The 15 year BLOGVERSARY - September 19 | 2005-2020

 

September 22-2020/ Blog #1

This blog is my voice.  An extension of my personality. 

My blog www.virtuousvociferous.blogspot.com is just five years younger to my career span in the advertising industry. I owe its evolution to my learning from the advertising industry and the world. 

This blog is my voice. This blog is an extension of my personality. This blog takes its name from my crafted identity on Facebook. But when I started writing this blog, it had a very different identity. I commenced blogging with the title of Bengal Surprise. Eventually I chose to change it to Urban Surprise. Somehow, these names weren’t ringing a bell. I still don’t remember exactly as to what made me change its name to Virtuous Vociferous. But I am happy, I did so. As the name changed, so did my style of writing. I owe the change in my writing style to authors like Jhumpa Lahiri, Jeffrey Archer, Karl Ove Knausgaard, Bishwanath Ghosh, Mark Manson, Piyush Jha, Piyush Pandey, Prasoon Pandey and Manav Kaul. I’ve time and again referred to their writings; read their books; followed their interviews; watched their interviews; listened to their podcasts. This influence has been stupendous. 

I am also lucky to have some great friends around me. They read my blog. On many occasions, whenever I have shared a link of my newly published blog post, they make time to comment. Some also make sure to highlight the paragraphs, they liked the most. And when I tend to act lazy, these are those friends who call me, write to me and remind me - I NEED TO WRITE. I never mind them coaxing me. It is their love and faith which made me add the title of ‘WHAT AM I WRITING NEXT?’ to my page. I am immensely thankful to them too. 

On September 19, 2020 the blog turned fifteen. I remember the night of September 19, 2005 when I had posted my first blog at around 10.30 pm. I was overcome by joy. I felt overwhelmed. From then, till today, my blog has served as a foundation for me to write and share my thoughts with the world. 

My blog has made me reach out to people. My blog has invited attention too. I would like to share a small incident regarding the same. One of the renowned Page Three socialites from Mumbai had not only commented on a blog post. But she made it a point to meet me at a book launch. In a very polite manner, she pointed out to me the aspects of that blog post. The parts, which she loved the most. The parts, which she felt should be deleted. The parts, which she felt were simply brilliant. She took keen interest in this blog post because I had based it on her life, which was again written about by Sir Jeffrey Archer. 

All these fifteen years have been interesting. All these fifteen years have enriched my experience. All these fifteen years of the blog has been a celebration of a journey through listening, observing and learning too. 

I invite you all to be a part of this celebration. Your participation will only motivate me to keep writing and keep this blog Virtuous Vociferous. 

-Virtuous Vociferous/ What If/ 2020

July’s rain-less beginning

Photography by Purnesh Bhattacharya

July 02-2020/ Blog #1

It is not my nature

to complain against

Mother Nature.

Turning a new leaf of the calendar; stepping into the new month; breathing in a new aroma; it is time to embark on a new journey. No, if you think, I am going to step out; it isn’t practically possible or advisable at this moment. We have to practice patience for the good times to make a comeback. The agents of change are working towards it. Let’s have some faith. Let’s strengthen our belief.

July’s advent at this moment seems a bit odd though. If you’re in Mumbai right now, you should be knowing that July is one of those months when the clouds are in good mood. But this time, the clouds seem to have proceeded on an undeclared holiday. The skies are clean. This morning, we did see some clouds hovering around. But like a misled fleet of birds, they left almost immediately. The atmosphere somehow continued being fragrant. This fragrance seemed to have traveled our way from a distant place.

At this juncture, I would like to say, I had really wanted to begin writing this piece by seeking your attention and mentioning Greetings of July. We can still wish the same to each other; isn’t it? Greetings of July. Why should we leave the month feeling discriminated just because the first signs of a healthy monsoon are fading out fast! Let’s leave it to Mother Nature. She might have her own plans to organize the entry and exit of clouds. I hope when the clouds come next, they take a pause for some while. They can simply spend quality time with the skies, which spread over our city.

Our city comes alive in rains; I have been witnessing this phenomenon for the last four decades. Wouldn’t you like to see it come alive yet again? In fact, few days back when a storm had developed on the western coast, I had pulled out an umbrella. I had also sought the assistance of a friend to cover certain parts of our home’s exteriors with the blue colored plastic sheets. Our only goal was to protect those certain parts from leaking.

