. (Yep… we care about it too)

5. Congratulations to the high court for such a high decisions (oh, the lofty heights!!)

6. Bai Mela ekhon tarunder prem korar jayga hochhe. [yep. Bai Bai Baby]

7. If no book fair we deprive. Why we deprive? (what an intellectual question. Answers anyone?)

8. Yes kolkata book fare(?) should not be change. Maidan court of book fare. (ummmm………)

9. Maidane bhoy mela hog ager moto. (OOH, I am scared!!)

10. Book fair must must be allowed allowed in Maidan only. (I don’t don’t think so!)



And the winner is:






11. It is a very Sade case this loss of position.


By the way, the book fair is being held. At Yubabharati Krirangan ( Am too lazy to give you the link here.... go look up wikimapia for it) ..... and I am as happy as a lark because its less than 5 minutes from my home. By auto.