Dipawali and Kolkata

Pic Courtesy : Indian Express

They say madness gives you an oblivious joy. I was mad for a vacation in Kolkata and it has given me lots of joy, ebullience after almost a year; especially owing to dipawali and an incidental birthday in-between.
Relatives, long lost special ones, near and dears, a few marriage invitations, religious places visits, mouth-watering local snacks, biriyanis, a digi-cam and a guitar (the last two not exclusively for me though) were my dipawali greetings in Kolkata.

Kolkata has changed a lot now (I suppose just like its name) except for the insanely bombing population and vehicles. Colossal malls, multiplexes; brand business ventures at every nook and corner, big ultra-designed buses with LEDs, new infrastructure viz. bridges, real estates, more lip-sticks and face-powders (I suppose :) ) but with the simple sophistication that always differentiated it from the rest of the world.
The Kolkatians are simple. They are ascetic just like Kolkata itself. They are beautiful, more than mere prettiness (though a few of them I saw are real pretties now-a-days). The population here jostle for space, but they are tolerant. Similarly, local trains bubble with heads, so do buses.

Dipawali is very different here in Kolkata. Not only is it grand and colourful, but also the very preparation of making the exquisite pandals with huge idols of Maa Kali and lighting (beauty-parlouring) every house with ropes of bulbs top to toe make it even more enthralling. Every pada (locality) here will greet you with pandals and idols based on beautiful latest themes of the day, each one exceptional and different from all others. Besides, various cultural programmes, loudspeakers, Bengali hit numbers – all await your presence at every mandap. The rnguha road Kali is 3 storey tall – one of its kind in North 24 paraganas.

I also got an opportunity to visit two wonderful rural areas – Shantipur and Baghnan. Rural Bengal is beautiful and romantic. The rice fields, the cattle, the serpentine mud roads, the fragrance, and the simple residents – almost everything is wonderful.

The best and the luckiest part was that my birthday coincided with Dipawali (Kali puja). And that surely called for a celebration in Kolkata. Things were organized grander than I expected. Too heavy, varied, luscious a lunch followed by a rendezvous with a few ISIians and then a late-evening visit to a restaurant with relatives.

A visit to Kolkata lures everyone to shopping. I did buy in a few panjabis on the penultimate day, and a few other indigenous things. I guess I bid adieu to Kolkata in a mad ecstasy pretty akin to the madness of immersion procession of Goddess Kali in Bengal. I shall cherish such wonderful and splendid memories for a long time.

A DIASPORIC CELEBRATION

Pic Courtesy : whatsuplife

This is a humorous piece and should be dealt with in such a spirit. I dedicate this epistle to ‘Gouranga’ – my beloved Kalyan kaku, the man who I owe much more than what I am today.

I have wondered at times as to what could be the topic that will live on for at least a year in a Souvenir especially in such a rapidly changing world. To this, I guess a ‘celebration’ can never die, notwithstanding any age.

I am talking of this year’s Durga Puja, a native celebration with couture range of ‘celebrities’, and being celebrated on a foreign land. Here at Chandkheda, it is precisely like bringing a feel of Bengal in Gujarat. Or can we say we do actually borrow many parts of Bengal vis-à-vis, the shilpi and his idols, the purohit, themes, ideas and incidentally some ground-breaking singers.

Bengal, I guess, must have plenty more variety to its puja. The very ubiquitous airy fragrance of pujo, the exquisite colossal pandals based on wonderful themes, the road-side lighting, the incessant sounds of the feathery dhaak, durga idols crafted out of all types of materials, kumari-puja and lastly the insane explosive crowd. We have surely replicated a few of these nuances, if not all, with an equal devotion.
But for a diaspora like me, more than anything else, it is worshipping joy and celebration. At times when the cultural programmes got so enthralling, with nuanced effects of light and sound, I guess even Goddess Durga could not have remained confined to just showing up for her out-house devotees. The charm coerced me to dance, something I did for the first time in my career. I danced! I danced with gouranga. Remember him? The tall, healthy, handsome guy wearing a garland of beads; attired in the printed white half-sleeved kurta, with a big tattoo on one of his hands. Yes he is the man who is gonna infect you with an infatuation. And yes he made me dance.