Speaking about leakage, mom and I sat discussing those days of our lives, we spent in heavily leaking homes. We would not dread the monsoons; but, we would certainly dread the repercussions of rains. You may also laugh at me, while I confess that I still see those homes in my dreams. Even in dreams, I see them leak, a lot more profusely. The leakage was rampant during this particular month of heavy downpours; the month of July. Now, here’s this July. We are waking up to sunshine every morning; bright and happy sunshine. Am I complaining against the sunshine? No, it is not my nature to complain against Mother Nature. I am just wondering, if we are missing the rains or the rains have given our city a miss. This prolonged phase of cloudless skies and rain-less surroundings leaves the heart wrenched. Since we are still inside our homes; just imagine staring out of the window to catch a glimpse of the rains and its unmistakable melody.

The month of July as we have known it throughout our lives has always packed a surprise. Maybe the July of 2020 too has some surprises in store for us. So, as I reach the last part of this post, I am staring out of the window. Our gallery is looking brighter; not because of the sunshine alone! The picturesque bloom of fresh marigolds has changed the otherwise somber mood. Just like the marigolds keep coming back to make us smile; this month of July shall also return to its full bloom. The clouds would return; so would the rains. Till then, let’s celebrate July and be happy about turning another leaf of our lives.

- Virtuous Vociferous | What If | 2020

The Missing Rainbow

Photo Courtesy: Google

Deaths are defeating lives.

Diseases are endangering survival.

Everything has changed around us.

Conversations muted. Movement limited. Socializing curtailed. Freedom denied.

The windows are open; the rays of sun are in; the birds are chirping; but human voices have gone missing.

The doors are open; the breeze is in; the dry leaves of plants and trees are flying in; but humans aren’t walking in.

The world seems to stand divided between – Inner and Outer world.

Everything has come to a standstill.

Happiness seems to have vanished.

Time has paused.

The car, which was left parked after a road trip hasn’t gone beyond the housing colony. The air pressure in the tyres is decreasing every day. The fuel tank is on the verge of running dry. The bike, which is in urgent need of servicing is stationary.

Vacations stand cancelled. Engagements and weddings stand postponed.

We have lost half of March, the whole of April and few parts of May.

Our financial scenario looks pale. Our emotional scenario appears scarred.

Queues are to be seen; outside wine shops, ration shops, police stations, offices of local political leaders. Some want to get drunk; some wish to continue staying overstocked; some are willing to go home; some are still eager to seek privileges.

Trains have stopped running. Flights have stopped taking off. Vehicles have stopped moving between cities, districts, states and countries. Ships are anchored at the shores; there are no immediate signs or symbols of them sailing anytime sooner.

Exams have been cancelled. Projects have been stalled. Employment opportunities have been thinning out. The processes of recruitment have been slowing down.

We made some noise. We lit some candles. We did every possible thing to keep the crisis away. But, strangely the crisis seems far from getting over. Every single day, the crisis keeps growing, multiplying.

Deaths are defeating lives. Diseases are endangering survival.

Hotels aren’t available to stay. Restaurants aren’t serving. Sea beaches are sealed. Resorts are shut.

Once upon a time, this life seemed like a colorful rainbow. The rainbow has gone missing.

Right now, desperately seeking The Missing Rainbow.

- Virtuous Vociferous | May 06 | May Blog-1 | What If | 2020

OF MANY MAHARASHTRA(S)

OF MANY MAHARASHTRA(s), 
this abusive terrain of MAHARASHTRA 
is depressing.

A few hours ago, Zee Marathi had held me spellbound with the story of ANANDI GOPAL. And, many hours down the line, I am thinking of the many MAHARASHTRA(s); I am aware of; or all of us could be wanting to making ourselves aware of.

Of course, the MAHARASHTRA(s), which I am willing to talk and write about are different. But I wish to write this from the deepest corner of my heart – I AM HAPPY TO CALL MAHARASHTRA MY FIRST HOME; I WAS BORN HERE. THE FOOD I EAT, COMES FROM THE SOIL OF MAHARASHTRA. THE AIR, WHICH I BREATHE IS OF MAHARASHTRA. THE LANGUAGE, WHICH I UNDERSTAND IS OF MAHARASHTRA. THE HOME, WHICH WELCOMES ME BACK IS BUILT ON THIS BRAVE SOIL OF MAHARASHTRA.

Now, coming back to ANANDI GOPAL, I once again wish to say how concentrated were the efforts to bring this story to our households. We have known Anandi Gopal as the first female physician of India. I hope all of the MAHARASHTRA(s) too knows her as the first female physician of India. But have we made her a household name yet? Sadly, We Haven’t! Or some have, but we aren’t updated about! Sounds strange, isn’t it? 

Interestingly ANANDI GOPAL was born and brought up on the same land of Maharashtra, on which most of us have been brought up in. But that era was different. Yes, we prefer saying that often – ERAS DIFFER. PEOPLE AND THEIR THOUGHTS DIFFER. And, I stand to argue, where have we left the better part of MAHARASHTRA behind? Why have we even left many MAHARASHTRA(s) behind us?

