Vande Mataram

“I just want to sleep. A coma would be nice. Or amnesia. Anything, just to get rid of this, these thoughts, whispers in my mind. Did he rape my head, too?”

I am proud of being an Indian. I am proud that I spent substantial time of life in Bihar. When I was in Delhi it made me proud that my country has a capital with superb metro service and superb eateries. I am proud that NCR boasts of three women being molested or raped everyday in NCR source. And funny thing is, I write the definition of feminism in my GSB (aptly named Government, Society and Business) examination for marks. In this blog you will find a lot of hate posts about women. Now that makes me a true Indian. A guy growing up in booming India, in his mid twenties, having a distorted image of women. Aah I am so proud to be in that category.

Last time when I wrote a about the Kolkata rape case, it was not out of anger. It was out of shame. Now I am so apathetic about it that I don’t feel even shame. Rather I feel pride. Rambling on Facebook, Twitter and Blog is my best way of feeling proud. My pathetic attention deficit syndrome has finally compelled me to change my DP on FB and I have updated it with a pic that clearly depicts that I am not one of ‘them’. I am cool. I am different. I am thinking that I am going to buy a T-shirt that says “Real men don’t rape’. They blog – I muttered. I know I am writing this to show off to get more likes from girls than boys. I am one of those middle class boys who grew up in a society of suppressed sexuality. That is why I gawk at girls as a piece of meat with my fellow friends. But let me forget the blame game here and feel the pride. I am a true Indian who sitting in a cozy room in Chennai with constant internet connection, is writing shit on his pirated MS Word. After this I will lit a cigarette, post the blog and go on discussing girls of my college and how they looked today. That is not pathetic. That is true Indian pride talking.

I LOL-ed on the fact that people are writing sorry to Damini. Why say sorry? She deserved it. That’s a gift from an Indian to a fellow Indian. She was barely called by her name in media. She is always objectified as the victim. Now that portrayal will surely evoke emotions within us. She was just news and will fade away easily. Busy life, busy people. Busy in raising children, rapists. Few hours ago somebody posted that the ‘victim’ died. Aah that’s a relief. Now I can go back to my hilarious posts on ‘December Fool’s day’ and all Mayan Calendar shit. We make jokes on ‘end of the world’. No one realises that India is already dead.

-Fellow proud self-loathing Indian

[Thinking about the next doomsday joke – the ‘in’ thing]

P.S. Vande Mataram means I salute to (my) mother. Did you note that India is also a woman?

Few readings for reflection :

Why Indian men rape

Dear Victim

Status Update !!!

I was reading Rashmirathi by Ramdhari Sing Dinkar and realized that that there is too much fuss in India about pre-nupital sex and virgin mother. When ‘Kunti’ can become pregnant with ‘Karn’ before marrying ‘Pandu’ while having a so-called illicit relationship with the Sun God, why sex before marriage is still considered as a taboo in Indian Society (when it has already been portrayed in our mythology)?

I have been super bored for the last couple of weeks. Going through a writer’s block (pretty fashionable these days among bloggers eh..?) and dearth of topics to write on has really kept me entertained. My facebook addiction and my idle time gave me an opportunity to blabber my heart out in the FB LIBA Converts 2012-14 group.  I socialized so much that people got irritated and are really pissed off because of me. They have already formed an opinion about me that I am a complete wannabe social butterfly with no life whatsoever. Impressive first impression and that too even before meeting them personally.

Few days back my very close friend Podu was jumping with joy as he was expected to go onsite by June end. But due to some technical error and rising and falling of the value of Indian Rupee, his onsite got cancelled. Pretty devastated and dejected. He even planned to go for London Olympics. Now this type of things particularly happens to nice people only. The guy is a hard worker (not smart worker mind it) and has never taken part in office politics whatsoever. He never complained about the office pressure when others kept whining about it in front of him. He stretched his work hours and worked diligently asking nothing in return. But here he is with no rewards and an average rating, and this is only because he was not shrewd and never raised his voice to ask something in return of his dedication. I am exactly like him and I must learn from his situation that working hard and claiming reward, getting recognition both are equally important. Noted in the back of my mind.