The pujo days were filled with fun and some austerity. Fun part was in queuing up for the grand exemplary bhog-prasad and enjoying unusual bangla gouranga hits. Austere merely due to the sight of some of the usual lot of devotees, requiring you to act too ascetically.

But, every night seemed to be an extravaganza, a complete take-over of the ‘light’ of spirituality by the ‘lights’ of cultural committee. Honestly, I enjoyed every part of it. I loved my friend’s company; also enjoyed the haute -couture of gentlemen and ‘gentle-women’, which I guess follows and consumes the ‘mirch-masalas’ of the Occident voraciously. It indeed makes the puja more diasporic. The innocence of the budding singing talents fascinated me, so did the maturity of the drama ‘Sandhya Tara’. Seeing the luminaries getting younger, dancing obliviously to hit-numbers was fun. Special kudos to Gouranga! After such tremendous performances we all could surely have lost some weight (like Jojo) only had we been a little more generous with our Dashami’s bhoj.

Dhunuchi naach was exhilarating. My feet started dancing, but I needed the company of Gouranga. Sindoor khela was equally entertaining. I guess, without all the make-up and pun cakes, that is an only chance to identify the beautiful celebrities or I should say the ascetic Bengali household ‘gentle-women’. Last but not the least, I cannot forget thanking all our little photographers who have captured and shared vivid memories of CBCA Durga Puja 2010 throughout the web. These memories remind me of Gouranga. All those willing to meet him again, like me, hold on to this news…he is appearing even bigger next year, rajnikanth ishtyle.

Bolo Durga Maa ki jai … asscche bocchor abar hobe !

Durga Puja 2010 Greeting !

Pic Courtesy: India Today

On this durga puja, I wish and convey to all and sundry my greetings of Sharadiya. Happy Durga Puja 2010 !

shakalke জানাই আমার শারদীয়ার সশ্রদধ প্রণাম আর আনতরিক প্রীতি ও ভালোবাসা.




Let's celebrate the 150th birth anniversary of world-poet Rabindranath Tagore. (Read the article on the link below. The site contains a song of Tagore in his original voice.)

http://indrus.in/articles/2010/09/23/russia_recalls_tryst_with_tagore04722.html

Pic Courtesy Wiki Page of Tagore

Saina – The Pride of India

“I remember, in 1990, when as a five month-old baby, Saina visited the indoor stadium at Hissar, she suddenly broke into a hearty laugh. I believe she fell in love with the game from a very young age.”
-Saina's father Harvir Singh on Saina Nehwal / June 21, 2009

Pic Courtesy : Wikipedia Page of Saina

Fearless, focused, gritty, determined shall perhaps be the words to describe this young prodigy the best. Saina Nehwal, as it stands, is currently number 2 in the world of Badminton (wef 15th July 2010 till date). She is an Arjuna awardee (2009), a Padma Shree (2010) and has been recently nominated for the highest national sporting award – the Rajiv Gandhi Khel Ratna. Her incredible achievements in a very short career span have won her many accolades. She is, in fact, the glory, the pride of our motherland.

Born in Hisar, Haryana in the year 1990, Saina was introduced into the world of badminton by her father Dr. Harvir Singh, now a scientist at the Directorate of Oilseeds Research, Hyderabad and her mother Usha Nehwal, both of whom were former badminton champions in Haryana. Saina’s badminton career started precisely at the Lal Bahadur Stadium in Hyderabad under Nani Prasad, which entailed an excruciating 50 kilometers of daily travelling and considerable expenses. The tight-rope walk continued until 2002, when sports brand Yonex offered to sponsor Saina’s kit. As her status and rankings improved, the sponsorships increased. In 2004, BPCL signed the rising star onto their payroll, and in 2005 she was spotted by the Mittal Champions Trust.

She never looked back after that. The perseverance, determination and tremendous discipline sailed her through turbulence of former national and inter-national champions convincingly. Records were re-created, history was newly written. This girl has shown it to the world – even to the mightiest oppositions of her Chinese counter-parts. After her semi-final victory in the Indonesian Super Series June, 09 she told her dad –
“Papa, I wanted to win this match. I lost a close math to Lu a few months ago. I was confident this time that I would beat her.”