At this juncture, I intend to add a little more strength to my argument. Right now in 2019, we are in MAHARASHTRA again. Of the many MAHARASHTRA(s) that I have known; of the many MAHARASHTRA (s), I recently discovered during my road trip; of the many MAHARASHTRA(s), which has been home to some of the finest people in Indian history and civilization, I am not too happy to see an ill-treating MAHARASHTRA.

I meet this ill-treating MAHARASHTRA every day. This Maharashtra is not found starting a day with the song of GARJA MAHARASHTRA MAJHA. This Maharashtra is found bouncing abuses every morning. What kind of MAHARASHTRA is this? People walk on feet to catch only a whimsical glimpse of Lord Vithala during the month of Ashad. People carry palanquins on their bare shoulders to show their faith in their Lord. People forgo non vegetarian food for a month to welcome their favorite Lord Ganesha home. And this is the same MAHARASHTRA, which addresses each other as Motherfuckers. Yes, of the MAHARASHTRA, I am speaking about, this is the everyday code of conduct. 

This abusive MAHARASHTRA is the most depressing part of all the MAHARASHTRA(s), we are proud of; I am immensely proud of. No one is spared in these MAHARASHTRA(s). The saga begins with Mothers. Then it travels to Sisters. When desperation sets in, this saga catches hold of the throats of Wives, Lovers, Partners, Friends, etcetera, etcetera.  

OF MANY MAHARASHTRA(s), this abusive terrain of MAHARASHTRA is depressing. I am curious to know, how can ‘being abusive’ motivate someone to greater extent! If it does, then of many MAHARASHTRA(s), this is the best. And if I see no one still feeling motivated, then this MAHARASHTRA is not the dream of Tilak, Gokhale, Savarkar, Mangeshkar, Madgoolkar, Shantaram, Kotnis, Ambedkar, Phule, Patkar, Sakpal, Bhosale or other greats. 

To conclude, I can only thank the legacy of many better versions of MAHARASHTRA(s), which I have luckily been able to discover and learn about. As for what ANANDI GOPAL could have stood to hear of or tear off from the loud abusive MAHARASHTRA(s) of recent times? Just cannot be imagine.

So, till the time when all the abusive MAHARASHTRA(s) learn to behave, I shall look forward to those MAHARASHTRA(s), which gave birth to real stories of Jijabai, Muktabai, Savitribai, Ramabai, Ahilyabai. Or to the story of that one man, who stood at the peak of Raigad and thought of Swarajya. At least I can stay safe from an abusive morning audience of the sick-tongued, depressing MAHARASHTRA(s) within the hearts of less known MAHARASHTRA(s).

- Virtuous Vociferous | August 19 | August Blog-2 | Never Settle | 2019

THE SHADOW OF THE EVENING

FRIENDSHIP is 

THE SHADOW OF THE EVENING, 

which increases with 

the setting sun of life.

‘I did read your story. You know, one of those stories, you had shared a link of it one fine day. Yeah, now I remember. THE TINY TRAIN TO NOWHERE. It was a good story. I loved it. I simply loved it.’

If I had paid attention to the roaring sound of swelling rains. If I had thought about my car, which I had parked beneath a half bent branch of a fragile tree. If I had focused on the 50 second promo of an upcoming sitcom… If I had done any of those; I could have missed these golden words. These words are from an evening, which I had almost no hopes from. But I still chose to drove down. And during discussions around our love for books, he spoke up. In the shadow of rains and a ruthless power cut; these were his words. Words, which came my way from my dear friend of childhood.

‘At times, I look at your Facebook posts. I must tell you, I don’t like them. You are a positive person. You are way more optimistic than me. You read so many books. But why are you so angry? Why are you so hurt? Get rid of those negative energies and stop being rude to yourself. If you wish to send out your own vibes, make sure they are positive!’

More than social media, he has known me more in reality. I never thought, we can ever be friends. Strangely little did we know that we were bound to be friends, from our college days till today. Not only does the journey of our lives run parallel to each other. But the journeys of our tragedies have been running parallel too. Honestly speaking, we share the same timeline of bitter events and broken memories. Yet, whenever we meet in the shadow of our conversations and breathless laughter; his words echo within me.

‘I am the roommate of your friend. As I like reading she suggested me if I would like to read your book and return to her. So I did read half of the book and I really liked it. It's the less words which impacts, and you made it clear with your book. Though I have few questions out of curiosity if you don't mind answering!! I am yet to finish your book; I will give you feedback once I am done with it totally. Till then take care.’

