An Ode to that Foreign Star

Well, I have mentioned this before and everyone knows it anyway... But there's always that song/those songs that steal your breath, calm you like an intensely protective breeze and make you lose yourself in the dark layers of storm clouds in a blissful way.

I am a Bengali by birth. However, like most other 21st century kids, I haven't paid much attention to this profound culture and language of mine.
I remember watching this Bengali movie "Antaheen" months ago, on a whim. I was immensely touched by the story-line, the realistic approach and the subtle message. And needless to say, the songs left a hypnotizing effect.

Well time passed and it was just a few days ago that I heard one song from the movie again. It has a sing-song tune, music played on a flute and crystal-clear lyrics which of course would make you chase that wind that chases your restless soul in return.

Since this song is sung in Bengali, I felt selfish in relishing it on my own and hence I have tried my hand at translating it. And mind you, I suck at understanding most Bengali words but when I do, there's a deep deep connection that I feel and so, this is my attempt at sharing a bit of what I think should be shared. :)

Bhindeshi Tara

Amar bhindeshi tara,
Eka rateri akashe,
Tumi bajale ektara,
Amar chilekothar pashe.

Thik sondhye namar mukhe, (dhei dhei dhei)
Tomar naam dhore keu dake, (dhei dhei dhei)
Mukh lukiye kaar buke, (dhei dhei dhei)
Tomar galpo bolo kake? (dhei dhei dhei)

Amar raat jaga tara, (raat jaga tara)
Tomar onyo paraye bari, (onyo paraye bari)
Amar bhoy paoa chehara, (bhoy paoa chehara)
Ami adote anari. (adote anari)

Amar akash dekha ghuri,
Kichhu mitthye bahaduri (2)

Amar chokh bedhe dao alo,
Dao shanto sheetal pati;
Tumi maa-er matoi bhalo,
Ami eklati poth haati

Amar bichchhiri ek tara,
Tumi naona katha kaane,
Tomar kisher eto tara?
Rasta paar hobe shabdhane!

Tomar gaye lagena dhulo,
Amar du mutho chaal chulo! (2)

Rakho shorire haath jodi,
Ar jol makho dui haathe,
Please ghum hoye jao chokhe,
Amar mon kharaper raate.

Amar raat jaga tara,
Tomar akash chhoa bari,
Ami paina chhute tomaye.
Amar ekla laage bhari. (3)




Translation:
Foreign Star

My dear foreign star,
Alone in the dark night's sky,
You play the 'ektara',
Next to where my attic lies.

Just before the dusk hits, (dhei dhei dhei)
Someone calls out your dear name, (dhei dhei dhei)
In whose chest do you hide your face, (dhei dhei dhei)
To whom do you narrate your tales? (dhei dhei dhei)

My dear sleepless star, (raat jaga tara)
Your home is in another neighbourhood, (onyo paraye bari)
My fear afflicted face, (bhoy paoa chehara)
Another instance of my usual randomness. (adote anari)

My kite who has known the sky,
And some of its' false pride (2)

Blind my eyes with light,
Give me a calm cool mat to rest;
You're just as good as a mother can be,
Even when I walk the road alone.

My shameless little star,
Why don't you listen to what I say,
Why are you in such a hurry?
Atleast cross the road safe!

No dust can ever touch you,
Whereas all I have are two morsels of rice and a roof! (2)

If you touch me with your hands,
And wet them with clear water,
I pray you be the slumber in my eyes,
On my nights of tiring distress.

My dear sleepless star,
You live in your sky-high home,
I fail to touch you.
And that makes me feel so alone. (3)

....And there there... I am done! :D
Even if I was able to do the slightest justice, that would be enough for me to feel proud.

Somehow this image is very much in coherence with the song...
Don't you think? :) 

A Few Loved Trophies

Trust me when I say this because I mean it from the bottom-most core of my heart.
I am lazy. Like super-lazy. Like super-duper lazy. Like in a parallel world, I would be replaced with Garfield because I could do so much better than him as him. :-|

This post has been created only because guilt has overpowered my laziness. You see, some wonderful people had awarded me a year back or so but due to my inane procrastination, I have conveniently overlooked their overtures.

So today when another wonderful blogger awarded me, it hit me that I needed to get back to the former set of wonderfulness as well. :-|

So here's my gratitude in order of chronology:

1) Antara (Click here to visit her blog): She's this wonderful little girl (not so little anymore) who's now going to be going through the major switch from school to college. But well, her words are far beyond her age. Sometimes, they make me gasp at all the little things we overlook. She's been an ardent follower of my blog and had presented me with an award way back on May 6th, 2011 on her old blog.
She has recently shifted her domain and I wish her more success with her new endeavour. Lots of love and a BIG thank you from your Dimi di. You have a bright bright future in store for you.

