Avik's Story

I got fever yesterday. And my DTH TV recharge was due. Though the two things were completely different and never were supposed to be mentioned together, but mayhem started when I received calls after calls on my phone requesting (actually ordering) to recharge the TV while my head was whirling due to nausea and my body was aching for high fever. Not a single person in my life taught me to be rude. But when I politely explained the guy over phone that I’d recharge my TV as soon as possible and he on the other hand, was adamant that I should recharge it then and there, I lost cool. I felt instant good when my tongue got inspired from my skin-on-fire, and I asked the guy with a raised tone, why he was so bothered for my recharge! The guy was hopelessly mechanical or stunningly shrewd. He started to describe the offers the DTH service was providing currently and, oh boy, it was a long list. I told him that I was dropping the call and after a ‘thanks’ from my side, I ended his robotic

It is past midnight, and I feel terrible. I just want to wake up my parents, who're sleeping in next room and say sorry. A big apologize. They've come to my place yesterday, and today itself I yelled at them. Just hours before. And from the moment, when I shut my door down - switched off light and laid down on bed, their flabbergasted faces were all over my closed eyes. Sleep is gone. I have done something terrible. So I have to confess. I opened back my eyes, switched on light, and have started vomiting all my sins and broken promises all over the screen of laptop. It’s funny, but a must, if you believe in the power of confession. One of my favorite rituals with parents is post-dinner gossip. We sit across the sofa or chairs and then talk about anything. My father talks about philosophies and country and politics, and my mother describes the family matters – quarrels, marriages, deaths – all those stuffs in  minute details . For a better part of the year, I miss most

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

Taniya fought with me, when I simply asked her to confirm. “Should I go today to Nehru Place?” She flamed up. She accused me of not putting her in my top priority and then used some fence-sharp words, which dug my skin and pinched my heart. I didn’t blame her. I came back from office and then went hurriedly to Nehru Place, showed my M-ticket to a uniformed doorman in Satyam Cinema, went upstairs and found my seat in a fairly large hall. It was eight in evening and I could hear all Bengali chatter around. The movie, ‘Praktan’ was about to start. My job was simple. Watch it and then relay it to her. She loved the title tracks and the trailer. She wanted badly to watch the movie, but she was out of any means. Hence, me. My little research about the movie revealed interesting facts. It was being released in many USA theaters today and Mukesh Bhatt had bought the copyright for a Hindi remake with same title even before it was released. And the belligerent couple was none other than

I’m a pretty shit guy, who’s blessed with wonderful women all around. Among them, two and half are mother-figures, rest are sisters, aunties or friends. The first one is my Mom , who vehemently rejects the idea that I may grow up oneday, or maybe I’ve grown up. She still unpacks my bag, when I’m home and packs them with teary eyes, when I’m about to leave. She still washes my cloth whenever possible, and arrange them neatly at almirah. She knows, which dish to prepare to convince me to eat more. She knows when I’m ill or when I’m depressed, and often is the first one to call and console. She was the first woman of my life, and still the best one. But I’ve been shit to her. I lied to her several times. Now I know she knew all, but she never pointed those in my face. I was with friends - partying, or with girlfriend - fooling around, or with colleagues – drinking and I hanged her call. I told her I was busy, I’d call later. And I forgot. I didn’t call back. Maybe next day, she

Past 90 days, so far deadliest forest fires have claimed 1900 hectre of forest in Uttarakhand. 6.17% of Indian forests are prone to severe fire damage. 50% are risky. High Temperature, Low Rainfall & El-Nino to be blamed, but foul play hasn't ruled out. Govt. says it will take actions against culprits after the fire is doused. Govt's inability and incapacity fuels the rage of fire. Every year between February to June, forest fires are common because the soil becomes dry and moisture less. Govt. does nothing to take precaution. Some say, local timber mafia started this fire. They are the one of the most powerful mafia in India. Last year more than 15000 fires have been reported in India. Maximum of them are by mafia. Billions of dollars are lost. Millions of trees are burnt. Thousands of houses are destroyed. By severity, this year's fire has galloped the entire region into a terror.  So far 6000 personnel are working day and night to douse

The man was Srinivas Ramanujan. Expectation was high. I bated breath when the title scrolled on screen. The previous biopic titled ‘Ramanujan’ directed by Gnana Rajasekaran on this enigmatic Indian autodidact, was a failed attempt to capture the essence of his short life, and the beauty lied in it.  But this one is a top class Hollywood production, though with relatively low budget.  The movie began, and we heard the engaging voice of Cambridge mathematician G.H. Hardy (Jeremy Irons) depicting his relationship with this mysterious Indian in 2012 and then the story took us back to Madras in 1914, where Ramanujan (Dev Patel) was shown living in abject poverty and searching for a clerical job. The rest was his epic fight with people’s skepticism, incredulity and his fate, until he reached to the pinnacle of success. The hell of a story. The hell of a life. Tear jerking scr