SOON

 December 28-2020/ Blog #2

The value of SOON has increased 

by leaps and bounds

As an adverb and as a mere word, SOON stands most underrated; also unstated.

SOON also sounds so obsolete when spoken in the trembling voice of a year as troubled as 2020.

If expressed in the pandemic era, SOON is Hope.

When conveyed in the pre pandemic era, SOON used to be synonymous to happiness.

In the last one month though, the value of SOON has increased by leaps and bounds.

Finally SOON might end up being declared as the frequently uttered/ spoken word of 2020.

Presently we are caught in the carnival of SOON.

The obsession with SOON is understandable.

The rallying around with SOON as the keyword also seems valuable.

SOON started trending when the news came in - There will be a vaccine SOON.

Covid-19/ Corona has left the universe in a state of despair.

Why then the two words of 'VACCINE SOON’ can’t stand eligible to grab global headlines?

Domestic media hasn’t stayed behind.

Just like they reported the fast increasing cases of the pandemic; they are trying to cover as much news, information, rumor and gossip as possible with the hashtag #VaccineSoon.

SOON is a four lettered word. So are LOVE, HOPE, PAIN, HELP and HEAL.

Does that mean SOON is a combination of LOVE, HOPE, PAIN, HELP and HEAL?

Or LOVE, HOPE, PAIN, HELP and HEAL when summed up together is SOON?

I think that will need another round of tireless thinking to establish the connection between both!

But the news of Vaccine Soon sounds good.

But the real journey begins now.

It is important for all of us to remember, the advent of vaccines simply won’t put an end to the drama of a modern day pandemic.

Also the vaccine won’t bring back those who are no more.

The vaccine might help us behave a little responsibly. 

SOON sounds urgent. SOON sounds too important.

At least during the pandemic, SOON is the only ray of possibilities.

SOON might finally make the twain meet between what was, what is and what will be.

The year 2020 seems to be already preparing to pave the way for 2021 SOON.

But will 2021 also emerge as the most opportune time to burn our masks SOON?

None of us can answer that question. But we will find an answer SOON.

-Virtuous Vociferous/ What If/ 2020

 

A Different Form Of Life

 December 14-2020/ Blog #1

Life is at times absolute; 

at times obsolete too.

Life.

So far we know it just by one of its forms.

The form of life, which we are living now.

The one, we say is a Gift of God.

The one, which is given to us by our parents.

Life.

Have we ever thought of it differently?

Have we ever thought of imagining it differently?

No. We haven’t.

There is nor harm in doing that.

Maybe we can discover something which could be better than this form of life.

Life.

I wonder about it often.

Strange questions flood my mind.

Does this LIFE belong to us?

Or

Do we belong to this LIFE?

Life.

I love to imagine it differently.

I often think, life is like a train.

Always in motion.

Travelling from one destination to the other.

And that is where I feel there is a problem.

I wonder what happens to life as a train when it finally reaches a certain destination!

Does it come to a standstill?

Life.

If I say it is like a train; it can be considered an interesting form.

Now consider life being in motion.

A destination; a so-called station is almost round the corner.

Just then someone announces that the so-called station, the train was supposed to stop at doesn’t exist any more!

Or it might happen that someone suddenly reveals - the so-called station has suddenly disappeared!

What will happen to this form of LIFE then?

I meant, what would happen to life, I am imagining in a different form; as a train.

Will Life follow the same?

Life.

I believe it is a strange package of equally strange events and instances.

Life is at times absolute; at times obsolete too. 

Life.

No matter in what form you imagine it as. 

Even if we consider a different form of life.

It will still sound, smell, taste, feel and seem like this LIFE of ours.

Life is life. Nothing else.

-Virtuous Vociferous/ What If/ 2020

The Two Worlds

November 15-2020/ Blog #1

We coexist between 

two worlds. 

We might miss paying attention to one reality.

Or we are aware of it. But we don’t talk much about it.

The reality is, we coexist between two worlds.

Yes, you read it right.

Rather than saying we live in two worlds; I am trying to say - We coexist between two worlds.

Which are these two worlds?

The first world is the tangible world.