2) Priyanka Kamath (Click here to visit her blog): If you have heard about the phrase "spreading joy" during Christmas, then that's exactly what I am reminded of when I read her work. They have this instant 'feel-good feeling' inflicting power that leaves you breezy and loving life for all its aspects.
Reading her blog is definitely a good way to begin the day for it would keep you refreshed with positive and mood-uplifting thoughts. So go over and gorge on your share of joy!
She had awarded me way back on August 20th, 2011 and well here I am, FINALLY saying a big big BIG thank you for getting me all surprised and happy when I was informed about the same! :D

3) Ruhani (Click here to visit her blog): Definitely the cool teenager around the block! From the URL to the way she addresses her readers; for the incredible versatility that she portrays, it is a pleasure to be on her blog. The colours, the content and the passionate spirit is very, mind you, VERY addictive!
And well for most of it, sometimes her randomness and the way she goes about ranting reminds me strongly of myself, only that she's a chirpier version of course! :D
Anyway, I received an award from her today; half of which is D2's share and hence here's a big hug for all the awesomeness and the adorable way in which she presented it!

Well that's as far as I remember, thanks to my perpetual amnesia. :-|
I believe that no bit of appreciation should go unnoticed and so I'll make it a point that no bit is. (Better late than never, right?)

As for all the rules that go with receiving the above awards, that might take....errr...some time I guess...let's say... a year? :P

Fiasco at KFC!

Okay so before this story gets any staler and before its thunder gets lost in the storm, I must must must write about it. So here I am about to share this incident that happened to me less than a week ago.

Well you could choose amusement to be the emotion that carries you through this because well, eventually, it was a happy ending. Had it been otherwise, you would have witnessed unrequited rage, aggression and a lot of whining demanding some empathy, which would of course do no good to my bottled up fury.
Anyway, I will stop with the justification of human perspective and get back to the point. :P

Scene 1: The boyfriend and I are munching on fried chicken, sipping on cold drink. Had been hungry since morning.
A gang of four sitting right across the table, ogling at me and passing remarks. The boyfriend begins to get enraged. I ask him to ignore them.

Scene 2:  He then goes to get some more sachets of ketchup during which the four of them start behaving even more oddly. One of them tries to come and sit almost next to me. The other three are laughing, cracking jokes, teasing his overtures of hitting on the girl. The boyfriend returns and the guy gets back to his seat. The gang do not stop with the remarks, songs, and obscene ogling.

Scene 3: The boyfriend loses it in totality and walks up to them and warns them to stop the nuisance to which one replies back with the usual "kya karlega be?" (What can you do?[slang]). There. Then. The Rise of the Feminine occurs as my blood boils to steam. I walk up to them and yell "Thappad maarke dikhau saale?" (Should I slap and show you?[slang]). The guy laughs and sarcastically says "Dikhao!" (Show me).
I crush a plastic glass of coke and throw the drink on his face. Humiliation shrouds the bastard's face and he empties a two-litre bottle of coke over me. There. Then. The Rise of the Masculine occurs as the boyfriend lands one practiced punch on his face and therefore, the brawl begins. Four grown up guys versus one. I get a little afraid thinking about the possible consequences. With an adrenaline rush to boot, I join in placing slaps and banging a couple of heads together. The boyfriend slips on the cold drink and falls back on a seat where two of them pounce on him, only to bleed in return. Thanks to the fauji (army) backgound, he seems to know the right away to 'tackle' the untrained idiots.

Scene 4: The fight continues for some 7-10 mins and when my intervening gets too much to handle, the main culprit places a solid slap on my cheek, followed by another, soon after. By now, the chaos has attracted buzzillions of onlookers. The boyfriend's temper rises, resulting in more slaps and punches on the guy. Things begin to look uglier than ever with me trembling in rage and looking for a knife to stab the assailant.

Scene 5: The KFC employees finally succeed in getting the gang off the boyfriend and taking them somewhere. We are offered water and asked to calm down. Within another five minutes, a security officer comes along to request us to make a written complaint. Another bunch of eye witnesses accompany us in support.