“Don’t worry I will beat the Chinese girl” – were her another set of words minutes before the final of the same tournament. Such was and is the confidence and resolution in the little champion. And it was indeed a history in the page of Indian Badminton when Saina won the finals of the Indonesian Open.

‘Brand Saina’ now endorses many a brands. She is also the ambassador of Deccan Chargers, the IPL team of Hyderabad. Interestingly, the austere champion also tried walking on the ramp but much to an immaturity. Despite all the glam of being a world champion, she incessantly cultivates the hunger of reaching the apotheosis. She is currently trained and nurtured by two of the former world baddy champions – Atik Jauhari and Pullela Gopichand.

“She will very soon become world number one.”
— Prakash Padukone (June,09 After her win in Indonesian Series)

Saina’s painstaking achievements coupled with her ornaments of asceticism and austerity leaves me infatuated for sure. Like former champion Prakash Padukone, let us also join in wishing and praying that Saina mountains the status of the exclusive racket Queen of the world as early as possible.

The face of joy with a hidden anguish

This epistle stands as a tribute to a life of asceticism, versatility and disability.

Impeding the pictureque sunlight that is peeping through the long window curtains, you can see a face. It houses an old heavy-dioptred spectacle on it. A thin bush of clinical moustache remains fevi-quicked and the little grey hair creep the forehead. He, rather his face, always gives you a confident look notwithstanding the fact one of his eyes can't see anything. And the disability of vision is probably his first and the biggest pain.

But he doesn't complain. Living an ascetic life, he runs on for his daily scheduled music tuitions far off his home. At times, he compromises with food, torn-clothes to compensate for an on-time arrival, which normally is a prolonged jouney with his blindness. Drowned in debts, he knows he has to earn to support spiralling food-grain prices and his sons' fees. So, he fights incessantly even with the excruciation of tolerance.

Posturing in his own royal style in the sofa, he tells with a smile and a hidden pain - "Mein ro pada". He continues with more agony - "bete ne college mein do din se khana nahin khaya; sirf naste pe ji raha tha". It was indeed painful; circumscribed by the vicious circle of debts, inflation and crude amenities he was orphaned of a stock - the 'green paper' stock. It was unendurable to witness him writhe in a desperation. He only consoles himself in the feet of God - His worship is his faith.

A Jack of all trades and precisely a master of singing, he will take you through the joy of his classical voice, his nuances of flute and harmonium and often sitar. His compositions on ragas are unique and enthralling. Save his musical talent, he is a vociferous articulator - he debates it out with me exhilaratingly on any topic.

We, often, in our bustling schedules fail to encourage and support such noble human-beings. Lending a part of our own vision, time, aid and praise for igniting the darkness in the lives of these indomitable talents will certainly dispel all kinds of destitution and diseases.

I salute this wonderful, gifted, blissful, versatile musician and wish that God gives him much more than his prayers.

The Choice of Hypocrisy

Backboned in a gigantic family of ONGC and being nurtured in the classrooms of the intelligentsia of teachers and professionals, I am often asked, in relation to academics, for answers to lot many confusions, suggestions and recommendations from dedicated servers of students and parents. And I always love to share my thoughts, whatever little I am worthy of.

I long to share one such ‘revered’ experience with you, revered because it was a special packet(in terms of networking) routed from one of the most venerated persons, who briefly shaped my academic peripherals. The contention was the choice between B-Tech admission to Nit Surat and Da-iict. It was quite simple for me to answer to that. I did answer with conviction and quite convincingly but the result – an elopement from the counseling of the beautiful Da-iict. I was left dumbstruck.

An institution of tremendous repute, Da-iict is a home to amazing and stupendous talents and resources – be it the faculties or the ambience or the resource center coupled with the innovative and indomitable student fraternity. The institute is a unique designer which dresses you with nuances of anthropology, sociology and humanities besides the exquisite technical outfits. It is a coach which trains you to take on the toughest games (competitions and examinations) mentally. It is a bond which knows no breakage save fun and exhilaration.

At the same time, I have no intentions, in the least, to under-estimate the greatness of other national institutions especially the Nits. But, to be very honest and rational, the tastes of the produce of Da-iict, without any comparison, have been growing sweeter and healthier. The result stands un-parallel.