Besides being only tangible, this world also serves as home to us.

This home is beautiful.

We have built this home or bought this home with great hope.

We eat, we pray, we love in this home.

We share a warm coexistence with its residents (mostly family).

The other world is the intangible world. 

This is the most interesting one. 

It doesn’t have a shape, a form of its own. 

This world is found stuck between two drawers. 

This world is found trying to release itself from the dog-eared pages of a book.

This is that world, which is privy to everything we do; we don’t do; we try to hide from others.

This is that world, which allows a spider to crawl over it and leave a legacy of cobwebs behind.

This legacy then gets transferred to spiders of new generation, who waste no time to take this legacy to a new level. 

Do you know when our frequency of  visit to this intangible world increases?

Mostly during festive occasions or a special moment in the household. 

Because that is when we take a broom or a piece of cloth in our hand to get rid of the first layer of dust, which hides this intangible world.

Interestingly the tangible and the intangible worlds are never caught in a conflict. 

They know their space, their purpose in this universe. 

Remember, they are these two worlds. They exist. They have been existing. 

It is we who are coexisting between them.

-Virtuous Vociferous/ What If/ 2020

Our Own Biographies

The opening lines of my autobiography

October 19-2020/ Blog #2

Discover ourselves first.
Then rediscover ourselves.

Who am I? Who are you? Who is she? Who is him? Who are they? Who are we? These questions have been within our minds for a long time. But we never set time aside to introspect. But in the past seven months, that we have been living indoors; working from our homes, achieving and failing from the comfort of four walls; starting new things and stopping doing old things; listening and muting conversations; seeing something and then choosing to turn blind; seeking a hug and suddenly acting indifferent; we aren’t realizing that time has been setting us aside to help us introspect. 

No one in this entire world is denying the reality - enough of this; enough of that; enough of me; enough of you; enough of him; enough of them; enough of us. Enough. Yes enough. But just screaming ‘Enough’ at the peak of our voices is not going to push those thoughts in the abyss. In there; in the abyss; down there; many reasons, many more reasons of screaming ‘Enough’ have been choking to death for the past seven months. But is ‘Enough’ the ultimate action and the reaction? What will happen to the questions we had started asking - Who am I? Who are you? Who is she? Who is him? Who are they? Who are we? Don’t these questions deserve answers. Or we leave these questions somewhere; ask others; waste time over them and then one day, we will again scream ‘Enough’ and stop thinking about them!

But think about them? Aren’t these questions important? What if I tell you that every question is biographical. Every question is hinting at something very personal, very intimidating. Why can’t we treat these questions as research material to write our personal biographies? Who knows us better than we ourselves? Has anybody ever known about the rare passion, immense love you harbor for your Sundays? Has anybody ever seen the sketches you draw of the person, you had loved more than your life? Does anybody know that when you release the shutter of your camera, you create magic with your third eye? Nobody knows anything about you. Somebody might claim to know you. But how much of you is known to anyone else? Too little. 

I wish to make a confession. In the past seven months, I have been asking the same questions - Who am I? Who are you? Who is she? Who is him? Who are they? Who are we? But as a human being, I too have been procrastinating. I feel I had seven fruitful months. These seven fruitful months are not going to return to me or us ever. Maybe we have got a few more months with us to ask those questions again! Perhaps try seeking answers again! Because if we don’t seek these answers now, we will never discover ourselves. In a world where we speak proudly about rediscovering life; rediscovering who we are; rediscovering our childhood; rediscovering our passion; rediscovering our love; we never ever talk about merely discovering ourselves. Maybe we should make that effort to discover ourselves first and then continue with our personal journeys to rediscover ourselves. 

