friday the 13th?

A taciturn orchestra entombed in darkness ...a floating tune of intense madness, the whispers of a nameless fear, i feel a slimy trail trickle down my legs, the ecstasy throttles me with its insidious piety, two bodies intertwined in a nameless distortion, a slimy something slithers down the spine as well, coaxing out a few rapid, fiendish gasps. Crushed by the weight of togetherness i crave for the impassionate melancholy of loneliness, im choked by the terror of being alive, of perceiving the tumultuous desires of the flesh, of seeing the blood cascade through catacombs of nerves on my thigh, of watching the dirt in my nails settle swiftly into a dreaded pattern. There is life beyond the red punctured here and there by white drops, a life already explored in ignorance, a reality inexorable but unfathomable at the same time. A reality i wish to covet, a platform i hope to climb onto. Rapid thoughts spin an ominous yarn to cast a web of confusion over a troubled psyche; dreams have a heinous aura even their surrealistic womb-like silence. Dreams that speak, dreams that stare, dreams that touch, dreams that even smell...but dreams that never ever hear.

Ode to "Chhaad"

Childhood, I have heard many a time, is the sweetest and most beautiful phase of one’s life. Being barely out of my teenage years and having the whole journey of life left, I can hardly pass my verdict on that one. However, a few places that are intrinsically linked to my childhood, and have lost their aura now, do prove to a certain extent that the cliched concept may actually be true.

Chhaad - the place where dreams soared and laughter echoed, followed by the pitter patter of a dozen feet. We, namely the 'children' had  unlimited access to this hallowed precinct, specially  during the 'play hours' in the evening. By a certain unwritten directive, no adult was allowed to trespass while we played. Its amazing how we always had these few hours to look forward to everyday and irrespective of the harsh weather, none of us ever failed to turn up. It was a routine we never broke.

The Chhaad has seen and preserved many beautiful memories. Cricket was something that was initially played downstairs, for obvious reasons, but a certain unfortunate(and allegedly lethal) incident involving a deuce ball and shattering of window panes, compelled us to move our favorite game to the ছাদ. Desperate times call for desperate measures and we had to make a few changes in the rules. For example, we made underarm bowling compulsory, while fours were the only boundary we could hit. Sixes meant the ball flying over the compound wall of the Chhaad, and so they had to be eliminated completely. the wicket was a thin orange line drawn on the white door with a piece of brick. i think we had more fun with our humble arrangements than the para dada -s who were privileged enough to play in a field.

Another popular game that we played and that i'm sure, very few kids have actually heard of,

" khoi doi laban chus goji” remarkably complex game, with two villains namely "bansh" and "konchi". Two pairs of parallel lines running horizontally and vertically , divided the whole chhaad into four large squares, each representing a 'food' room. the most important was 'laban' or the salt room, without entering into which you cannot complete the game. the villains were confined to the area that these lines bordered-they had no access to the rooms. only when the other players passed from one room to another, the villains had to stretch their arms and catch them. this is a the general layout of the game, there were a thousand other rules and regulations and it took us more than a month to fully comprehend the gist of the game. it was a game we enjoyed whole heartedly, and played with utmost dedication-whether we were general players or the villains. the game, I later heard is a well known one in our villages, and has greater social implications. khoi with doi is a staple food, but no matter how hungry you are, salt or laban is the most important spice. hence the significance of the salt room in the game. pretty intriguing, isnt it?

We had seasonal games like badminton in winter and football in the rainy season. we also had something called 'go statue' which we played only when we were tired at the end of the evening. And occasionally we had our most eventful dramas and the chhaad as usual was witness to the hilarious but dedicated rehearsals. 

One thing that i cant help pointing out at this point, is how happy and determined we were in what we did in those 3 hours. We loved the chhaad and each other and most importantly, the present day. Our minds were not suffocated with threatening thoughts of the future and the only confusing decision we had to take was what game to play the next day. The chhaad lies quiet and forlorn these days, with all of us having grown up. This is an ode to the most beloved place of my childhood, the chhaad where we learned to love and live. 

Names and onomatopoeia

My dictionary says onomatopoeia is the fact of words containing sounds similar to the noise they describe, for example hiss or thud. of course, being the quintessential thick head that i am, i could not recollect what sound words are technically called. No matter how strongly i clenched my fists to cast my memory back to the pages of an elementary grammar book, 'nym' of 'homonym' kept on moving round in circles, distracting me from thinking clearly; when a friend , who, incidentally, will feature in the latter part of this article, rescued me from the whirlpool and enlighned me about the existence of 'onomatopoeia'. But that's another story. I introduce my readers to the purpose of this blog entry- which is to extend the concept of onomatopoeia to names of friends. 'Sounds' weird?


Just think of the word 'Rohini'-erase all images of her, if you know her, because those will be a distraction here. Just extricate the name. Ro-hi-ni. The way i pronounce it, the name has a sliding effect. 'Ro' is huge and rolling-t gradually slopes downward into a timid 'ni', with no separate emphasis on 'hi'. This sliding effect, as i christened it, reminds me of the rise and fall of pitch in music. Think of the waves you find in a 'media player' visualization when you play ' All my bags are packed...'. 'Ro' is the rising limb till 'bags' and 'hini' together falls from 'bags' to 'are packed'.