Left my office last week. It is customary in my office to write a ‘bid adieu’ mail before you leave. The mail has a normal format with thanking everybody and showing off your English prowess. The mail contains your personal mail id and your facebook profile link and you hope that the cute and pretty girl in the other module/cubicle whose FB profile you used to stalk can send you a friend request. By the way that is never going to happen. If you could not talk when you were in office, how the hell will you become friends in Facebook, you stupid. In my case I would have also added the Baked Stale link in my mail, free marketing you know. But I did not do anything like that. Instead I went to every colleague’s seat  and personally said bye to them  except to the cute girl.

Now counting days to join LIBA.

BTW the name of my two new blogs are(looong names):

LIBA Blog : comedyoftrialanderrors (may be scrapped for some reasons)

Finance Blog : debitcreditmismatch

Suggestions on names appreciated.

Dilli ka Ladoo

Writing this post from 37000 ft over sea level, somewhere over Dilli and the air hostesses are not that good 😦 .
Yes I am returning from Delhi after a short trip for some personal work. No no, its not that personal that I can’t share with you all people but some things are better kept secret. I will spill the beans as soon as everything goes well (actually I am pretty orthodox and superstitious about the good things that may happen in my life, so till then zipped). Then why the hell I am writing this post? I am writing this post to give you all a glimpse of Dilli through my eyes and my perception as a first time visitor of the national capital.
First thing first, I was just blown away by Delhi Metro. Hailing from a city, Kolkata, which boasts to have the first underground metro in the country and where metro is just another part of Bengali life, I was really impressed by the ‘Dilli-way’ of putting it. All AC rails run real fast and their frequency is really commendable. The area they cover and the infrastructure they have utilised to handle the not only Delhi crowd but from all over the NCR region. Well NCR (National Capital Region) actually consists of Faridabad, Noida, Ghaziabad and Gurgaon. As it was a very short trip I did not get ample time to exhaustively ‘test run’ other modes of transport available (apart from the autowallahs which as usual as it can be). I also used the Reliance Airport Expressway and it was also very good (with free WiFi and faster ride).
I actually roamed in outskirts of Delhi and was not able to test/taste the real Dilli. Delhi is a fast city unlike Kolkata (with its lazy glamour and dreamy touch). It is meant for smart and conscious people. People in Delhi are real conscious, be it about their figure, looks or about what they speak. I stayed in Vaishali which is Ghaziabad area and travelled all the way to Dwarka. The metro rides are long (in Kolkata it is short or rather bursty) and interesting. The first time I boarded on the metro (was actually was forced to board due to the immense pressure of the crowd pressing behind me), I saw two people complaining that their wallets have been stolen. One guy was not at all shocked. He mentioned it casually to his fellow passengers that while boarding the metro somebody stole it (as if it can happen to anybody in an AC metro). The other guy was astonished that how somebody can steal his wallet when he has kept it in his front pocket of his jeans. But later very easily he gave in to the fact that in Delhi Metro pick pocket is a way of life. So I took my wallet from my back pocket (the worst place to keep your wallet in Delhi metro especially in crowded places) and kept it in my hand (safest according to me). And in Delhi I saw a lot of girls. To be exact ‘a lot’, but later to that story.
If you consider the cost of living, staying or roaming in Delhi then it is pretty costly. Well I do admit that coming from Kolkata, the cheapest metro city (where metro tickets cost only Rs. 4,6,8), any other city will always seem costly to me. I stayed in a region which comes under NCR and that place the whole time I was there I experienced a power cut of continuous 7 hours. Now I do admit that it is outskirts of Delhi and comparing it with Kolkata (we have rare power cuts) is not fair but continuous 7 hours is too much for me. The roads are good and the high rising building really looked modern and beautiful.
Now talking about beauty I have to and have to talk about ‘Dilli-ki-kudiyan’. Delhi girls are sexy. Period. Not that they are tremendously good looking, but they are well maintained and do care about themselves a lot. Most of the girls come out on the street so crisply dressed that you can’t help yourself noticing them. It is like having a glimpse or two of the smartly dressed airhostess with average looks. It is evident that each and every girl (and even boys) do take a good care of themselves and really value how they ‘look’. Portrayal of ‘you’ is specifically concentrated on you external appearance.  BTW I just crossed the city Varanasi (35k ft or approx. 10.7 KM above sea level).  I admit (shamelessly) that even the married ones are so well groomed and have taken care of themselves so well that it made my jaws drop. If I do compare girls from Delhi with the girls of Kolkata then I must say that Kolkata girls have beauty but don’t know how to take care of it and definitely don’t know marketing and Delhi girls may have lesser substance (or should say differently beautiful) but they do know marketing and do have a dressing sense.
But I got to know that although Delhi may seem very modern in its appearance, the NCR region is plagued by crime. Shooting a person is just a matter of fact. The people in Delhi have no driving/traffic sense. People laugh at those who stop at traffic red signal. There is a news of rape almost every day in NCR region and eve teasing is so normal that I happened to see it thrice on a single day (and was not able to anything about it). My friend from Delhi once told me-People in Delhi don’t fear anybody because they have come to Delhi just to earn money and nothing else. Sorry Delhi, I was unable to feel the warmth, may be because I stayed for a very short time, but I didn’t expect such classy deeds from seemingly classy people.
One thing I really liked in Delhi are the road side food stalls which really entertained my taste buds. Northern Indian foods are heaven there. Tunday-Kebab and Paratha was ossum. My palate had a wholesome treat with the delicacies offered by Delhi. I didn’t taste Biryani or sweets of Delhi as their review from my friends were not good. That’s it.
My flight is about to land. Indigo always makes me reach destination before time. Just one problem, these airhostesses have put a strong fruity deo on them. It is yucky.

