Fear of the dark

When I was young I used to be afraid of the dark. My dad used to tell me then “What are you afraid of, my child? There isn’t anything scary out there”. Despite that, the fear used to persist. I used to shudder when asked to bring something from the dark room. I am still not sure what exactly freaked me so much then. May be I was scared that there could be a ghost inside the room or a dangerous beast ready to pounce on me as soon as I enter.

Now, when I think about those days, I wonder, why the paranoia of being attacked by malign things disappeared in day light. What was so typical about darkness that caused a tremor to go through my bowels? Probably, I, as a kid had a notion that ghosts are afraid of light as I am of the dark or may be something else. May be the grimacing face of darkness itself was the reason of the apprehension. Darkness brings with it an uncertainty of what lurks inside it.  It is like stepping into an unknown world, blindfolded. The skepticism of stepping into a sordid place where you may be slandered or may be put under spells so that you remain there, imprisoned for the rest of your life and  never be able come back to your known world.

With the years I have overcome the fear of darkness; I am no longer scared to venture into unlit corners but there are a lot of other things which frighten me now. Fear of losing a friend, fear of not being able to meet expectations, fear of growing old, fear of hurting somebody or getting hurt myself ; though the list is enormous there is a parity between these fear and skepticism. I find a connection between the juvenile darkness phobias, the adolescent panic of examinations and the quarter life insecurity of losing friends.

The common element in this wide range of fear factors is its contingency. Being unaware of the consequences of an action is the reason of apprehension. There is a large canvas inside our head where we draw pictures of the future. We try to foresee what is going to happen next and capture it in our head and when we are not certain enough of what actually is going to happen we go wild with our imagination and paint ugly and strange things on that ‘canvas inside the head’ . These images are sometimes influenced by experiences from the past and sometimes born solely out of imagination. A dark tunnel scares a child because darkness creates a suspicion in a child’s mind about what could be inside, so the child paints ugly monsters on the canvas inside his head and gives birth to a phobia. I am often afraid of examinations because I do not know what is going to happen if I fail. So the colors of my imagination splash on my subconscious to create hideous pictures of people giving me a cold shoulder, ridiculing me, looking at me with disdain because I have failed. Not knowing how life would look without a particular friend fills the canvas with strokes of gray and black and pictures of malevolent creatures with heavy eyes and sinister smile dancing a savage dance in circles.

There are times when we paint beautiful images as well and when we do it more often we call ourselves optimists. Now, I am not afraid of the dark anymore, so do I qualify as an optimist? Well, not really. It is just that, sometimes we do not create any picture at all and this makes us indifferent. The canvas remains white and our mind doesn’t predict whether the outcome of our future action would be harsh or would prove to be benevolent. A blank canvas doesn’t make us courageous; it just helps us ignore the inevitable that waits for us.

Unruly words

And sometimes I have so many things in my mind that I don’t find what to write. During breakfast I thought I would write about my mother’s talent in turning even eggplant curry into a mouthwatering and taste-bud tantalizing dish. Then my thought shifted to the roads washed with the rain and the smell of wet soil which always takes me on a quick ride to my childhood days. While dressing up for office I thought I would write about my boss and his exaggerated sense of self importance. In the local train I thought I have to write about my joy rides to office; I thought of writing about my Mr. Perfect who isn’t so perfect after all but still manages to rule over my heart.

I am so overloaded with incidents and words at times that there remains no room in my heart, brain, mind, stomach, etc to nurture and en-cage them any longer. So, each of these words, incidents, observations jostle to come out and occupy a place in the electronic paper (read as MS Word document). As a result what gets typed is nothing more than gibberish.

I stopped writing and read my friends’ blogs and I found them so structured, so full of intellect and humor; I murmured sadly, ‘Ohh !! I was about to write something like this hadn’t him/her written it’ or “I feel the same but I don’t find the correct words to describe it on paper”. I opened my WordPad again with enthusiasm and yet another time I ended up typing and deleting the typed words and typing again

Finally, after wrestling with my words and deciding on my writing mood what I could pen down is this:

Let it stink in local train

I would dance in the rain

With you;

Let them boast let them brag

Let them drone let them drag

I would still be in love

With you;

Let them grow big and fat

I still like the silly chat

With you;

Let them think I am mad

Let them feel I am bad

I would still relish eggplant

With you;

Thanks for staying awake through the entire article and reading it till the end.