Scene 6: At the security office, we realize that the gang has been held captive. 7 to 8 officers beat the shit out of them after finding out that two of them were drunk. We witness some hardcore physical torture on the boys. They are held by two officers while the third kicks them on the chest and back bruising them everywhere. Their identities are confiscated and it is found out that they are first year students of a local college. I am still shaking with contempt. The beating continues.

Scene 7: An opportunity is presented to me to thrash them as I please. I do the honours ever so willingly, fulfilling my thirst for revenge. Utter bliss; so much that I won't divulge much of the details here, though you may make your guesses. The boyfriend concludes the business. The beating continues.

Scene 8: We refrain from making a police complaint owing to their lousiness. The boys fall at our feet. The married elder brother of the main culprit reaches the office and begs us to not take the case further. He seems to be a gentleman in shock. He looks terribly insulted and sorry. We talk to the parents of the boys much against their wishes, as by then, they have begun to cry. The mother on the phone howls and wails. The security takes note of the contact addresses/phone numbers of the boys' homes and college. And the beating continues.

Scene 9: Our job done, we leave the bleeding boys in the office and return to KFC to take care of the impending hunger. KFC provides for a grand treatment and a free meal that we hog on, very much delightedly.

The mess-ers end up as the the mess-ees! Tra-lalala la! :D

The End!

PS: All the events I have mentioned above are true to my knowledge.
'The boyfriend' refers to D2. 

Indebted

I don't know how exactly to begin this post. For quite a few days I have been saving a blank draft on Blogger and then opening it to write something and then closing it back because I didn't know where to begin.

I don't know if this post will glorify 'Love' even though it is solely dedicated to my Lover. I know that the word probably sounds rather cheesy but I definitely prefer that term to the lame usage of 'boyfriend'. It is much closer to what he really means to me.

I have a million reasons to be writing this and yet again I am not sure as to which one I should state first. But since I have already begun rambling, I will state the obvious.
Today he happens to have completed 22 years of age. And well, luckily for me, I was able to witness the last one and half years of this precious life.
I have seen him grow and mature into a respectable gentleman in the past year. I have seen him make mistakes. I have seen him falter. I have seen him shatter and I have also seen him get back on his feet, steadily as ever.

Through simple everyday observation of him, I myself have grown into someone so much more different from who I used to be in my teenage days. Even though I might not say this aloud, every time a mistake of mine has been pointed out and I denied because of my acute stubbornness, I knew deep down within that I would take care the next time.

During the worst times when I bet that any other human being would bolt, he stood by me like a rock, acting like my spine, stifling his continually pained emotions just so to see me recover and become that angel that he imagined me to be. The truth is I am no angel. The truth is that I wear a million masks and each time I unravel a layer to anyone, for that matter, I feel fragile and I distance myself from the world, ever so cruelly, ever so selfishly, without a hint of any emotion, whatsoever.
(It is strange how easy it is to get naked through writing and still stranger how this nakedness is so easily forgotten.)

Every time that he has suffered the pangs of my pain, every time the child residing in him was repressed because of my erratic madness, I have burnt in guilt more than ever, yet I was hardly able to express.
From the times of my psychological disorientation and the numerous misfortunes that the two of us have undergone, he stood by me, calm and in control. And the very few times that he did break, I know for a fact that I failed to deliver.

My blog is partly his creation. It might not be literally true but it was his enthusiasm and love for his own blog and writing that encouraged me to take this more seriously. I wanted to have one serious passion because every ounce of my life was in an intricate mess. And voila, here I am today.
His constant appreciation, support, encouragement and stature has boosted my confidence to a point where I believe that if someday I write a book, it may actually sell.

However, I miss him in the blogosphere. His tight schedule, brutal girlfriend and lack of time to even think straight has restrained his creativity to a large extent, enough for him to misjudge his brilliance as a writer. His undermining of his capabilities has even led him to consider giving up blogging as a whole and even though that pains me to no end as writing has been a major constituent of this wonderful relationship we share, I don't seem to have the right words to pull him back from the trench. It saddens me and I remain helpless yet who am I to blame but my own indifferent self?

I don't want to sound saintly and say that I don't deserve him. But I must agree and hence I will, that I am heavily indebted and maybe just because I hold him this high, a corner of my selfish heart would never want to repay this debt.


I wish you a Happy Birthday my dear D2 and the largest portion of my heart, however cold and stone-like it may be, I dedicate to you.

'Him' through my Viewfinder.

That Last Night.

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 26; the 26th Edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The topic for this month is 'That Last Night'.