Closed eyes make you Blind

Dear Didi,

Grow up. If you think that you are old enough then, wake up.

Let me tell you very clearly in the beginning of the letter that I am not a member, neither am I remotely connected to the ‘Red’ camp. So if you do suspect me that I am planning to conspire against you with my presence in social media and my not so popular tweeter handle, then sorry to disappoint you, I am just a common man.

If unfortunately you do read this and ban me and my existence using SOPA (aah seems so funny..Sibbal ji come out with a cooler name to fight your super cool enemy ie. Internet), I will be very glad as that will actually prove that you are still in deep slumber or still in your adolescence.

You and Nitish Bhaiyya (I should have called him Nitish Da, being a bong, but I was brought up in Bihar, so can’t help) have a similarity. Both of you came into power after defeating a long, ineffective, selfish era of false hopes and promises (34 years of red camp and 15 years of crap camp). Kudos to you for that. But the similarity ends right there. He moved on and you became a cry baby.

I know you have great power and with great power comes great responsibility (stolen from the movie Spiderman). You chose the right strategy to get that power. You highlighted the inefficiency and inability of your opponent to govern a state. Hit the iron when it is hot was your mantra. Not only did you highlight the shortcomings of your opponents but also connected with people of all stature by walking up to them in your chappals. What a commendable job! And people believed you. At least I did.

I still remember that when you won, I had a debate with my friend who questioned your ability to handle the power. He said that a person needs maturity and personality to hold the highest position in a state. I defended you by saying that for development you need only vision.

And you brought development by introducing street lights like London and painting the city ‘blue’. What a visionary you are! Visionaries lead and show tomorrow. You are still stuck in the past. Blaming the opponents for all the Satanic phenomenon was a cool move to win, but not anymore. To exist, you need to give reasons. To us, to your opponents, to the eyes filled with hopes.

