FranKophone

In the durbar of Akbar, there once appeared a polyglot.  After marvelous display of his skills, he challenged the mighty emperor’s court to instantly ascertain his native tongue. Birbal was up for the game. He came close to the polyglot, embraced him and in a flash of second, twisted his arm intently. The polyglot cried out ‘Bou lo, marigali’ (meaning, ‘O Mother! I’m dead’). He was identified as a native of erstwhile Utkal. Five centuries later, there has been no significant change. It is hard to identify the quintessential ‘Utkaliya’ of Moghul era or the ‘Odia’ of independent India, though they appear everywhere. They lack a distinct identity, in stark contrast with neighboring states like Bengal (where people swear by their Bangaliana) and Andhra (which, unfortunately, is undergoing a tumultuous phase currently). Why has this been so?  Why has this race (for the lack of a more appropriate term) been so meek and mild in ascertaining its own identity? The reason...

Promise me not to wither away, For you were once the object of my love. I was smitten at first sight, but you never knew, You were the one I yearned for secretly. With familiarity, the magic spell broke, I realized your vulnerability, your weaknesses.  I stepped back. Perhaps it was a sham. You ceased to charm me.  With time, I started to loathe you. Your presence annoyed me.  But when you said,"I wish I were dead", Something tugged my heart. I froze with fear. I don't exactly know what holds me unto you, Is it our affection or the thought of separation ? In love, maybe, you never loved back. In hatred, I fancy you are around, hating me back. Promise me not to wither away, For I want to be the object of your hatred. Pic Courtesy:Google

I stepped into the room.  It smelt familiar.  The curtains were the same.  Bright sunlight beaming through them.  The floor still sparkled.  I opened the cupboard.  My things were shabbily stacked in a corner.  As if someone wanted me out of the way.  I sighed.  Closing the cupboard, I found my table missing.  Replaced by a more glamorous piece of furniture. I decided it was wiser to move somewhere else. But again, wasn’t it my place? It truly is. The window sill sports my coffee mug stains. The walls still bear my pencil marks. The same songs play in my mind. I belong to this place. And the place, indeed, missed me. Badly. Courtesy: Google

Pre-note : This post is NOT about the book or the movie. Sometimes we are not in the best of our moods. Sometimes problems bother us a little too much. Many a times simple things give us "that elusive joy". I decided to take a walk on a cold Saturday evening.  My first stop was the street-side tea vendor. Viola ! He was not in the best of his moods. He told one of his "regular customers", " I just incurred a loss of 400 bucks. To earn it, I have to struggle now."  A simple statement. Yet it struck me with profound intensity. To start from the scratch. To carry on with your job in spite of hardships. Not that he had a rocket-science job. But this incident reflects the basic attributes of any enterprising mind. I took my lesson and moved on. This time I walked till my legs could carry me no further.

Life is a gift. I am in Kolkata these days. Yes, the City of Joy.  It has been a long  hiatus from writing. Reasons are numerous ;  none of them seem valid to me. I am living  my own life. On my own terms. I am a whiff of wind – once here, at another instance, somewhere else. No rules, no diktats. I’m a free bird. Coming to Kolkata has been quite an experience. In a train, sweating most of the way, getting my way in the crowds at the station, breaking rules there, listening to people hurling abuses and not saying a word , getting the dreaded sprain again – in the same place, keeping a calm head, getting lost on the way to the guest house, living life king size, watching a government hospital function, noticing a cute medico ( LOLzzzz),queues for washroom, cafeteria and the like , riding a rick, sitting next to the auto driver, seeing real super- bitches emerge from their cocoons of goodness, waking up at 6 in the morning ( on a regular basis, mind you ! ) -...

     She  stood in front of him , without uttering a word.  He is here.  Her mind refused to register this simple fact. He cannot be here.  He was supposed to be gone . Forever. To another land. With another woman.  He preferred silence. He could not bring himself to speak. He had dumped his fiancée. Given up his mercenary dreams. He  felt it  was necessary to stay back. With her . For her. Forever.  Neither of them  said anything. They were reading each others’ minds. Trying to decipher silences.  Suddenly  the lights went out. A storm grew out of nowhere. She gave him way to come in. He  rushed in with urgency. She went to fetch a candle. He  hastily shut the windows to prevent the rains from lashing  into the house . After  she came back , he said , " Did you have your dinner yet  ? "  She replied , concealing a smile, " Now that you are here , why don’t you join me in  ?...

Every boy in your class ( in some cases, every boy in the college ) knows your name. Even though you are not "their types". If  you are a steal ( in the literal sense ) , you might have been requested for "being more than friends" multiple number of times. At times, the same guy requests you many times. Not his fault though. If the request in [2] is accepted, the girl always has the upper hand. When that lowers down, you can always break up. Requests are like buses ( cliched but true ... mostly ).   You cannot decide on a mass-bunk on your own. Support from the Martians is  ALWAYS needed.  Your assignments WILL be copied / photocopied / circulated throughout the class , especially on the night before the submission date. Even if you have copied it from someone else.      You can be loved or be hated ( rarely ) but certainly NOT ignored. Teachers won't suspect you at first for any foul play.  In mechanical workshops ( i.e. , if you have 1/2/...

“No ! Not in my terrace ! “ “ Yes Memsaahib . She’s there – three , too small , dark . “ “ Can you take them away ? “ “ The mother won’t allow anyone to come  near them . Besides I’m getting late. “ Audacity at her very best. “ Then  do something to prevent them from moving . I don’t want them in my house. “ Of all people on earth , why me ? Yeah ! Go ahead , try me. I  am terribly scared of cats . Phobia . And this  foolish mother cat had to start her crazy family on my terrace. On the top of it , Jatin was having fun at my expense. “ Are you sure you’re okay with my Delhi trip ? “ , he smirked. He would be away – I  have to handle the stray  cats alone. Bending over my dahlias , I replied “ Are you going to cancel the trip if I ask you to ? No !  you won’t . But you want to earn some brownie points. I can see through your plans Mr. Husband. “ “ In that case , no use trying, eh ? “ and he laughed like a zombie. After driving Jatin to the...

One can either be ordinary or extraordinary . The problem with most people is they want to be both .

It does not take much to fall in love ; It takes a lot not to fall out of it.

Laugh with others, not at others.