Under such a light, I was taken aback at the step-motherly treatment meted out to such a temple of academics, especially by an experienced academic person who befittingly deserves nothing more than a moniker of hypocrite.

We must thank the Almighty to have blessed us with such a wonderful and excellent college; it is truly our good-luck. And perhaps this person's luck is juggling through the nets of an own repentant goal or it might just be happy licking the Cup of second-series of Nits. It is just a wait to see which luck wins.


Key : -

ONGC – Oil and Natural Gas Corporation Ltd

Nit – National Institute of Technology

Da-iict – Dhirubhai Ambani Institute of Information and Communication Technology

Present Rank of Da-iict, Gandhinagar, India.
•3rd among top private engineering institutes of India.
•Only AAA+ rated engineering institute in Gujarat.
•2nd best engineering institute in West India.
•5th among top 50 private engineering colleges of India.

To see the details of sources of rank of the institute, click here.

‘Waka Waka’ Gujarat

Pic Courtesy - As shown inherent

Guess the one thing common between Shakira and Gujarat! Both are hot but with a miniature difference. The former is comely, beguiling and curvaceous; while the latter is costumed in an excruciating boil.

‘Waka Waka’ which translates to ‘shine’ has enthralled millions of football fans including me. The new rhythm and nuances are simply mellifluous to ears. And Gujarat, too, is waka-waking in the news for all the enigmatic reasons of-late.

To begin with, Gujarat mothers many legends – from Mahatma to Dhirubhai to Sardar Patel. It is a gigantic classroom of entrepreneurship. Big bucks liquidate both the indigenous business hands and the dry Sabarmati as well. The vicious heat sets records for claiming, the little over 50 crore population. Epidermis falls off its place and you can well turn into a dark African to commemorate and celebrate the footie cup more pronouncedly.

Amidst all such live-shows, tourism is still very hot in the minds of government functionaries. Recently, Big B was roped in for the coinage of promotional tourism coverage of the State. The Kachh turbans and vestures were fetched in, the Gir lions displaced, the common tourist bondaged, a 7*6 bed specially procured – just to sophisticate and pilot the sizzling tourism.

The pragmatic and dynamic chief minister retaliates sarcastically to Madam Gandhi asking“Who was Bhopal’s maut ka saudagar?” over a personal tiff when he was attributed the same in relation to Gujarat riots of 2002. Also the minister is recently beleaguered over a print advertisement with Nitish Kumar. But his leadership has engendered, by and large, tremendous entrepreneurial development in the State viz. Nano and innumerable SEZs.

Talking about sports, Germany has opened up quite scintillatingly in the fifa world cup and certainly will endure most of googling eyes of football fans. Back in the hot Gujarat, it is Grandmaster Vishy Anand who will play simultaneous in an event pregrant with 20,000 chess players in the State, thus engraving its name into the Guinness Book of World Records. Personally, I feel it will be an amazing achievement worldwide.

It is now the season for the counseling which, I guess, was pretty exciting with regard to me and all my contemporaries a year back. I wish all the luck to the budding minds for this year’s admission. Last but not the least, it is a much awaited personal anticipation for a romance with the petrichor.

“Tsamina mina eh eh
Waka Waka eh eh

Tsamina mina zangalewa
Anawa aa
This time for Gujarat”

The colours of Indian Television

Indian Television, today, has myriads of colours to offer to its viewers, unlike the two decade old black and white glimpses. It is no longer an idiot box in itself, but a treasured box which is religiously married to every Indian household. Treasured because it has become indispensable to poor, bourgeoisie and rich equally.

I will, perhaps, fail to count the innumerable dishes of channels that are served under DTH banners ‘Wish karo to Dish karo’, ‘Ghar Aayee Zindagi’ and the like. And more the dishes, varied are the taste. Of late, I got the opportunity to taste, on television, a few luscious but quality dishes, in the searing summer vacations.

The menu - entertainment, sports, movies, regional and what not! But certainly the English news channels always used to be my soups or starters, or whatever you name! Whether it is UPA-II first year diary or the Maoists menace or the ubiquitous fashionable blasts – things gave me more choices for my appetite.