In the shadow of my table lamp, on July 28-2017, at round 9.07 pm, I was reading this email from her. I hadn’t seen her. But I knew, she had read my first ever book – BETWEEN MEMORIES OF YOU AND ME, We Exist. Then she wrote again…

‘Things that came to my mind when I was reading your book that is... Has he been through this? Or has he seen anyone around him going through the same and he has written in? Where did you get your inspiration to write this book? And why this subject? I am just curious because every writer is a normal person first that is the reason I am asking you this question. Don't worry about responding soon. Take your own time I have no hurry!! Hope you have a good week!’

Since July 28-2017 till today, our conversations sounds the same. She writes in more to me than I write back less to her. Yet, she is one of those, who will sit in the shadow of the most simplistic thing, smile effortlessly and make me imagine again. My imaginations will continue stretching between July 28-2017 and August 02-2019. Still nothing would change between this friend of mine and me.

‘Be in allowance. Question everything. Don’t expect anything. We are all here, in this world for a reason. Let life take its own time. Let the universe answer everything in its own way. Don’t be rigid. Be in allowance.’

We met after a decade. We met in the overcrowded, loud surrounds of a food court on the second level of a newly opened mall on a less known highway. Her thoughts had changed. Her life had rapidly changed. But she had remained the same friend, I had met almost ten years ago. We never had long conversations then. She had just joined the office. Yet, we stayed in touch. Only to thank this today in our lives, when we still discuss our lives at ease and with loads of love. She has been a positive influence and in the shadow of her soulful smile, I always look forward to a life, which hasn’t yet showered all the little gems of happiness on us.

‘One day, I wish to go there with you, my friend. I have heard it’s an ‘unreal’ place.’

On October 18, 2016, in the shadow of tough morning hours, I read this message of hers. These words of hers were written across to me, in the company of a photograph. The photograph was that of Havana in Cuba. These were her honest words. And when I did meet this friend of mine, she came down dressed in my favorite shade of yellow. From then till today, I have always called her ‘HOLOOD PRAJAPATI’ meaning Yellow Butterfly. As a friend, from a distance of more than 2000 kms, she sends me positive vibes of immense nature. Every time, I am faced with a challenge, she empowers me with one or the other mantra of Good Life.

‘I had to make a choice between a call, chat, message and a letter. And I chose to write a letter to you.’

Between the months of May 2018 and August 2018, I was a broken soul. I had left the job with an agency I had given 48 months of my life to. I had sacrificed my personal happiness too, to meet their deadlines and build a reputation of high honor for them. But I was mistaken. They ignored me and made sure to build up pathetic pressure, which left things intolerable for me and I chose to depart. My salary was withheld. My bank accounts were running dry. And I was in serious debt. In the shadow of unending problems, I received a call. She was my one-time colleague from a communication house, we had both worked together in. She was calling me to make an offer. That offer was going to change my life forever. I ended up writing the script for UBUNTU, a play performed by the autistic kids of a well-established school in South Mumbai. The school paid me, what I demanded. The script was well-appreciated. And I am still thankful to my friend of mine, who introduced me to the never known world of innocence. Even today, she reads every word of mine with great interest and always tells me – Keep Writing. 

All words, I wrote here are real words of no one else but my friends. These are those friends who have stood by me during all the thick and thins. These are friends who have stood by me during broken days and shattered nights. These are friends and their words who have always made me believe – They are there for me.

But that doesn’t necessarily mean that those who are not friends any more are not important to me. They are very important. In fact, when I helped them, they still chose to show me, I mean nothing to them. I thank them for this honesty of their betrayal and hurt. At least by betraying my trust and hurting me deeply, they have proved to me that FRIENDSHIP is THE SHADOW OF THE EVENING, which increases with the setting sun of life.

Trust me, those six up there are the six most important shadows of my life. And if you are wondering, why haven’t I mentioned their names; I must say they don’t even need to be named. They know, I love them all IMMENSELY.

Apart from the six most important shadows of my life, A BIG SHOUT OUT TO MY FRIENDS FROM PUNE. LOVE YOU ALL FOR EVERYTHING THAT YOU MEAN TO ME AND WILL CONTINUE BEING TO ME.

Love you all. Happy Friendship Day.

- Virtuous Vociferous | August 04 | August Blog-1 | Never Settle | 2019

A VERY PERSONAL STORY

To that place of our lives,
we were born in, we might
end up feeling indebted 
to the author who’s penning
down the book for. 

We don’t live there anymore. But we never miss revisiting that place in our conversations. The place is such. It always manages to find a mention in some of our anecdotes from yesteryear.

I would also like to say that we grew with the place in our hearts.

Even though it took me some of those job interviews of initial days to figure out, that this place was yet to find a geographical confirmation. I never gave up mentioning it proudly in my curriculum vitae.

I still remember how people would make faces. Some would say that they had never heard of this place.

During one of the interviews, I had to put up a skit of ten minutes to lie about this town being a place closer to Navi Mumbai.

