What is the next new thing?

A perception of the outer world on my soft board.
The theme for this whole month is ... WHAT IS THE NEXT NEW THING?
Words: Michelle Obama, BECOMING documentary, Netflix
Art and Photography by: Purnesh Bhattacharya

2020 is a horror story

with surprises

beyond imagination.

-Camelia

When I posted this question on my Instagram update titled ‘NEXT NEW’ on my handle @instapuruinsta, my friend Camelia didn’t waste a second to reply somewhat this way:

The idea of what is in store for us this year is so terrible that I don’t want to know. 2020 is a horror story with surprises beyond imagination.

So true. There has been no dearth of surprises ever since we welcomed the New Year with the magical numbers of 2020. So does this year stand as the year we didn’t expect, imagine or foresee? Replies and interpretations will always stand mixed in their own sphere.

The question (WHAT IS THE NEXT NEW THING?), I pose in here is not of my own. I discovered this question in the 2020 documentary ‘BECOMING’ aired on Netflix this year. The documentary is an intimate journey of Michelle Obama's life, hopes and connection with others during her tours to promote her book of the same name ‘BECOMING’. The question arises and fades out in a flash. During one of the many interviews featured in the documentary, Michelle Obama is seeing musing over a question, which she modulates and repeats in her own signature voice – What is the next new thing? Since then, the thought within the question has stayed with me.

I kept asking myself the same question: WHAT IS THE NEXT NEW THING?

Consider the tough times we are surviving through and ask that question again: What is the next new thing?

Some words, some replies might automatically start floating in your mind.

•         A life, a little more mundane maybe
•         Lockdown after lockdown and some more days of lockdown
•         Louder debates and very less news
•         Bigger blames, shorter claims

I don’t think so anyone of us has a definitive reply to that question, which may also start sounding sickening at times: What is the next new thing?

The next new thing; we may have to think twice before hugging, embracing, kissing our beloved. The next new thing; smiles, expressions, emotions will continue staying hidden behind masks. The next new thing; travel will feature as the last item in the to-do lists of our things.

As restrictions are being eased, curfew hours are relaxed and the idea of freedom is renewed in twenty first century, we are found staring at a bleak portrait. Sometimes termed propaganda; sometimes hailed as achievement, this portrait is drenched in colors of discouragement. The sources of encouragement, inspiration and motivation also seems to have locked themselves behind doors, which have now started jamming.

Summers’ time is up. The new season of monsoon isn’t too far from knocking our doors. The umbrellas will be out and so will be new numbers of sufferers, new numbers of detected, new numbers of mortality and new numbers of recoveries.

As I conclude this blog post in here, I wish to ask myself this question again: WHAT IS THE NEXT NEW THING? I hope till the next time, I write again, we will be having a definitive reply, an encouraging answer to this question. Till then we have to take our health a little more seriously and may have to continue chanting - #StayHomeStaySafe.

- Virtuous Vociferous | June 08 | June Blog-1 | What If | 2020

A summer so different

Courtesy: Google

This summer

is definitely different

by all means.

It is tough to love summers! No matter how long you stay locked indoors, it is still tough to love summers. And no two summers are comparable. No two summers can be hotter or less hot than the other. No two summers can be more pleasant or less unpleasant than the other. Summers or in that case, every weather is unique by nature. But what about the SUMMER OF 2020. Well, what about it? Simply a memory maybe! Of having stayed indoors throughout the summer of 2020.

Summers; all of us will unanimously agree; no summer sounds as poetic as Bryan Adams had made it sound in his all-time hot song - SUMMER OF 69. He had sung and I quote:

Oh, when I look back now

That summer seemed to last forever

And if I had the choice

Yeah, I'd always wanna be there

Those were the best days of my life

How memorable that summer could have been to inspire an entire song of such intoxicating nature!

Maybe one year down the line, we would look back to this SUMMER OF 2020. By the same time, next year, we should hope that things would be fine; life would be great; travel would be colorful. And we might sing… That summer seemed to last forever; but those days were not the best days of our lives.