Practical Joke

As the sea receded his size diminished. He waved and screamed, pleaded to his friends to help him until they went out of sight. He was stripped off his pants by the surge of the sea; Ironically those were the same polka dot pants one of his friends wanted to wear and had dearly requested him for it earlier that day; But he had refused him, so there he was, standing disrobed in chest deep water fighting with the waves, begging for a towel. On the beach his friends enjoyed their midday meal, amused by the lingering penitence of their dear friend who had not only committed a heinous crime of refusing his polka dot pants to one of them but had also displayed his insolence by saying ,‘ you are too substandard to carry it off dude’.

I know many of you would question me “Don’t kids these days wear briefs underneath”. Or you would ask me “Wasn’t there anybody around, kind enough to lend him a ‘gamchha’ (piece of cloth used extensively in the east as a substitute of towel).

Well, I wasn’t a spectator of this incident. I had heard this story in a real-life-incident-tale-telling-session at office (The narrator being one among the merry revelers who had executed the prank) and I chose not to delve much deeper into the incident in order to preserve my dignity at work place. Hence, for the sake of the narrator’s credibility let’s assume “No” as the answers to your questions.

So, the sea travelled 2 and half kilometers away from the beach taking him along with the low tide waves. They had come for sea bath at 10 in the morning. Vengeance was not their motive but when it came along on their way by itself they could not help retaliating to their mate’s impudence. “We aren’t of your standard dude so we aren’t getting a piece of cloth for you”, they said when their unclad friend cried out for help.

The drama of sadism and penance continued till 5 in the evening when the nude man came nearer to his friends, floating with the high tide waves, still shouting out for help(I appreciate his tenacity). They drank tender coconut water on the beach and gleefully observed waves crashing over their impertinent friend, red eyed and flaccid with prolonged stay in sea water. It was turning dark when they reluctantly went to his rescue and offered him two tender coconut shells to cover himself and come out of the brine.

There was a riot of laughter in the room. The story made the audience of the real-life-incident-tale-telling-session roll on the floor laughing. People gasped, turned red faced laughing, appreciated the narrator’s act of bravado, “This is height of naughtiness” someone commented.

I was flabbergasted. Could this be classified as an act of naughtiness? I found it nothing more than malign bullying; an utterly shameful thing to be done to any human being, let alone a friend. The blessed guy was in saline water for 7 hours, enduring afternoon sun, sustaining heat, hunger and a surging sea and still didn’t faint! I found it preposterous. As per my limited aptitude, 7 hours in water impregnated with salt would dehydrate someone, would make him senseless and wash him away with the billows. If the same act had lasted for 2 hours it would have qualified as a prank but 7 hours was inhuman, it could have been fatal. The guy has commendable endurance if the story is true.

How could someone do something like this to a friend and boast about it to his colleagues? I used to go to an engineering college too. I have stayed in hostel with people of different origin, have been ragged by seniors. I had more guy friends than girls and needless to say all of them were mischievous like how collegiate guys are supposed to be. I have seen them try out crazy stuffs, go errant on their bikes, go to college fests after drinking like a fish, violate campus rules ,feast at the graveyard, play pranks but never consciously cause serious harm(which involves life risk) to anybody not even to those with whom they had personal animosity.

There was a guy in my college who had thrown a pup from 1^st floor into the bushes when the later chewed his internet cables. The creature probably limped for the rest of its life .Is that a prank too? We used to detest him for his gruesome behavior towards the poor creature.

What is wrong and what is right, what is a prank and what is brutal is subject to debate. I would just pray my dear readers to think twice about the probable consequences before pulling a prank on somebody and giving way to your adrenalin rush. Some damages are irreversible in nature.

