Tor Baba!

Bengali boys are emotional, sensitive, inclined to write silly poetry.. but what most people don't know is that they're rather creative when it comes to giving gaalis. Not the usual maachod behenchod for these young gentlemen, no... they specifically target each other's fathers. Nothing brings a hearty chuckle to those nicotine stained lips, than having his father insulted by a close Bengali friend.

I am lucky to have an entire gang of such friends. And, while today might be too soon... maybe in a month or two.. bhai, I promise you we shall celebrate the life of Uncle.. in a way only Bengali boys can.

Durga Pujo

A long time ago, this meant buying yourself a shiny new cap pistol.. being gifted no less than 5 matching sets of clothes.. keeping your heartbeat in check before that all night pandal hopping excursion (only to fall asleep somewhere between Mohammad Ali Park and College Square).. eating copious quantities of street food (followed by a spoonful of Aquaticotis as soon as you reached home).. and feeling a sense of irreparable loss on Doshomi as you watched your mother smear sindur on the Mother.

Now, it means taking a 15 minute break from work to stare at Kolkata on Facebook.

Alone Time

I've always been a popular kid. I enjoy being the centre of attention. I love public speaking, some might even say I'm pretty flamboyant when in front of a crowd. I'm an introvert.

There is no mind numbing paradox here. Every human being is different. And for the love of God, I don't understand why some people don't get this. I do not lack social skills. I love talking to people as long as I'm genuinely interested in the topic, AND the person. I hate small talk, I don't believe in social pleasantries, I will never fake a conversation. I love reading, I love thinking, I love solving little puzzles in my head. I need my alone time.

In conclusion.. please stop encouraging me to play badminton with you guys.. stop inviting me to a weekend getaway with your family. I'm most lonely when I’m with a group of people and there's nothing to talk about. It depresses me. And I don't like being depressed.

Happy Teachers' Day

Strip everything away, and the purpose of life is to survive... to survive and pass on.. not just our genes, but the collective knowledge that would help the next generation (and the next) survive.

Which means the only way to justify your existence as a member of our species, is to have taught a child.

Happy Teachers' Day!

The Door

One thousand two hundred and forty four days. And every one of those I spent struggling to open the door between us. I cried, I complained, I gave up, I gave in.. and then, when the door finally did come ajar, I realized I had built a whole new wall. And this one, had no door.

Bye Bye Dreams..

Everytime we say goodbye, I die a little
Everytime we say goodbye, I wonder why a little
Why the gods above me who must be in the know
Think so little of me.. they allow you to go

~ Cole Porter.

Watching her push that baggage cart into and beyond the sliding doors, there's a knot in my stomach that tells me I'll never see her again.. tells me this is where we break the cycle. Funny how you always imagine such life-defining moments to be full of drama. But there were no violins, no slow motion editing. There was a quick glance, a silent conversation that ended two minutes before it should have.. and an even quicker hug, that never should have ended. As hard as I try to replay the scene in my head, I don't even remember what colour she was wearing tonight.

But what I'll forever remember is the sound of her laughter... and my dreams.

Teach For India

Do you remember the first time we met? I do. It was a Saturday morning in 2012, and your didi had invited me over to your school to spend the day with all of you. She had asked me to share something about my life that would inspire you to study hard. To be honest, I was a bit nervous. What is one supposed to say to a bunch of 10 year olds, I wasn't sure.

So, I stood in front of you and asked you to ask me questions, about anything you wanted to know. "Bhaiya, how old are you?", "Bhaiya, how much you studied?", "Bhaiya, what is your favourite colour?", "Bhaiya, who is your favourite hero?", Bhaiya, you like Michael Jackson?" - came shooting from all corners, much to your didi's annoyance. But in those 10 minutes and 300 questions, you welcomed me as one of your own. I had not seen such warmth of smiles in my entire life. And that kept me coming back to your classroom for more.

Today, your didi asks me to write a few motivating lines for you. But I can't. Because I have nothing to share with you, that you don't have already. Hold onto those infectious smiles. Even if life tells you to give up, just hold on a bit longer. And always.. always, always, keep asking those questions. Because that's the only way one can learn.

Thank you for being my inspiration. I love you all.

International Women's Day

Did we, for one day, stop looking at women
as nothing more than a piece of meat?
Did we stop suggesting that somehow it's all her fault,
everything, including the semen stained bedsheet?

Our little girls.. did we ask them to
sit properly, talk softly, eat slowly?
That young mother.. surely on this day we remembered
her name, and not just that she's a divorcee?

For one day, and one day alone, did we manage
to stop the criticism, the accusations, the discrimination?
Or did we just write a few trashy lines.. poetry,
in the name of intellectual masturbation?

Beat That..

On a late night drive to Alandi Temple (Sant Dnyaneshwar Maharaj samadhi), I had the most surreal experience in my 30 years of existence. By the banks of the Indrayani river, under a moonlit sky, there were not less than fifty young men practicing the pakhawaj. What was unique was that they weren't playing in unison, but each had a different routine, an individual performance.