it's official...it's tomorrow!!!
goodbye,cruel world...

this is not a post...

i really dont know what to write about,but i want to write anyway.
i think i have issues but dont really feel like writing about them....(there are too many)
i am tired of the way people make big deals out of nothing.
i am just so pissed with this principal of this college which is famous for its sky high cut offs..(the dude wrote an article called "marks are not the right yardsticks"..or some bullshit...!!)
i mean,how hippocritical can they get??
we are basically very narrow minded people who measure life in terms of some lousy numbers some lousy people decide to scrawl on our answer sheets...
i know i dont make sense....guess i am not supposed to.
i am still groggy with sleep and still tormented by the dreams i see...
its getting too much now...
i might have all the right to waste my time...but not yours.
so just close the window and forgive this piece as just another bullshit post by a teenage scatterbrain!!...

i'm so scared...
the results maybe out anyday now and i have managed to forget how bad it really was.
i am scared that i might get used to failure....maybe when i see my name on none of the college rolls,i will just feel bad and shed a tear.....like i always do....
and i am scared that i will get used to a life like that,scared that i will just stand and watch while the entire world zooms past.
i am scared of stagnation...of thoughts,of words,of ambitions.
i am scared of jadedness...of life.
sometimes,i wish all this would end.....and drown into a red pool of oblivion.
just like that.

Here’s a story which is a part of me-

Of people who let me be who I want to be.

It was one evening we decided to talk-

Of old laughs and old tears,

Of times gone by and old peers.

She sat pretty with her crimson gown-

Flashing a smile which pulls you up when you’re down.

Poised she is but never calm-

Always moving to a tune or lisping a hum.

Another sat confused brushing her hair-

Saying words of concern and care.

She hides it well, but it manages to escape-

The secret tear which nurses her heartbreak.

Nineteen candles glowed bright and clear-

Her mind disturbed at the thoughts of a future so near.

The mind is in a daze and her heart flutters like a dove-

We all know, my dear, you are so deep in love.

Another sat smiling and blushing next to me-

Fussing over food and refusing her tea.

A lady of words and a lady of rhymes-

A loving reminder of all our happy times.

All that said, there still remains one-

Who talks incessantly out of her turn.

Tries hard to keep her bonds well-

But somewhere down the line, she fears she might fail.

The night grew older and we knew it was time-

We hugged and smiled our parting smiles.

We left back promises of reliving these times with each other.

‘Coz we all know that,no matter how tough the going gets,

“It’s always better when we’re together”.....

P.S:this is lousy poetry....but the 5 people concerned know it's the feeling which is overwhelming and heart-warming

"aamar mukti aaloy aaloy ei akashe...
aamar mukti dhulae dhulae ghashe ghashe..."
you gave me the words,you gave me the tunes-
brought me images of far flung mountains and sand dunes...
gave me a vent,gave me a muse....
painted my vision with a myriad hues.....

LAW!!!

Some time back, this word would bring to me this image of a “secure” future. I remember ma’s sigh of relief when I told her that I wanted to do law...she was happy I finally acquired this thing called “ambition”....

January came and went...and I sat for this exam after studying for 2 days with a weak liver just outta jaundice. I thought I aced it but I didn’t. Didn’t even reach the dreadfully high cutoff.....

I guess that was the day I ran to the nearest window and threw my “ambition” outta it...into the grey oblivion of the city’s concrete skyline. Back came my old “ambition”-I really wanted to write. So the life of a journalist appeared so “Yeah!! That’s it!!”-ish. Legal ambitions fizzled out like gas from a soft drink can and I had a new “ambition”....(To god’s grace, I still do)

Dad said something about “job security”. What he doesn’t understand is that he never had a daughter who was meant for “secure” things...she was this girl who wanted to fly, and still does. She is this girl who has always searched for the meaning of the voices that go on inside her little head, always looked for the face behind the unknown call which always eluded her....the call of the future, the call of words...the call of rhyme and metre...

After 18 long years she sees the blurry outlines of those faces which called.....and it’s time she answers them......

It’s time she washes the dirt off her wings and flies off....

"Well I guess that you probably know by now
I was one who wanted to fly
I wanted to ride on that arrow of fire right up into heaven
And I wanted to go for every man
Every child, every mother of children
I wanted to carry the dreams of all people right up to the stars....."

"She
May be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day

She
May be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a heaven or a hell
She may be the mirror of my dreams
The smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell"


words have never felt this good before....
music never sounded this good before.....
my favourite movie never made me feel this good before....

-“let’s elope”
-“ya let’s”
-“we will fly away to the hills where no one will know us”
-“and what will we do?”
-“I can work as a cook in some joint and play the guitar with some band at night”
-“I can work in some shop in the mall or maybe a bookstore and teach little kids”
-“...and we'll get a small cottage on top of a hill...”
-“with a small garden...”
-“we will wake up to see the sunrise together...”
-“so when are we leaving?”
-“tonight 1:30 I’ll get a helicopter. Will pick u up from your house. Pack your bags and be ready”
-“yes...sing me a song beneath the window and I will be there”
-“ya I’ll whistle Chiquitita....and you slip out quietly”
-“and by morning we'll be dropped off and there onwards it’s just us
-“and the house?? You know where the keys are? I know!”
-“where?”
-“it’s in the basement of that house which resonates with violin n piano strains..... The one below the dusty road...the wooden grey house”
-“oh achha..i know that one”
-“and we will meet Austin Plant the old English architect who lives down that road some evening over cakes”
-“his wife bakes lovely ones”
-“and then we will walk back...hand in hand.... as our breaths will draw white frozen patterns on our faces”
-“at nights you will stitch our socks n coats because they will be torn of use and we won’t have money to buy new ones. Carry lots of warm clothes and an umbrella
you have asthma in the cold...so take precautions”
-“Got to go now. Got tons of packing to do. I will wait-don’t be late”.....