This summer is definitely different by all means. No news channel is reporting deaths due to sun stroke. But there are deaths being reported due to a pandemic. A pandemic which shattered a part of our winter, a major part of our spring and now has almost spoiled our entire summer. Airports are lying empty, railway platforms look lifeless, roads wear an abandoned look. Who knew that in the year of 2020; there will be no summer vacations; there will be no summer picnics; there will be no summer escapade to the hill stations; there will be no quick summer breaks by the seaside!

We didn’t dread any of the summers. We braved the odds. Many a times, our skins have turned red, infections have taken over, sweat has turned sticky and throats have run thirsty. Yet, we never wished to miss out on those summers as well. But we are left with no choice; it seems like we have to give this summer a miss.

Mangoes have gone live. Watermelons are trending. Bananas are being shared and mentioned. Yet the fun of eating them during this summer seems to have gone missing. We can only expect the fun to return next year. Hope is our only umbrella. Let us seek some shelter beneath it. Let us enjoy whatever is remaining of this summer; if not being outdoors, at least being indoors!

Maybe ten years down the line, when we would be seated in some corner of the world, we would look back to this summer and take a long breath. We will shut our eyes, think of the tough times and then get back to life to narrate that one story of a summer… A SUMMER SO DIFFERENT.

- Virtuous Vociferous | May 26 | May Blog-3 | What If | 2020

THROUGH THE DAY

She is relentless.

Over the years, she has been wielding power.

I remember the slogan, she had introduced us to – Mother, Earth, Human.

We were waking up to brightness from an era of darkness.

Her arrival on the political canvas had meant independence from hooliganism.

Sorry to make a note and blow a bugle of caution; she has reversed the course of hooliganism and remolded it into something worse than that.

Her political demands have never followed a pattern.

In the past, she was a rebel, I had personally looked up to.

Today, she is someone, I don’t wish to even catch a glimpse of.

Her speeches are punctuated with hatred.

The least, I had expected of her was to witness an unnecessary change – West Bengal to Bangla.

What next?

She is talented.

Today she turned the stage into a space of well-choreographed miracle.

I read through the reviews, she had curated to be shared across.

It didn’t take me much time to realize; I had missed out on a real talent, performing live on stage.

Till the eventuality of ‘next time’ resurfaces and she decides to dance on stage, I shall wait.

She is unpredictable.

I know it was not on purpose.

The language is to be blamed. The time is to be held responsible.

During late hours, none of us are at liberty to weigh the impact of words.

I might have overreacted; it seemed so unnecessary the next moment.

Just a word, to think about. In the end, everything remains the same.

She is happiness.

I am sure, she might have repeated the shade of yellow.

Her fondness for that particular color isn’t hidden.

It was her birthday yesterday. She made sure to wear the shade, which always makes her happy.

Our conversations were too thin throughout the day.

But somehow, I left her craving for a cup of tea, just through a menial conversation of mine.

She is trying.

I know, it is not too easy to tolerate someone who has grown unpredictable.

But life needs to be balanced between possibilities and probabilities.

I think someday, she will definitely get the picture right in her mind.

Maybe that day, her anger and her irritation will also settle down.

She is daredevil.

In the toughest of moments, she will end up sending a message, which will guarantee a hefty laugh.

Her approach towards life is so positively driven, I am timelessly greedy to continue seeking inspiration from her.

She is calm.

Storms don’t move her a bit; emotional storms to be precise.

She never reacts. She neither overreacts.

She prays. She prays through days. She prays through nights.

All she has is the one, she gave birth too.

She makes sure, he continues to live his dreams and makes their dreams comes true.

She is clueless.

Guided by wrong people, her mistakes are not to be counted or discussed about.

After a period of time, she is to be forgiven and forgotten.

She is she.

Spending time amidst children with special needs isn’t easy.

But she does it with envious ease.

Through the day all I sensed…  

She is some kind of a mystic medley that surrounds me.

- Virtuous Vociferous | July 27 | July Blog-4 | Making of the beast | 2018

IN THE SERIES OF NASTY REALITY/REALITIES

In general, I am too careful about anything or everything that belongs to me. I am overprotective. I am over possessive. I am overzealous in making tall claims about how nothing goes missing. But such are the twists of times. In the last one month’s time, I’ve lost two things; the loss of which pushes me down the aisle of unnecessary thoughts. But the truth remains unchanged; I couldn’t insure myself against these losses. 

