Fiddler on the Roof

shadow lines
dancing patterns of gray-blue patchwork
on my quilt

tripping lines
cross stitches of halting threadwork
of my guilt?

nervous kinds
of haywire basket-weaves
on my brain

fuzzy minds
confused hazes of steam-smoke
in my eyes

For some inscrutable reason, I've been thinking of Camus' Outsider this whole morning. Had read it for the first time in high school, when you're naturally rebellious & experimental with life. It's left an impression on me—an aching lonliness of stale cigarrette smoke and peeling paint...

Arjun,
If you can see yourself "walking thru the content" ten years down the line, just what happens to people like me? We become redundant & are gradually eased out of the job market??

Dreary picture that. Or do we turn into 'content visualizers'? Senior Content Visualizer. How does that sound?

Thanks man Arjun, I needed that pep talk last night. I realise that it's never possible to remain satisfied even with your 'dream' job, but it doesn't hurt to keep striving for something better, now does it? Aspirational, that's the word. Something negative attached with: Ambitious. Don't see myself as that either, but 'aspirational', yes. Nice ring to it too...to aspire to do better...to aspire for more...to aspire to get the best of everything? to aspire to get the best out of everything? nah. To aspire to make the best of everything...

And I'd still like to run like hell...

I must say this week has passed off rather quickly, thank god for that. I seem to be living from weekends to weekends these days—hell what 'weekends' yaar? Its just a bloody Sunday that I get off! Which doesn't seem to do enough for me anyway, being the kinda person, who needs a LOT of rest & lolling around. Need to conserve my energy man, need every ounce of it.

The Hindu community of a certain economically disadvantaged neighbourhood in Kolkata was about to stall their annual Durga Puja celebrations this year due to a fund crunch. But that was till their Muslim neighbours stepped in and offered to help organise the community Puja, saying it would be a shame to stop a neighbourhood tradition just because of a shortage of funds.

What can I say? I'm deeply touched. As a Kolkatan and an Indian, I'm proud of my people, who I'm convinced are an essentially peaceful and liberal lot.

The words continue to inspire me with each passing year:

I'd rather be a sparrow than a snail
Yes I would, if I could, I surely would.

I'd rather be a hammer than a nail
Yes I would, if I only could, I surely would.

Away, I'd rather sail away
Like a swan that's here and gone
A man gets tied up to the ground
He gives the world it's saddest sound
It's saddest sound.

I'd rather be a forest than a street
Yes I would, if I could, I surely would.

I'd rather feel the earth beneath my feet
Yes I would, if I only could, I surely would.

By Diviya Upadhyaya

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I

At the Twilight Hour
Before the Birth of Time
When a Formless Void Engulfed All—

There was no Truth
Nor any Untruth
No Embracing Universe
Nor Firmament
Stretched across an Azure Canvas;

When Shadows of Ignorance
Veiled Knowledge from a Restless Mind—

Then was Born a Star
Nascent, Pure and Luminous

Born to Dispel the Darkness
Born to Father Warmth

It Chased the Reigning Night away
And Ushered in the Dawn
Of Life.

Beyond the Umbra of
Time
When Chaos Reigned
Supreme—

Shooting Stars Like Arrows
Shot Across Azure Trails
And
Struck the Heart of Darkness—

Impregnating the Void
With Seeds of
New Beginnings.

And Thus Rose
A Lone Tune
Above the Tumultuous Air

Gently at First,
But Soon Gathering Tempo
It Broke into a Joyous Aria—
And
Reaching a Crescendo It Shattered
Into a Thousand Shards
Of Life.

Somewhere Deep Within
The Dark Folds of the
Cosmic Womb—
A Star is Born.

An Entity,
Pure, Blissful and
Luminous.

Reverberating with the
Echoes of the Primeval Word;
Illuminated by the
Nascent Rays of Hope—

Pulsating with the
Rhythmic Drumbeats of
Life.

Dead heart
Dead dull
Heavy heavy heart
As you turn away from me
Turn and leave me to be free
Free to love you to my depths

Free to hurt and burn
On my own
Yes, this pain you leave me
Is mine Alone
My hurt to own
You're mine even when
You turn away from me
And leave me to be free—

It'll take me some time me thinks to figure out how this thing really works...for instance, I just can't see my postings beyond Thursday on my home comp...can't figure it out exactly...refreshing my browser doesn't seem to help either...

Anyway, there were a couple of stuff I've been meaning to store away neatly for sometime now. It's been a while since I've made my peace with it; and now it's time to set it aside:

Let me not tell you any of this—
Let it just be that exquisite little pain.
Let it be my little treasure—just mine alone.
And your's, if you want it.

A little fire for me to burn in,
A little pain for me to hurt in.
But mine own.
Of mine heart alone.