The main course was always a combination of variety of dishes, from movies to entertainment and often the dance and comedy soap-operas. Out of all these, the dance shows housing the little prodigious children enthralled me the most. I was totally amused to see the energy, flamboyance, enthusiasm, tenacity of these li’l masters thundering on wooden floors. Every nuance was articulated with master’s touch, every expression- be it romance or anguish- was extra-ordinarily reflected, every performance left me speechless.

After a satisfying main-course, I would normally indulge in a minute or two Sport desserts, anticipating June 11 footie Cup, for Team Cricket with all its young blood seems to have rather stuck in blood-donation camp up in Zimbabwe; and in India we only see cheer-girls and belly-dancers kidnapping the minds of our very own IPL rich cricket stars.

Politics of Change

Let me greet you, at the very outset, with a traditional ‘Namaste’ – which mothers a pious meaning that of - "I salute the God within you."
The cultural and spiritual heritage of this motherland has always professed and cultivated in its children a spirit of oneness, equality and sacrifice. As Swami Vivekananda says – “The highest ideal is eternal and entire self-abnegation, where there is no ‘I’, but all is ‘Thou’.”

Looking around at today’s so-called tech or TED age scenario, we have almost lost the very in-evitable strength of spiritual, cultural and moral divinity. The era seems to be pregnant with blasphemous and chauvinistic terrorism; human, and in particular, women atrocities; social in-equalities and the like - all these at the cost of whimsically wheel-chairing the rampant and nasty politics breeded by the corrupt heavy pocketed netas and dadas.
Is it, thus, correct to define politics merely as governance? Or is it more of a concerted game of superiority, shrewdness, cunningness and conspiracy– or more pronounced a game of Change but mostly for the substantial worse!

This eight letter word, astonishingly, has the most number of collocations – left-wing, radical politics; party, partisan politics; contemporary, modern politics; sexual, gender politics; student politics – and what not ! Of course, to my mind, a part of the above enumeration is healthy, but majority paint a polluted picture of encroaching one’s time and career. To cite a few common symptoms, this grave disease of politics may engender owing to favoritism, bias, ego, entice, romance, professionalism, blind vying, and the like. And once infested, it deepens its roots to an incessant perpetuation and calamity.

The consequences are dire for a victim– from a psychological collapse, to displacement of shelter, to chained and orphaned freedom, to a dead life languishing in the shadows of shame and fear– too much to eat away one and change him, at once. Let us, therefore, try and combat this cancer - of the handicapped head line on a cruel palm, of the very infection off a dictator of whims and conspiracy and be-fittingly a mastermind of life-destructive politics of change!

Let me conclude, again, with the words of Swami Vivekananda –
“…Good motives, sincerity and infinite love can conquer the world. One single soul possessing all these virtues can destroy the dark designs of millions of hypocrites and brutes.”

Fragile Innocence

“Only if your eyes sang the anthem of a true innocence”

The birth of all living species is characterized by an incessant flow of a river of innocence – be it for a green leaf, or the mighty human-beings. This very innocence then journeys all along – sometimes as your friend and at other times as a swindle. You can hardly cage it, for it is as elusive as imagination. But those who can capably nest it, to them life certainly offers the most pious flamboyance and grace.

There was a time when innocence ornamentalized human culture, tradition, values. Its fragrance smelled of piousness, its beauty outclassed every pageant, its love incessantly soft, and its volume un-measurable. Today it is more of commercialized – and can be aptly branded as ‘the disguised innocence’.
It has become the new-age modus-operandi for professional impersonation, lascivious pitfalls and the like. Rightly so the new supari for acutely sensitive and barbarian silent murders and blackmails as portrayed in myriads of Hindi movies.

In the present competitive age all you need to do (if you are sans this boon) is paint your face with the superficial colors of innocence. Those might not look like a true rainbow but surely can fox your opponent into kissing the futile salaciousness, the fragile innocence notwithstanding his exhaustive sanctified search.

Can you, eventually, appreciate the true innocence, if any, in this era, where every innocence seems to be blind, deaf and dumb, emotionless or rather a plate of un-reciprocative salacious salads?

With the World Champion

This man does not bathe in news nor is he the sizzling hero of common multitudes, but he certainly is the king of the minds and brains – the very one and only GM Vishwanathan Anand.