Yet, the significance of this place remained unexplored.

Until it took one of its own to decide and put this place on a broader spectrum of conversations.  

This place that I’ve been writing about for long is none other than KALWA.

Still a small town of innumerable possibilities, thriving by the banks of the stupendous Thane creek and for once actually serving the common link between Navi Mumbai, Northern Mumbai and Greater Mumbai. And one should not forget to mention; Kalwa even today proudly matches its steps with Thane as its neighboring town. In much better ways as well.

But who is this one of Kalwa’s very own, who has decided to put it on a broader spectrum of conversations? He is Mr Nishant Mhatre. My best friend Mr Anil Mhatre’s younger brother and a son of the same soil that we grew up playing with, shaping our future with.

Nishant’s pursuit is exceptionally interesting. He still prefers to call Kalwa as his native place or his ‘own’ village. He makes it sound more personal when he says it – My Village Kalwa. He supports it with a sub headline, which brings to fore his love for Kalwa. In his sub headline, he mentions Kalwa as his place of birth and his place of workmanship. 

All of us who were born and brought up in Kalwa, should appreciate Nishant’s passion for the place. At the same time, we should support him with whatever we hold closer to our hearts and has to do something about Kalwa. 

I still remember being at his elder’s brother’s place in Pune. As the conversations rolled out and Anil’s wife Anita served me a glass of water; we had Kalwa on our lips. Anita, Anil and I grew up in the same locality. Anil made it more interesting when he called Nishant one of the most important custodians of Kalwa. 

Nishant’s project of passion came into limelight when my mom showed a WhatsApp message. In this message, Nishant had asked her about old photographs of our school; our very own Jnan Vikas Mandal’s New English School. He too remembers our school from our days of black and white memories; a thatched roof, a modest beginning and a memorable metamorphosis of sorts.

If Nishant’s passion for the place is to be believed, he has put himself up for a mammoth task. I only hope he manages to weave in together the time, the energy and the vision to complete this project on time. 

Exclusive copyrights are with the author

He might be writing this book in Marathi. But if he agrees, I would like to be the first official English translator of this book to take it to a wider global audience.

At a stage when I am yet to properly finish work on my second most book, Nishant has already lit the mind with a tiny spark of gigantic inspiration. I would happily want him to surpass me.

For whatever Kalwa has been waiting for, Nishant is going to be the pioneer to make it happen.

To the Kalwa of our lives, we might end up feeling indebted to Nishant Mhatre for his dream to come true.

- Virtuous Vociferous | June 09 | June Blog-1 | Never Settle | 2019

BLEEDING CIVILIZATION

(All the above pictures have been clicked by me at 8.45 pm, February 23)

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning. You’re just awake. Perhaps enjoying a hot cup of tea. You might also be in a mood to turn a few pages of the Sunday newspaper. If you’re not interested in current affairs, it doesn’t matter. It’s a Sunday and you will always seek pleasure from the pleasant things of life. Am I any different from you? I too will follow the same. And, I might also feel very displeased, if someone decides to ruin my Sunday by bringing me face to face with something absolutely unpleasant. None of us will be interested in leaving the comfort zone, made freely available by every Sunday of our lives; one after the other. But I am helpless. I am eager to seek your company in something that’s immensely unpleasant in nature. 

For the last five years, the country’s leadership has been trying its level best to ensure a ‘Swachh Bharat’, a so called ‘Clean India’. And, let me remind you, this vision is not of an intolerant political party but a vision once shared by the father of our nation; none other than the ambassador of peace Mahatma Gandhi. He had once said and I quote – CLEANLINESS IS NEXT TO GODLINESS. And, this cleanliness is achievable, only when we, the people decide to be civilized. But, we seem to be failing at it every day. Yes, we are!

Ever since rules/duties of ‘Swachh Bharat’ have been implemented, we have been doing our bit to ensure adopting them in our day to day activities. But, there is no dearth of uncivilized minds, who will make sure that India continues to look unclean. I think their minds will continue to remain sick like the self-proclaimed NRIs of our school. Not all of them, but a handful of them from our 1993 batch (specifically 2/3 of them). These minds are so sick that at the sight of anything clean, they will try their best to leave it unclean. The same happened to my car, last evening. I think, a group of tobacco/gutka/pan masala munchers couldn’t digest the cleanliness standards, I maintain for my car. The shade of my car being white, such wrongdoers get easily attracted to it. So this group or individual made sure that they smear the front door, some portion of the window glass and the door handle with their red colored spirit. I had parked my car in a silent lane. Immediately after a span of mere 15 minutes, when I came back to my car, I saw this ghastly site. The first few words, which came to my mind instantly were – OUR CIVILIZATION IS BLEEDING. This is third time in the row, when such a thing has repeated itself.