Why do I love you the way I do?
Is it because of you—
Or is it me?
Because I need you to be free?

Oh yes you're my freedom.
Sweet and exquisite
Like searing fire that
Burns down and turns down just as quickly

But scars for life

That's my love,
My pain for you.
My own exquisite love
For you

This mail was simply a treat for someone who looks up at the clouds and imagines them to be fluffs of vanilla ice-cream—another friend of mine, Mayurika, tells me that I think in 'gastronomic metaphors'! So this was just too good to pass off...

"Dear Munni

That digestive part of your mail prompts me in retrieving this good old
good one. Am really sorry if the mail leaves you gasping for more......

A little clarity:
Kada Paker Sandesh - must necessarily from Nakur Nandi (as also the
Malai roll- just sublime)
Chanar Payesh - try out the one served at Rajballabhpada

My own favourites:

* Phuchka & alu dom from pandit ji near birla academy
* Chingri cutlet from Allen's Kitchen, C.R.Avenue
* Biryani & Shami Kabab from Rahmania
* Chilla from Camac Street
* Daler Bada from Vardaan or from Dhakuria Station Road
* Hing Kachuri and Tarkari from Chop Gali, Bhowanipore or from Mrityunjoy,
Lansdowne Market
* Mishti Doi from Bhim Nag, Bowbazar
* Kacha Golla from Nakur
* Chelo Kabab and Bloody Mary from Peter Cat

I could go on and on, but one needs to put a stop to this.
For all my Expat friends, you must be virtually kicking me.

Oh, I forgot:

* Radu babur cha and kabiraji &
* Kachuri near Santoshpur bridge"

More of Abhi's Corner to come later...

This is what I received in my mail from my long-estranged & refound childhood friend: Abhi. There's more to come. I'm cluless about where he gets all this stuff from: he refuses to divulge his secret source—but they are just too good to be lost in cyber-space, so here goes...way to go Abhi!


"BHALENTINER DIN - BANGALI JODI.....

Tumi samudra ami aranya, tumi Amit ami Labonya;
Tumi bhugol ami itihaash, tumi Paro ami Debdash;
Tumi Closeup ami Colgate, tumi Romeo ami Juliette;
Tumi Makaibari ami Wah Taj, tumi Shajahan ami Mumtaz;
Tumi Thuja ami Arnica, tumi Clinton ami Monica;
Tumi chiruni ami ayna, tumi Dodi ami Diana;
Tumi bulbul ami tota, tumi Jyoti ami Mamata;
Tumi dherosh ami alu, tumi Rabri ami Lalu;
Tumi ucche ami potol, tumi Soniya ami Atal;
Tumi chips ami popcorn, tumi Phulan ami Birappan;
Tumi jilipi ami chumchum, tumi Suchitra ami Uttam:
Tumi hajmi ami toffee, tumi Agassi ami Steffi;
Tumi kheyal ami gazal, tumi Shahrukh ami Kajol;
Tumi CBI ami greftaar, tumi Sangeeta ami Azhar;
Tumi santro ami ciello, tumi Desdemona ami Othello;
Tumi machh ami mangsho, tumi srishti ami dhongsho:
Tumi Ajit ami Mona, tumi Sourav ami Dona;
Tumi elish ami parshe, tumi Pheluda ami Topse;
Tumi botol ami shishi, tumi Katthak ami Odissi;
Tumi Sholay ami Bazigar, tumi Minar ami Chabighar:
Tumi boma ami grenade, tumi Mahakaran ami Brigade;
Tumi Only Vimal ami DCM, tumi Congress ami CPM:;
Tumi Raju ami Gopal, tumi Bharat ami Nepal;
Tumi galpo ami kobita, tumi Aishwariya ami Susmita;
Tumi OK ami fine, tumi aniyam ami ayeen;
Tumi bangla ami hindi, tumi tip ami bindi;
Tumi uttejona ami kolahol, tumi cricket ami football;
Tumi jhamela ami gandagol, tumi Pk ami Amol;
Tumi gur ami chini..."

Arjun says, "The human body is by far the best creation of all time, before and after sliced bread." But I beg to differ—the unparalleled Sukumar Ray had written in one of his nonsense rhymes, and I quote: "...kintu shobar chaite bhalo, pau ruti ar jhola gur...".

Translation: ...but the best thing of all is bread and gur...

So go figure!

Wonder who came up with the bright idea of having a weekend in the first place? The Jewish Sabbath? The Christian Sunday or the Muslim Jumma? Did Indians get the concept of the 'rest-day' from one of these 'Abrahamitic' religions? Wonder what we did when we had no 'Sunday'? Or do primarily agricultural & trading societies not have any concept of 'resting' from work? Did the English bring it to us with their 'office-space' or the Persians with their 'duftars'?