Avik's Story

Yesterday I was overwhelmed. All the past memories, which I thought were obsolete and stored beyond oblivion, came back alive. I laid down on sofa; TV ran mute over a corner table; old laptop’s lid was open on a teapoy; my glass of beer was near empty; and my eyes were half open. It was like ages. I was not to be blamed though. My poor and hasty decision was. Yesterday was Father’s Day. So I thought I’d write something like I did on Mother’s Day. Something emotional and true to heart. I was sure that I could write up about my father for pages. He is such an interesting character afterall. He has spent his whole life in a small village, but has an excellent taste for knowledge and childish eagerness for traveling. He has grown up in a traditional Bramhin family, but turns out to be an atheist and complete devotee to reason and science. I have seen, people and my relatives are terrified at his high temper and loud presence, and at the same time are relaxed for his superman-wise

I take metro for three stations and then walk 250 busy meters on a crowded road to reach to the bus stop full of all kind of vehicles; then take a bus, which takes approximate 10 minutes to reach my destination – my office. Not far, comparing to my previous one, but much dramatic. I go through three most used conveyance modes in Delhi every morning, and then every evening. Metro, bus and foot. Not a single day is passed without an interesting drama, participated by people, mostly strangers. Metro dramas are little sophisticated, upper-middle-class-wise. I have watched them and experienced them for whole two years, so I am quite used to those. A sarcastic comment wrapped with English words, or short lasted heated argument, which starts with a full fighting potential and ends with a fart, or a getting down moment, where someone is pissed off by a push or something. That doesn’t interest me at all.   On the contrary, my walking on the densely crowded section of road fr

I will again start my journey, or so I thought. I love few things. Among them, movies and books are on top, Taniya being on header and traveling on footer. So when the weather is dry and hot, and I have enough time besides reading, writing and small work in office, I thought why not crowding my blog with junks! Well, the thing is, the posts may be scraps, but the things aren’t. They are gems of cinematic history. And the excuse provided, I can really watch them. Or, re-watch ‘em. Everyday one film. Today I watched The Apartment. A 1960 American comedy-drama film that was produced and directed by Billy Wilder, and which stars Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine. The film won five Oscars among ten nominations in 1960 and was a commercial block blaster, like Wilder’s previous movie ‘Some Like It Hot’. Bud Baxter (Jack Lemmon) is a lonely bachelor and lends his apartment downtown city in a hope for promotion to his office managers, who are in several extra-marital affairs. His rathe

Fuck yeah. India tops in racism. There’s nothing for bragging, it’s for fact. And fact is always true.  (Saying that, I must add that, I love my country and all. There shouldn’t be any misconception that I’m an agent of foreign enemy countries and want a pie of India’s disgrace. Our government is doing that by themselves by their irresponsible and hilarious comments.) Acknowledging a problem is the halfway through the solution. But we love to avoid problems and love to have rosy pictures of shits. But a shit is a shit. Can’t change that. Even if a minister says that. Who among us haven’t faced racism? If you are Northie, go to South India or if you live in South, come to North, beyond wall. If you are a North-Eastern woman, come to Delhi and become Chinki, or if you are Bengali, go to Mumbai and become Bangladeshi. The widespread prejudices, xenophobia and stereotypes in India are of no match. Some stupid said, “It’s not racism dude. Racism is hating black. We d