February 14th, 2012:

My penance was finally paying off. With my hands behind my head and a soft whistle on my lips, I relaxed on my armchair watching him; the last one of them. He writhed in pain, hanging from the cacti creepers that I had arranged for him in my underground chamber. He squeaked in agony. But I had taped his mouth way too tight for him to be audible enough. The electric shocks had done the job of impairing him quite well. His face looked beautifully scarred with the numerous cigarette burns.

What pleased me more were the Newspaper articles that were glorifying my talent without knowing who I was. Haha. A broad smile adorned my gullible college-boy appearance.

While I was bringing him in, he had seemed thirsty. Out of mercy, I allowed him to drink some of my piss. It did him well, I thought coolly.

When I removed the desk from under his feet, the last look of despair, pain and shock all rolled into one, set me into a calm frenzy as the heaviness in my eyes took over my tired self. I shut the light out, lowering my cap and dozed off into the most blissful sleep I had in years.

_______________________________________________________________________

February 14th, 1999:

Chhotto Babu had merely turned six the day before. And Mommy had already served him spinach. Yucky yuck, he thought. Spinach tasted like poo. But mommy said that if he wanted to be strong like Popeye the sailor man, then he must have it. So Chhotto Babu gobbled up the spinach, without complaining much. He was already feeling much stronger. He grinned and got back to flying his plane. Whoosh, whoosh, he glided across the hall.

That evening, Chhotto Babu's friend had a fancy dress party. So Mommy dressed him up like Chachin Tendulkar. Mommy also gave him a cricket bat that was matching-matching with his costume. The cricket bat was a little heavy but Chhotto Babu ate spinach and drank Complan and so he was very strong. Chhotto Babu lowered his cap and posed for Mommy who clicked a photo for him. Mommy then gave him a peck on his cheek and tied the shoelaces of his new pair of sneakers that flashed red lights when he walked. Chhotto Babu was very excited to be wearing them and running around. He tugged on to Mommy's pallu to ask her to hurry up.
Mommy turned around and smiled the sweetest smile. She looked very beautiful, very very beautiful, like the twinkling little star that he had read about in his nursery rhyme. Chhotto Babu grinned again and hugged Mommy tight. Mommy was the bestest mommy in the world and Chotto Babu loved her as much as his both hands could spread out.

Chotto Babu had a lot of fun at the party. There were chips, cakes, chocolates and so many other kinds of treats. He got a G.I. Joe as a return gift and he couldn't have been happier. It was the best day ever!

After a couple of hours, Mommy came to pick him up. They decided to walk back home as it was only a few blocks away. Chotto Babu showed off his action figure doll and tried to scare Mommy with it. But Mommy seemed a little pre-occupied. Maybe Mommy was missing Daddy. Today was some Love Day and Daddy was working in some far away land. He would be returning only next week. Chhotto Babu's face fell and he hugged Mommy tight.
"Can I be a G.I.Joe when I grow up, Mommy?", he asked, tugging her pallu.
"Of course you can. You already are my hero, Babu", and saying that Mommy took him into her arms and rubbed her nose with his. Chotto Babu giggled.

______________________________________________________________________

February 16th, 1999:

Reports of a tragic murder and gang-rape of a woman who was taken in by a passing Maruti Van, spread in the city like wildfire. The victim was a 29 year old woman who was walking back home with her son around 9:30pm. Her face had been smashed to pulp with a cricket bat. The child was found unconscious, alongside of his mother's dead body. Condolences flooded the Mitra's Residence. Mr.Mitra had gone into a state of coma on hearing the news. He had cut short his trip abroad to return home to surprise his family but fate had planned things otherwise.
The child was in the process of recovery from the trauma. He kept mumbling "I am your G.I.Joe". He would not eat, drink or say anything else. No details were divulged.

_______________________________________________________________________

February 15th, 2012:

I woke up with a start. The recurring flashback numbed me.
The dead body of the last one hung like a trophy in front of my eyes.
I smirked.

I got up to my desk to open my precious yearly logbook.
Finally, I thought; finally I scratched out the last of the hand-drawn memory sketches with red ink, the blood of my mother.

_______________________________________________________________________

Chotto Babu locked the underground chamber and sped off on his bike to attend his classes. Just like that hero.

PS: This story has been inspired by the recent happening in Gurgaon where a 23 year old mother was gangraped while she was returning from work. I couldn't help thinking what her son might have gone through.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

PPS: I have a further request that everyone who posts a comment, checks after commenting whether the comment has become visible. There is a bug faced by Blogger. Thanks!