Shaadi no.1, they’re calling it. Thousands of people queuing up just to catch a glimpse of a hair band flaunting six footer set out to sweep a doe eyed beauty (with her ever plastic smile) off her feet. The entire country has, by now, memorized the color of the gem of the ring adorning the little finger of the aforesaid bride’s right hand or maybe the verses which open the invites contained in their gilded booklets.
Lights adorn the entire Bandra scheme, crackers light up the Mumbai sky as the country’s biggest box office moolah rakers dance their wits away within the confines of heavily guarded walls.
Cut to Park View Apartments, Borivali. An eerie gloom shrouds the posh building occasionally interrupted by the sound of tears shed in fond remembrance of a twenty six year old architecture student. An internet networking site floods with sympathies and prayers as the country’s press go berserk trying to capture the aforementioned groom drooling over his bride who, by the nation’s verdict, is “worth it”.
The nation feasts its eyes on the exclusive pictures of this million dollar wedding splashed throughout the papers while a narrow column in some remote corner of the paper struggles for attention to let the world know of a brilliant and young life cut short by a random bullet.
“India Shining”, they say. It sure is.

love just is...

"love just is...whatever it may be,
love just is...you and me..."

na it aint that easy really.i mean its fine as long as "i love you,you love me.we are a happy family."
but what if...i love you and you dont love me?or the other way round?what happens to the happy family?
does it sink into the tears we dont tire shedding...or does it hammer the head which has muted voices playing in it all day?
do we wait?or do we "make" the other one fall in love?
FALL in love...that's the word.someone has to fall and not be pushed....i guess that's the way it is...
love???...what exactly is that?
security?dependance?sex?fluttering eyelashes?snogging at CCD?kissing under an umbrella at lake?....remaining awake through the night with your eyes wide open...thanks to the litres of coffee in you?...what is it exactly??
and yes,i thank HIM for this definition....HIM...the band and not my guy,your guy or any guy for that matter....

"love's the funeral of hearts,
an ode to cruelty-
when angels cry blood;
and flowers of evil are in bloom"

for the name's sake....

So I finally managed to catch The Namesake, and to put it in a word, I was disappointed. It was always happens to me-books made into films always fail to live up to my expectations. When you read the book, you tend to make mental sketches of the characters, situations and emotions. But when you see someone else’s imagination take shape on the giant screen in front of you, it is disappointing to see them not match up to your expectations. Maybe this is a wrong approach to watching movies, but that’s the way it is, for me.

Firstly, for me, small details go a long way in making a film impactful .In the beginning shots, the camera rolls over the city roads and pans onto a small road divider sign reading, “The Telegraph. Unputdownable”.The book is set in 1968 and since the film maker does not mention the period of the film, I presume she sticks to the book. The Telegraph began to use the aforesaid catch line only in the last few years.

The trams have been shown with advertisements of ATMs hollering across their tin bodies in the trip the family makes to Calcutta in 1982.To the best of my knowledge, the city saw its first ATM bank around the year 1999.

During Gogol’s marriage to Moushumi, Ashima recalls her wedding to Ashoke when she remembers herself reciting Daffodils till the end but in the beginning of the film, she is cut short in her recitation by her father-in –law-to be, who recites the concluding lines himself.

The make-up. With all the orange and white flowers adorning her hair and the kilos of kohl in her eyes, Tabu ends up looking more like a Bharatnatyam dancer than a literature student that she’s supposed to be. And the Alta on her hands-it is so weird and one of the biggest misconceptions people have about Bengalis. For once and for all people, Bengali women do not wear it on their hands-be it 1968 or 2007.

Moreover, the make up fails to maintain the continuity of Tabu’s age. She looks old with graying hair in the Taj Mahal trip but scenes later, she looks like a newly wed with her parting smeared with generous doses of vermillion and jet black hair when she receives the news of Ashoke’s death.

I am not being cynical but just pointing out the flaws which caught my eye. I’m no stalwart at judging movies by their technicalities and I lack the qualifications to do so. But as an average movie goer, these were the things which kind of jarred my viewing.

Not everything about the movie is bad. There were quite a few scenes which were warm and touching.

When Gogol returns from Cleveland which his head shorn, the bonding shown between Ashima and her children is a major tear jerker and goes on to say a thousand words without uttering a syllable.

The scene where Gogol’s head is being shaved with the loud punk rock playing in the background is a beautiful scene highlighting the in your face contrast of emotions.

The visuals of the Howrah Bridge and the Brooklyn bridge bring out the beauty in the hackneyed things of our daily lives.

The scene with the Saraswati idol hauled and being carried in the rickshaw is beautifully shot. The contrasts in the lovemaking scenes of Ashoke-Ashima and Gogol-Maxine have been brought out very subtly without being too grotesque and flesh flaunting. The difference between love and lust has been beautifully brought out....

The concluding scene where Gogol and Ashoke walk down the boulders is beautiful and touching....the words (penned by Jhumpa Lahiri) are equally warm.....

“Will you remember this day,Gogol..try to remember it always...remember that you and I made this journey ,that we went together to a place where there was nowhere left to go.....”