Honestly speaking we are not yet civilized. I think, at times some of us decide to program an ecosystem of one-sided revenge by simply choosing to act in such uncivilized manner. I’ve no idea as to at what fault, my car was! Or, did any of my action was so hurtful to anyone that they chose to leave the car door painted in red. For a second, it almost felt that a bleeding civilization had left my car to bleed alone. I must actually be saying that the so called modern civilization is bleeding. The bad blood within them is going to take some time to flow out.

This action of the unknown, unseen miscreants have not angered me. But I am concerned about the state of coming days. Are we going to fail the dream, the mission, the vision of ‘Swachh Bharat’ or ‘Clean India’? Are we going to fail the father of our nation, who at one point of time belonged to a tolerant political party? Or we will sit in front of our television sets to be a voiceless participant in the mindless debates, which break out against the current leadership of the country. 

Through this post of mine, I wish to make an appeal; if a little bit of pride of being an Indian is left in you, stop being a part of this bleeding civilization. Stop being a part of a civilization, which bleeds for no reason and makes cleanliness bleed every day, makes clean things bleed every day. At least for once, stop being like those self-proclaimed NRIs, who have fled the country to embrace slavery and cleanliness of foreign nations.

- Virtuous Vociferous | February 24 | February Blog-4 | Never Settle | 2019

WHAT COULD BE MY FEBRUARY STORY?

It takes time to crossover from one written piece to the other. Yes, it does take ample amount of time for the crossover to take place successfully. After having posted my last blog update on December 31, 2018, I couldn’t match pace with my restlessly thinking mind, vigorously browsing vision and self-imposed relaxing therapies. Thus, I am yet to figure out, ‘what could be my February story?’

My February story could be my second book. When I talk about my second book, eyebrows go up like mini parachutes, lips are left partly ajar. Surprises are always going to be welcome, when my first book was a self-published attempt, which eventually didn’t get caught in ugly thunderstorms of irrelevance or failure. The book made its silent debut and still sits on the desks, in the shelves, over wardrobes of innumerable friends and well-wishers. Poems and quotes from my first book still find mentions on some pages of social media. Coming back to my February story, it could be my second book for sure. The so called second book has an interesting character with an uncharacteristic name. This uncharacteristic name will remind everyone of something about themselves. I would have loved so much to reveal a little more about my second book and the characters in it; being selfish, I won’t!

Since winters have made a comeback, my February story could be the winters by themselves. But then, won’t that be a repeat of something I wrote and posted on this blog with the title of ‘holding on to winters’, dated December 18? Anyway the verb ‘repeat’ enjoys a healthy association in the bar, which serves top and low quality alcohol to insanely thirsty throats and egos. Thus, my February story needs to be different.

What if February being the month of love, my February story talks about love? Does that sound like a good idea, when 100s of websites are ready to bombard us with free bytes on love? No matter, how strange, it may sound; Valentine’s Day just missed the mark of being my February story.

Did I tell you that I watched URI-The Surgical Strike? I could easily have written about it. If I ever make a movie or shoot a documentary, which I would, someday (definitely a documentary), I would want to write it that way! Since I am a fan of bound scripts, I won’t make the film/documentary till I have a proper script in place. At this stage, the overall thought of wanting to shoot a documentary could be my February story. My only concern is, when I am talking about the February story, does a desire sound like a story? Does it really sound like a story? I think, this part is in need of some introspection. Yet, it lacks the gravity of becoming my February story.

And then, the other day I was traveling by train. Just one of those journeys when I wasn’t in a mood to pick up a fight with a fellow traveler. Little did I realize, first class compartments are filled with good, bad and ugly egos! Yes, these egos can grow immensely loud and can act like bloodhounds. Trust me, they can. From a single moment of me refusing to put a passenger’s bag on the rack, the situation catapulted itself to a warlike situation. To conclude, it was a bag it or die without it situation. Sounds interesting? Thus, it will always find a place in one of the other books of mine (soon to begin work upon). Therefore I chose to strike it out from the list of many things, which I think could have been my February story.

As I get ready to conclude this update and am left to decide upon my February story, I am trying to probe, why did I leave January alone? Well, January begins with a big bang of resolutions. And I think that is what my heart is still transfixed with. To keep it simple, I think I have stumbled upon my February story. Will I be writing it? If I could think about it, I can definitely write it too!

To end on a happy note, I think, I was busy seeking and searching for my February story. I found it.