Another name which is similar is 'Pranav'. It too is a wave, but a sharper and more abrupt one. It's a distinct rise and a straight fall. Unlike 'Rohini', which is soft, soothing music, 'Pranav' has two rigid beats.

'Sanjeeta' is also onomatopoeic, but not musical. It's a name that reminds me of a kid standing in the middle of nowhere, calling out into the bleak horizon to create echoes. 'He-lll-ooo-ww', he screams, his lips openeing and gradually shutting like petals. The point notable here is that the short 'He' int he beginning doesn't take part in the echo-making. It is a starting push-a stimulator to the rest of the rolling word. You pronounce 'sanjeeta' the same way: 'san-jeee-tahh.' Like 'He' in echoed 'Hello', 'san' here also serves the same purpose. 'Devpriyo' also has that short beginning punch as 'Dev'. But you can't pronounce 'priyo' to produce echoes. it is 'tough' and 'strong' like 'pranav', although there's a slight tripping over at 'iyo'.

It is ironic how masculine names are turning out to be less musical and more aggressive that girls' names. However there are always exceptions. Take "Angshuman", for example. Find a more lyrical name for a guy, and I'll eat my words. It has everything- the beats, the rhythm, even the echo-producing quality if you stretch the middle 'shu'. It is also the first name in this entry that is absolutely symmetrical in sound-a perfect wave.

I think all names come with a sound. Some maybe really complex and polyphonic like 'yajnaseni',and there are simopler ones, which remind you of the furious bang of a door('snaket' and 'nirban') or the swish os a magic wand ('isha', 'toshali' and 'dishari'). names, irrespective of the person they belong to, create symphonies, and if you, like me, have nothing better to do, catching those veiled sounds can be a interesting pastime. :-)

The Demands of Future...

I close my eyes tight shut

To block the thoughts away-

They close in around me insidiously;

The future lies before me

Heaped with happiness and love and gifts,

He stretches his arms,

Welcomes,lures, flatters,pulls;

(But) Beneath his decorative veil

Are drops of silent mockery

And maps of calculated deceit

And a hideous game of hide and seek.

Life gets baffling, choking me

Emotions and passions ooze out unhindered.

The sun rises-

And still the future plays tricks on me.

Another ordinary day

Its a dismal day. The heavens seem to be grieving. An icy wind relentlessly slices the atmosphere, sending strange shudders through my skin. The cawing of the agitated crows, and occasional barks of a mournful dog are the only sounds reverberating in the otherwise taciturn neighborhood. The gloomy silence is momentarily broken by the tired honk of a rickshaw or the rhythmic plops of cold water in an empty bucket. The grey colours have painted a poignant picture of paucity, devoid of any vibrancy. the monotony of life drips and gathers thickly in the whole neighborhood, affecting anyone and everyone with its lethargic pace. The cawing of the crows continue, filling all sinews, captivating the senses. Life is stagnant.

I Have Sinned

A few lines composed very rashly but emotionally.

Strange ominous shapes cascade through my vision
My life is a fragile vessel, filled to the brim-
Punctured with hideous thoughts and recollections.
The slightest prick has burst the bubble of emotions.
The oozing liquid spells out "CATASTROPHE".
The claws of frustration viciously scar my conscience.
I try to sleep; the searing pain slice my head.
Drops of water feel like paradise in my parched throat.
Memories come to me, about what I committed: A sin.

The truth behind the holyness of the ganges

The beauty of the sight was what attracted me the most. The snow laden peaks of Shivling and Bhagirathi, the howling of the wind and the mighty river gushing out mercilessly from the mouth of the creepy cave. The whole scene was reminiscent of a water colour landscape. Picturesque. I was enchanted, needless to say. Being a Hindu, the holyness of the river was too clear to be avoided by my eyes. But a little more observation revealed a few facts, which would have got unnoticed had i let myself be carried away(it isn't easy to control oneself in front of such beauty). I was reminded of our Hindu tales of king Bhagirath bringing the Ganga. Miraculously, the Bhagirath peak towers magnificently over the mouth of the Gomukh cave. It is said that the Ganga was caught in Mahadev's "jata". The mesh of clouds floating above reminded me of a saint's shrine. What was more intriguing was that the clouds looked more like pure, holy, smoke as if an yagya was being performed. Off course, I wouldn't have been able to imagine all these-the story was in my head-i was just matching and comparing and like a jigsaw puzzle it all fit.

What i wasn't convinced about was calling it "maa ganga" or "ganga ji". Its nice to give respect to nature's own gift but why can't people imagine ganga as"beti" or a child. After all, the tremendous force in which the river is rushing out is closer to a frolicksome but daring child, rather than a serene, understanding, caring, loving, mother. The upper course in the mountains is much more beautiful and natural than the middle and lower courses in the plains, torn apart by barradges and dams.

And if people love their"maa" so uch, why do they have to throw all kinds of rubbish like ash, "pujar ful" and all other residues of each and every hindu ritual ino their "maa's" lap?