“Kolkata is a timid city. If you cannot protest at least feel sorry.” –That’s what came into my ears on 15^th January on my way to office while listening to FM. Before this day I used to consider Kolkata as a safe city for women unlike Delhi. My belief was shattered when I came across the Park Street rape case. It hurt me more because I am a regular in pubs and discs.

But I was filled with rage when you, being a woman yourself, called this incident to be fabricated one and a conspiracy of opponents. Do you actually know the meaning of ‘rape’ or do you believe in “Ignorance is Bliss”? You seriously need to go back to school and learn some basics and get some class.

It seems that you are still in your teens who bitches about her neighbour for every pimple that comes out on her forehead. Farmers dying – opponent conspiracy. Woman raped – opponent fabricated. I will not be shocked, if on a fine morning the density of your poop decreases and you blame the opponent for mixing water in it.

After that, what happened today was a cherry on the top. You  called Damayanti Sen and Jawed Shamim to Writers and after an hour long closed door meeting, they came out to hold a press conference to clarify themselves in Writers itself. Oh come on, bring some class and shrewdness in the game of politics and ask them to go to Lalbazar first and then clarify in front of media. It looks genuine that way.

Let me tell you what an IAS/IPS means. In my opinion they are the highest post a person can get in Indian administrative/judicial hierarchy using his talent, brain, dedication and passion to serve the country. The people whom you called in Writers to flaunt your power have read more number books than the number of hairs in your whole body. Pay some respect to them if you have a mirror with you. Just imagine the condition your beloved state will be in if these senior bureaucrats decide not to do their job whole-heartedly. The law and order of the state will be at toss and you will still be playing the blame game.

Grow up before it is too late. Wake up before the darkness prevails. Stop crying and do.

Sincerely Yours,

Sinbycosmoy.

That’s Why

Why? Why?

Let me tell you a small story.

This is the story of boy. And the boy is in Kolkata. Kolkata International Book Fair was in the city. He loved to read. He loved to smell. Smell the books.

So he went to the Book Fair. He bought few and smelled few. And he indulged himself in some gastronomic pleasure. It is traditional in Kolkata to munch something while you shop. And he did the same. While returning from ‘Milan Mela’ ground, he and his friends decided to hop into Arsalan for some ‘Biriyani’. Arsalan was full, so they headed to Aliah near ‘Dhormotolla’ and had ‘Biriyani’ and ‘Kebabs’ and ‘Phirni’. He loved calling himself a foodie and was proud of his taste buds. While returning home he took a bus. And the realisation happened there.

The bus was moving at a very slow pace, very typical to the average speed of Kolkata city buses, that too on a holiday. He got himself a window seat, rested his tired but happy body, and started enjoying the ride. He started watching the scenery outside. He felt as if the the city is trying to share her joy and warmth with him by rubbing her nose with his. He rubbed back and smiled. While moving his head slightly out of the window and enjoying the cool breeze, he thought he looked like a dog who is enjoying his flowing hair, to people on the roads.

As soon as the bus stopped near Rabindra Sadan, a bunch of people got into the bus, and his tranquillity was broken by the sudden hustle inside the bus. The conductor of the bus, in a very harsh voice asked everyone to move towards the end of the bus and make space for other passengers.

He was sitting in the front seat and the space in front of him got occupied by a group which he considered to be a part of the lower strata of society. He tried not to look at them as it would hamper his dreamy world, he thought, but a kid from the group, due to the crowd in the bus, was forced to sit in his lap. Her mother looked at him and smiled. He noticed that the group was big. There were 6 kids, a man and a woman, probably the parents, most of them wearing torn but clean clothes. The smallest one was in the lap of his mother, who was struggling to gain balance in the suffocating crowd of the moving bus. Then the next, around 4-5 years old, got hold of the window and was enjoying the scenery outside with his elder sister, the one forced to sit in the lap. The father was instructing everyone to stick together, otherwise they may get lost. The mother was stopping her kids from keeping their body parts outside the bus. It seemed that this as their first day outside, at least for the mother and few of her kids. They looked happy and amazed.