His recent world championship title against GM V Topalov of Bulgaria proved once again that he is undisputedly the most versatile and prodigious chess-master even at 40. Truly he remains the cherished icon of every single chess player of this motherland.

My experience with the grandmaster was exceedingly rich, inspiring and touching. I was moved to be in the very presence of the six feet tall milky king – so gentle, so submissive that will perhaps give you the futile illusion of him being a true genius and world-champion.

It all started in fall 2006, wherein I got an opportunity to play in the NIIT’s National Chess Championship – the very brand that sponsors Vishy from inception. It was indeed a hectic tournament which filtered players from grass-root levels i.e. from school level to the Nationals. For the intermediate district level, I had to go to Vapi, which was a 10 hour long chilling winter journey from Ahmedabad via a rickety State bus. Thereafter, I remember vanquishing all opponents from the neighboring states of Maharashtra, Chhattisgarh, MP; having to play online in my school alone till six in the evening. In the said regard I cannot miss out my teacher Ms J Rao whose incessant support steered me through all odds.

The finals of the Chess Championship beckoned me in Chennai in December 2006 just prior to my class X boards which further escalated my hesitation to participate. Eventually I landed up in the Russian Center in Chennai, a familiar place of Vishy’s chess-childhood, where the Grandmaster obliged us (the national participants) with a simultaneous. Almost everyone close to Vishy was present – his wife Aruna, his mother and not to forget the big-wigs of NIIT headquarters. To be very honest, our game was more of a commercial endorsement with dozens odd paparazzi and flashes terrorizing the very tranquility for a chess game.

I can well recall Vishy walking up to me at the end of my game and telling me my flaws – his humbleness, his greatness, his versatility inspired greatly the little chess-player in me. Last but not the least the memories of receiving the prize from the world champion still exhilarates me, especially because he is again the New World Chess Champion.

GM - Grandmaster (in chess)

Memories of Abu

You will probably like Gujarat for every romantic reason save the 3-4 months of excruciating and un-endurable heat – that’s one thing this land puts your semi-white skin to an ugly test. The worse entails engendering heavy raining of sweat of-late, unlike a couple of years back when only the epidermis burnt to death without sweat. Primarily, the said fact took us (3 families) to Mount Abu, in quest of some remedial relief from the scorching heat.

Coming to the composition of the retinue – it was multi-cuisine dish with young pros from varied fields- a pilot, two engineers and one to-be-ER and the last one still a student coupled with the stereo-typed supervising heavy weights. In all, a healthy dish and luscious too.

The itinerary precisely included Ambaji, the holy and revered worship place of Maa Ambe and therafter Abu for another one and half day. We eventually checked into Abu at around 2 pm and pacified our exhaustion in an oblivious sleep. The clement evening of Abu breezed all of us to Nakki Lake whose hilly, cemented but dilapidatedly dirty banks housed some of our mischievous commotion for two long hours coercing the other tourists to look at us perplexed and irritated. Poking, playing, enacting, teasing, taking series of snaps, mouth-watering slushes what not! The only thing left was to dive into the heart of the Nakki Lake but the water had mostly dried up, leaving behind bones of rocks as remnants. There followed some feministic marketing (but I doubt whether they bought things or simply bargained as usual) and the young team managed a bat-ball which actually paved for a night long corridor-cricket match in the gigantic common balcony of our hotel rooms. A thrilling and hilarious 5 member match with our excited parents acting in as both spectators and cheer-leaders but only for the first few overs – I guess!!

The next morning looked more cheerful…a much early wake-up morning tea at 11 am, the last person to have been luckily offered a tea only because it was a vacation; then a sexy shower followed by Park Avenue’s Good Morning, when it was bidding time for the morning in-fact; we set out for a breakfast and then the Bramhachari’s Peace Park, which looked antagonistic to its name, pregnant with multitudes of people. We then headed towards Dilwara, but the killing crowd discouraged any entry and thus we decided to worship our stomach in a restaurant before again stepping into the tiring afternoon’s oblivion.

Team young again had a wonderful time with bat-ball until late afternoon and eventually it was time to bid adieu to Abu – a place re-visited after 4 long years and thoroughly enjoyed by all and sundry to cherish it till a next visit.