So, what are the two things, which I couldn’t protect from losing?

A total of two: 1) A digital lock and 2) The duplicate key to my bicycle.

In a span of two months, two losses! Therefore, this is not my moment of glory or considerable fodder to imagine, craft, write or narrate a story. But I am still at it; greedy enough to tell the story.

The digital lock that I am speaking about just disappeared. Even though I don’t remember the exact time day, date and the moment of the loss, I remember having returned from my seven-day stay in Kolkata and seeing it hanging intact, from one of the corners of my suitcase. A minute later that I was reminded of procuring the same and putting it back to its regular place, the digital lock had disappeared. But I believe the loss was inevitable. The signs and symbols of its loss had been coming my way for a long time. I ignored all of them. I do remember a similar experience in the month of April. We had not gone too far but, we still chose to pack our clothes in a suitcase, which was locked with the help of the same digital lock (now lost). On our return, the lock had disappeared in similar circumstances and resurrected after a week. This time, the loss took an irreversible form when the combing operation launched by me (within the residence) produced no results. The investigation was carried out for one week in a row. The investigation included lying flat on the ground to check the remains beneath the bed. The investigation also involved a moment wherein I extracted every stinky content from the trash can, placed them on a piece of paper and still failed to locate the digital clock. The digital lock had disappeared. I suffered a loss and I haven’t yet stopped repenting the loss.

The second incident of losing another possession of mine took place this morning. At around 5 AM, I put my hands in a cloth jacket, to pull out the keys to my bicycle. On pulling out the key-chain, I was shocked to see one of the duplicated keys having gone missing. Once again, the instantly launched combing operation yielded no results. Signs of this loss had come my way in the beginning of this week. The (now) missing key had chosen to dive out of my trouser. But I managed to put it back. But the story changed this morning. I had incurred another loss.

But I am amused by the pattern of these losses. The digital lock went missing in the beginning and was followed up by the loss of a key. Are these back-to-back losses trying to hint at something? The lock was the first in the series, the key next and then what next? These two losses also make me realize that nothing is permanent in this world. The concept of ‘nothing is permanent’ is too special to me. The credit of my faith belongs to the creation of a Mandala, the representation of the world in divine form, perfectly balanced, precisely designed, is meant to re-consecrate the earth and heal its inhabitants. But it is more than a picture. It requires millions of pieces of sand to make a mandala five by five feet square. It requires a team of monks working anywhere from days to weeks, depending on the size of the mandala, to create this floor plan of the sacred mansion that is life. It requires the interplay of vivid colors and ancient symbols.

When the mandala is finally finished, however long it takes for the monks to deal in this divine geometry of the heavens, they pray over it — and then they destroy it. They sweep it up, every last grain of sand and give handfuls of it away to those who participate in the closing ceremony as a final memory of sublime possibility. Then they throw the rest of the sand into the nearest living stream to be swept into the ocean to bless the whole world. And that’s it. It’s gone. In an instant, after all that artistry, all that work, it’s over.

The underlying message of the mandala ceremony is that ‘nothing is permanent’. Nothing. All things are in flux, it says, beautiful but ephemeral, moving but temporary, a plateau but not a summit. All things are called to balance and enlightenment and the fulfillment of the Divine image in them, yes, but in flux. Always in flux.

Nothing is permanent, neither their state in life — nor ours. The fact is that the politics of permanence is a sham. It has never lasted, and it never will.

I am sure there is an underlying message in my two losses too. The loss of the digital lock indicates that I should not lock myself within the confines of my past or present, pleasant/unpleasant, memorable/forgettable memories, experiences, emotions. I should break free. The loss of the duplicate key to my bicycle indicates that I should endeavor unlocking new doors, new experiences and a new life (a ‘nomadic’ life). In short, I need to let go millions or handful of things by telling myself – ‘nothing is permanent’. And I have to accept the fact that the series of realities will continue being nasty.

(Please note: The text for Mandala portion is a reproduction of https://www.huffingtonpost.com/sister-joan-chittister-osb/mandala-why-destroy-it_b_970479.html)

-Virtuous Vociferous | November 25 | November Blog-2 | 2017