He hated the scene. He hated the way the kids were enjoying the scenery outside. He thought the window and the scenery as seen from it, belongs to him, and cannot be shared with those lower status kids. They talked, laughed and giggled in ‘bhojpuri’. When the conductor asked for ticket from them, the father said that they don’t have money. The conductor mumbled a few expletives to them and said, ‘Why do you people get on the bus when you don’t have money. Why do you come to Kolkata?’

He got amazed when the expletives uttered by the conductor did not steal the happiness from their faces, and when the conductor did not force them to get down from the bus. There was a boy around 14 years old with them. He seemed to be the eldest one and posed as ‘know-it-all’ in front of his other siblings. He explained the brands of cars moving on the road and warned everybody to keep their heads inside the bus. As soon as the bus passed the ‘Victoria memorial’, there was a sudden wave of excitement on the kids’ face. The y all looked at the memorial which was well lit at that moment of time with the moon just visible in the sky. The kid who got hold to the window pane, pulled the fringe of his mother’s sari with his small hands and said, ‘Ma, Look Victoria.’ And the mother who was busy balancing the baby and saving her other kids, leant a bit, and started looking at the ‘Victoria memorial’ with joy, amusement, astonishment and pain in her face.

And, at that specific moment felt ashamed. He realised that the window and the city Kolkata did not belong to him. It is to be shared and enjoyed. He felt that all mothers are same. Same as the city. They are busy protecting their kids and at the same time want to feel the happiness on their kids face. They feel secure with their husbands and are mesmerised by bright lights and monumental structures. The mother bent further and started enjoying the view outside with her kids. The girl sitting in his lap, for a moment, tried to push her hands outside the window and feel the air. He took her hand and forced it inside and said, ‘Don’t do that, it is dangerous’, with an authority like a big brother. He was happy again.

And that’s exactly why.

That’s why I love Kolkata. I love the smell in the air, the warmth in the sunlight. I love the Rabindra Sangeet that is played at the traffic signals. I know people will get pissed at the music during summers in a crowded bus stuck in traffic jam, but they will nevertheless love it. I love the metro trains, the underground subway, park street rolls, biriyani. I love underground, Someplace Else. I love City Center, South city. I love Durga pujo and Saraswati Pujo. I love Yellow taxi and green autos. I love shuttles and ‘dada ektu adjust korun na’. I love the way this city accepts. The way it has place for every person. It takes care of everyone. People from different city, state, country are happy here. I love Academy and Nandan. I love Oh! Calcutta and New market and Shree Ram Arcade. I love the crowd of Goriahat and silence of Rajarhat Highway. I love Metro, Jaya, Adlabs and Inox. I love radio Mirchi, miniskirts and ‘lal-paar-sada-saari’. I love when on a weekend some Bengalis are taking part in Kolkata marathon while some are spending it as a weekend trip at Mondarmoni, while some are reading ‘Anadabazaar Patrika’ with a cup of tea and ‘maarie’ biscuit enjoying the first rays of sunlight. I love St. Paul’s Cathedral, the morning walk in Victoria Memorial Park. I love the KC Paul as well as KC Dass. I love Haldiram’s and I love the parks filled with couples exhibiting love in parking places. I love the ITC House, Chatterjee International and S.D.F. I love Dalhousie and Sector 5.  I love Burrabazaar and Saltlake. I love park Circus and College Street. I love Esplanade, Chandni, Chang Wah and Tolly Club. I love BBD Bag and Ultadanga. I love EM Bypass and Khanna Haat. I love Tollywood and fish.

I love hope.

I love Kolkata

~dedicted to 14^th February – the day to celebrate love.

P.S. The spellings of the places are not to be used in spell bee. They are intentionally used to keep the feel of the place intact and has been tried to bring close to the colloquial language.