- Virtuous Vociferous | February 11 | February Blog-1 | Never Settle | 2019

IN HOT AND COLD PURSUIT OF MY OWN WORDS

Ever since, I’ve started reading Karl Ove Knausgård's ‘A DEATH IN THE FAMILY’, the first book in his ‘My Struggle’ series, one line has stayed with me. On the 218th page, he reveals – Writing is more about destroying than creating. Let me add, people who aren’t passionate about reading or not remotely interested in writing, will definitely get this line wrong, absolutely wrong. It is not just a line; but it is a deep insight. An insight, Karl Ove Knausgård credits another writer with. He speaks about Jean Nicolas Arthur Rimbaud, who seems to have realized this, at a very early age. But my second only post for the month of August is not about discussing Knausgård’s books or Rimbaud’s philosophy. This blog post is driven by the insight – Writing is more about destroying than creating. 

As someone had said in the past, it’s difficult to understand some of my writings. Initially I took it as a scathing remark and criticism of my work too. But I think, I misinterpreted. I feel so because they have never been close to the passion of writing or to the habit of reading. At the same time, everyone has the equal right to react towards anything and everything. 

I wish to simplify it further. Not many years before when social media exploded in our lives, we took to it like fish to water. After the debacle of Orkut, my writings found a new home in Facebook, a studio apartment in twitter and a penthouse in LinkedIn. The sense of freedom was so immense; I chose to develop a new identity of my own. Even though this newly designed identity demands a complete story of its own, I wish to push ahead by saying that Virtuous Vociferous is my alter ego on Facebook. On twitter, I am @puruthegreat; on LinkedIn, I’ve stuck to my presence as Purnesh Bhattacharya. Under all names, I chose to write what I think, I should; because I believed in my thoughts. I never gave it a thought that the outer world is equally interested in my thoughts. No I didn’t give it a second thought, because I was not completely interested in the thoughts of others. Thus began my journey of words.

Sometimes I went too far; at times, I stayed too close and on most occasions, I wrote seamlessly without any apprehension in my mind. As my words grew braver, my text bigger and my thoughts wider; the outer world deep dived in my writing matters. 

Recently someone read this on my LinkedIn page - The habit of asking too many questions might go against you in the real world. Especially when others don't believe that asking questions are the first necessary steps to lead change from front. The person who read this, first liked this post and then went out announcing to the world that I am writing dangerous things on LinkedIn. My writings/posts on Facebook met with the same fate. Objections, opinions and oddities swarmed together, which eventually led to me deciding to stop sharing my thoughts, up loud or clearly on Facebook. I don’t know, who decided to take things in their control and start telling me that I was revealing more than what could meet the eyes of my contenders. Prior to that, a school friend of mine had made fun of the length of my writings on Facebook; he chose to even ask a stupid question – How much does Facebook pay you to write so frequently and so much on your wall? Initially I chose to brush him aside. But he didn’t stop there; he started posting filthy comments on my writings. I didn’t block him. I only blocked him when he thought that advertising his recent hobbies was really cool on Facebook. His length of thoughts seemed to spill out of his own wall on Facebook. Some more recent digs over a year led to me abandoning writing on Facebook, LinkedIn and even twitter. Then came Instagram and life changed. But more than social media platforms, some beautiful people (beautiful by heart) made me change my mind and recharged my mind to start writing across all social media platforms; on which, I am very much active.  

Therefore, in hot and cold pursuit of my words, I can’t wait to restart. The philosophy which went into developing Virtuous Vociferous or @puruthegreat can’t ever stop midway. To conclude, if you are still reading this and still are in a mood to create your own opinion about me, go ahead; my journey has just begun.

- Virtuous Vociferous | August 26 | August Blog-2 | Making of the story | 2018

I RUN

It has taken greater amount of persuasion to stake my claim to the title of this post – I Run.

I find the title collective and cohesive. Some might find it coy and coercive. Yet I would stick to it; irrespective of the opinions someone might develop about me.

Coming back to the title and the activity that I associate with, I run. But I don’t run to fulfill a need or a condition, I run to address the stubbornness of immobility, I’ve had developed a habit of occasionally succumbing to. I had a fair idea that I will have to let go that habit someday. Having said that, I knew it was not going to be that easy like it seemed to be as the first and last impression. If I am asked about the last best memory of running, it would be the span of three months between October and December of 2014.

Between October and December 2014, I woke up every day to the enthusiastic idea of I RUN EVERY DAY. The idea was infectious. The idea kept my mind and muscles constantly sterilized. The idea was so strong in its form and practice, I heeded to the alarm clock at 5:30 AM every morning, irrespective of the time I might have made it to the bed. But 2015 left the idea weakened. The fitness schedule I had been boasting about and the physique I had developed fueled the erratic imagination of brashness in me. Few months down the line, I migrated to a city and the first ever habit I happened to meet with was BEING LAZY. Habits changed, hobbies changed; thoughts overlapped and somewhere in between I lost the interest in running.