Dadagiri

Every one in kolkata is either your dada or your didi . Bengali synonym of elder brother and elder sister. That is what people here prefer to be addressed or referred to as. You are having a bad fight with a guy, you are calling him names and he screams back at you, “Son of a *****”; but the fact that he is still your dada and can rightfully claim to be addressed so remains unchanged, so amidst the swear shower you still call him dada and so does he.  You may be forty, but that doesn’t stop you from being a dada to a sixteen year old, neither does it stop the sixteen year old from being your dada. Unless he calls you kaku(uncle that is) , which clearly means you are old and you cannot hide it anymore .

You are young and twenty and you have been checking a girl out in your colony of late. Don’t think that she isn’t interested in dating you if she smiles at you one day and asks you “What is your name dada?”. It indicates that she wants your name so that she can suffix a ‘da’ to it (I am not sure if using half the word diminishes effect of its literal meaning ) , which may later on develop into your name alone and if you are a lucky bloke that may further develop into cheesy nick names like sweeto or honey .

Be it your co-passenger in a local train, be it a conductor in the bus, your next door neighbor or your manager at office, everyone shares a common identity… ‘DADA’(and of-course didi in many cases). Many of you have elder brothers who are bossy and are always ready with a lot of suggestions. By and large kolkata dadas are elder brothers of that sort. There are other kinds too but most of them, most of the times love to accost you like big brothers and warn you of the inevitable and instruct you to follow the path they have been traversing so long. They come on your way to enlighten you and make you realize your lack of wisdom.

The second kinds call themselves witty.You are the subject of their merriment. They love to ridicule you in public and raise their collar if they have successfully embarrassed you. Cracking ludicrous jokes on a soft target is an act of heroism is what they think. They make fun of the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you dress, your height, weight, smile, the websites you surf and the food you eat. Sometimes the reason for laughing at you goes so bizarre that you would pity their lameness.

We should not forget the political background of my city of joy. This place has always been the epicenter of protests and strikes. The third kind possesses the rebellious traits in them. I have mostly encountered ladies aka didis of such kind in local trains. Quarrels are very common at public places here. The amazing part is, as soon as the clash starts between two, people around divide into two clans, one group stands up for the cause the other against it. It won’t be a surprise if in the end the two central characters initiating the fight are missing from the spot while others fight a gang war.

Few traits are common in my brethren of Bengal. They are rich in art and literature; they love to travel and are great patrons of music and poetry. They also love hanging around in tea shops ,so much so that, in vicinity of a full fledged office building one may easily get a notion that there is a fire inside the office by the sight of the over whelming number of people loitering outside the premises . If some day you come to my office at 5:30 in the evening you would be astonished to see the humongous crowd outside the building engaged in serious or light discussion with accompaniments of tea in an earthen cup, snacks and sometimes a smoke.

After everything said and done if I say that there was no offense meant will anyone buy it? Or if I convey my sincere apologies to the subjects of this article will it do any good? I am certain that my fellow bengali dadas and didis have adjudged me a traitor of Bengali fraternity by now and are ready to get back at me anytime for the ‘dadagiri’ that I have pulled off.

Yours Truly

My dear friend Sandip used to send me  emails during his stay in Mumbai .One of them was a beautiful piece of writing and I wanted him to publish it.As he is too reluctant to do so I am doing the honors. So here it goes:

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Dear Som,

This one should be titled “the (mis)adventures of a lost soul in a mumbai local train”. i have this suspicion that very soon i am going to see a hardbound edition of my mails to you with some cheeky title. the best i can think of is “the sandip choudhury adventures” right now. you already know about my horrible experience in the local train but since you asked me to mail about it (please dont make this public!)…here goes.

I had a great evening, chomping indegeneous burgers (more popularly known as “vada-paav”) and watching the waves crash all over the walls of marine drive. its a beautiful place and someday i would love to take you there. its somewhat like hyderabad’s necklace road, only bigger and better. but you need a red fiero with no horns and brakes to enjoy such a place. so till then you will have to wait.

we got into a train at churchgate, which is a terminal station and the train was empty with a handful of passengers in our coach. this was the first time i had a window seat to myself in a mumbai local and happily settled myself into my seat.

within the distance of a few stations the coach was converted from an empty one to a coeach splitting its sides with people. about six stops from where i was supposed to get off, i was remembering the local train commuting lessons: try to get into the wave to people while getting in/out and i hurled myself into the crowd about five stations from my destination.a couple of stations later i began to get a stinking feeling that i may miss my destination. and by thee time the train had reached my destination, my worst fears had come true. i was standing a couple of steps away from where i had been sitting and had to cross half the coach’s length just to get near the door.

so i missed my station. suman, who had been standing near the door all along tried to get off and he actually succededed, only to be pushed back by an incomng wave of people. he was the only one getting off. he managed to make a sucidal jump after punchng a few people at the last moment.

at marine drive, there were thousands of crabs clinging on to rocks for dear life while waves crashed all over them. i felt somewhat like the crabs.

we had unwittingly boarded the virar local, a very infrequent train to a heavily populated part of mumbai. so, thousands of people board this train but they all get off at virar.

a few people behing me smirked when they saw me pushing, pulling, twisting and grunting a lot. “beta, there is no hope. you cannot get off before virar”, a few commented. i saw a person’s glasses fly off. the poor fellow didnt even try to retrieve it. i could see helpnessness in his eyes. abuses were flying everywhere. so did the occassional fist. a person jammed in next to me was smirking at my bad luck. he was saying something like “a persons ability can be judged by how he travels in a train and how he manages his love life”. bullshit! i was secretly pleased when he missed his stop too and had to travel all the way to mira road with me. guess he has a horrible love life too. mumbai has lots of fat people and most of them were in my coach that evening. fat people are nature’s air-pads, and i was like a weak particle trying to push my way through a padded seal. physically impossible! i later found at least five people who got off at mira road had missed their stops.

five stops from where i was supposed to get off, i managed to wriggle my way out. i caught a train back and just to be safe i was hanging on to the door this time. never again on virar local!!!

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Courtesy Sandip Choudhury

Happy Valentine’s Day

The dust in the book fair embraced me and said ‘Welcome home’. I wandered in the fair like I was back to the place where I belong. I absorbed the mild sunshine and gently brushed off the dust from my face. My heart was filled with mirth. While returning back home I gazed out of the window of the city bus; I was drowned in a strange feeling, somewhat similar to what I felt when I had once fallen in love. Since then, this feeling visited me quite often .Even when I traveled in the local train or lazily crawled up in my bed, I felt the same. I didn’t know what exactly it was but I felt I was in love all over again. I was in love with everything, the dust, the sun, the noise and of course the one who I always knew I loved.

My room smelled of perfume. Sometimes we associate a place with a person, a person with a smell, a smell with a tattered memory. And in one moment every thing appears like a string of incidents in front of our eyes. My perfume reminded me of the walks with my beloved in the lazy afternoons and several other incidents of the last 10 days. Suddenly my heart squeezed and I felt a pain which I did not feel ever before. I was not new to the feeling of love, neither was I new to the feeling of parting from my beloved. Yet, this was a kind of emotion I had never experienced. Though my beloved smiled and said good bye, some unknown force constantly pulled me back and asked me not to leave. I realized that this feeling is born because everything around me was trying to stop me from leaving. It may be the manifestation of my beloved’s heart wrenching pain at my departure, which he never expressed; it may be the bond of my long forgotten roots with me. I did not know what attracted me like a powerful magnet.

Birds chirped in my window in the lonely afternoon. I rolled in my bed and enjoyed the last rays of the sun. Some times later I noticed the birds returning back to their nest. I wondered if even I would ever be able to fly back to my nest. I thought, everyone returns back to their home one day no matter how far they fly from their known branches, even I will. My heart ached but there was a pinch of hope in it. All of a sudden, the cry of the hawkers, the slogans in the microphone, and the sound of cycle rickshaw horns, everything seemed so pleasant to me. As if, all these varied noises blended to say ‘Happy Valentine’s day’.

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