Battle lines were drawn, swords were pulled out but I refused to run. There was no horsepower left in my feet to run. Days passed, months diminished and I rolled back to the city I have called home. Perceptions around me had changed. I had become arrogant but, the paunch had exceeded every limit of being a spoilt brat, which kept feeding on the fact that someday I might run. This someday overpowered every imagination, bullied my enthusiasm and I became a slave of lethargy.

But procrastination is a short lived hobby. The absence of passion in this hobby finally made it wear out. My progress continued being slow. Another year passed and I allowed myself to continue being snobbish. The first sunrise of 2017 had me looking at myself in the mirror. Day in, day out, I was sure of not being me. A pair of sports shoes, a pair of jogging t-shirts, color matched socks and shorts; everything seemed insignificant and at the same time seemed to be in waiting for me to begin. By the mid of January 2017, I knew I had to make it sure that I RUN.

February 2017 made its debut. I sought advice from a friend, who was already passionate about running. I knew there was no more time to waste and I had to wake up the next morning to ensure that I RUN. Besides running, I adapted myself to a diet plan (much unheard of me, but still). This diet plan was my introduction to a new kind of stubbornness. I had to wake up to the idea of growing fit again. And thus came the cold morning of a fading urban winter. I was on the ground, standing right in the middle; stretching my muscles and flexing my feet to put myself to test again and to write a post with a title as apt as I RUN.

To be continued…

-Virtuous Vociferous  

UNTAMED

In 2011, I posted my first TRAIN SPOTTER UPDATE on facebook and I thought I had done the most brilliant thing in this world. Late one night in the same year that is 2011, Saroo Brierley located Burhanpur railway station with the help of satellite images put together by Google Maps. He kept following those satellite images and located the town of Khandwa. Finally he was ready to head back to his real home and to his real mother. Six years down the line when I sit down to write this post for my blog, I am unable to relate to everything, I thought was brilliant about my first Train Spotter Update on facebook in 2011. I don’t wish to demean my action but, I can’t separate myself from the story of Saroo Brierley who made my eyes well up.  

The movie LION had that kind of an impact on my mind.

Honestly speaking, I don’t recollect memories of having come across any book in 2013, which had a very foreign title A LONG WAY HOME. I don’t recollect coming across a cover, which described this journey as a boy’s incredible journey from India to Australia and back again. Back then, I am sure to have missed spotting this book in a book stall, missed reading a review of this book, missed reading about the author Saroo Brierley who was telling his story to the world and of course missed the mention ‘soon to be a motion picture’. Thankfully I didn’t miss watching the book transform into a movie with a title as unusual as LION.

I remember watching the trailer of this movie and compare it immediately to Slumdog Millionaire for the commonalities it shared. The trailer showed a train, two brothers onboard, one of them getting lost and ending up being adopted. But the voice of that kid who plays young Saroo in the movie kept lingering in my mind. One of the scenes from the trailer is that of the kid standing surrounded by some kind of flying insects, remained with me. I turned to my colleague in office and I said, “I am going to watch this movie”.

Call it my gut feel or my instinct; I started following the conversations that had started taking place around this movie. I watched the interviews of actors, the makers, the producers and the man behind the movie Saroo. My expectations were at peak and once the news of LION being Oscar worthy started making the rounds; I knew I am going to watch it. I wanted to watch this movie with my mother. As planned, I did so finally. My mother and I left together for our movie date.

From the time, the movie started narrating the real life story of Saroo Brierley on the big screen, we were both left stunned. I could sense the story that its director Garth Davis had imagined narrating to me and my mother; his audience. The camera kept moving between the trails of little Saroo and his elder brother Guddu. The soundtrack placed me right there where the story was getting its voice from. But one of the most incredible things that LION as a movie did to me was to pull me into that train, which ferried little Saroo to Howrah Junction. The well-crafted screenplay made me sense the fear that little Saroo could have felt while travelling stuck in a locked compartment of a fiercely moving train.

The movie took us to Kolkata. The movie also took us to the Howrah Bridge. But it showed to us the other side of a city which comes alive only in the dead of the night. The movie revealed to us the faces, which look simple and yet they are rich with stories. The movie never stopped to make us stay connected to the real story and the challenges faced by Saroo.

LION took us to Tasmania. LION made us find our own way to good life. LION rendered me speechless.

I was seated beside my mother and recollected memories of the times, I had spent staying away from her. Yes, I had spent almost a year staying away from her. Saroo stayed away from his real mother for a long span of 25 years.

Having said that I would put it this way – LION is an amazing movie. Personally speaking, I loved it.

For God sake, don’t leave the Cineplex without watching the little piece of surprise, so beautifully weaved into the movie. And this LION roars, the echoes of that roar are absolutely EXTRAORDINARY.

-Virtuous Vociferous