Trust me, we aren’t alone in this journey. The time is with us. The situation is with us. Terms like lockdown, social distancing, precaution, sanitization, hygiene are with us. Every breathing being, living being and struggling being is with us to ask and repeat the same questions - Who am I? Who are you? Who is she? Who is him? Who are they? Who are we? Let’s try seeking answers. Let’s have our own biographies. Let these biographies be not verbose but introspective. I have decided. When I write my biography; I will begin with the line - My is is my was and my was is my is…

Maybe by the time, I am done writing my biography, this line; this statement; these words will get stolen. Because we might be maintaining social distancing. But we aren’t going to distance ourselves from the overpowering impact of social media. Because if we aren’t trending, we aren’t living. But we are still being followed; (sometimes) liked; (most of the times) disliked, trolled, threatened, traumatized, chased, etc. But again, with that whatever little we have left with us, let us have our own biography in place.

-Virtuous Vociferous/ What If/ 2020

The Revival

October 01-2020/ Blog #1

There will be newness.

Discover it. 

After having celebrated fifteen years of blogging in September, my blog didn’t make much noise. Neither did I. Does that mean that I have grown lazy?

I therefore wish to begin with the process of the revival. 

I am thankful to specific friends and readers, who have developed a habit of visiting my blog; reading its new posts. Or else, they would have never asked or said the following:

Did I miss something??

I definitely reply when I read. 

The above is a motivating example of some reading happening on my blog. I respect such emotions. 

So, going by the title ‘The Revival’, I would like to clarify that it is not about restoration of life, a new production of an old play, a showing of an old motion picture. The title of ‘The Revival’ hints more towards an awakening (with no religious interpretations please).

This Awakening or This Revival is a journey by itself. It is an effort to review, relook. So far, this blog of Virtuous Vociferous has stood its ground as a representative platform of certain subjects. Will it continue being a platform or will it become the real voice of the author (meaning me)? But this blog has always been my voice; an extension of my personality. Should you then expect something new?

Yes there will be newness. I won’t reveal about the specific elements of this newness now. Let the newness remain fresh. Am I going to make an announcement or issue a statement? As the author of this blog, I would request you to discover it. 

-Virtuous Vociferous/ What If/ 2020

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

As a writer in the Freedom Month

Notes from 2016

August 06-2020/ Blog #1

I am wondering 

as to when I’ve enjoyed 

writing the most.

At times, I feel good to introduce myself as a Writer.

Writer by itself doesn’t sound like a designation.

It is a title. A title not necessarily bestowed. But an earned title.

A title, which is so close to my heart and (maybe) to the hearts of those, who know me as a writer.

I do get asked:

Are you a writer?

What do you write about?

Why don’t you write love stories?

How about trying your hands at writing a movie script?

Have you considered writing a web series?

When will you experiment with something sensuous?

Do you write porn?

After that first book how long should we wait for your second book?

What does it take to become a writer?

Which writer inspires you the most?

I don’t deem it necessary to answer all of them.

I think I am content with the fact that I am a writer.

Some might also argue that they don’t get to see much of my writings. 

I’ve never disagreed. Maybe because I am not in a mood to make everything too apparent or visible to everybody.

So here I am, the so-called Writer.

Thinking about myself and writing a little part about myself by being myself.

As a writer in the Freedom Month, I am wondering as to when I’ve enjoyed writing the most.

Naturally I’ve enjoyed writing the most when I have felt free; free of prejudice, free of malice, free of botheration. 

But then someone will again argue - Writing comes from within; it doesn’t need a day, a date or a time for something to evolve. I would again not disagree.

As a writer in the Freedom Month, I would only wish that the freedom to write is never taken away from me.

-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

Maa Always

My Maa

Always more. Always stronger.

Here and everywhere.

‘Maa’

My first breath.

‘Maa’

My first dream.

‘Maa’

My first utterance.

‘Maa’

My first speech.

‘Maa’

My first known person in this world.

‘Maa’

My first partner in innocence.

‘Maa’

My first friend.

‘Maa’

My first listener.

‘Maa’

My first teacher.

‘Maa’

My first mentor.

‘Maa’

My first master chef.

‘Maa’

My first written word.

‘Maa’

My first sung hymn.

‘Maa’

My first, admirer and fan.

‘Maa’

My first leader.

‘Maa’

My first philosopher.

‘Maa’

My first Goddess.

‘Maa’

My first everything.

Maa. Nothing less; always more. Nothing weak; always stronger. Here; always here. And everywhere. It’s Maa Always.

- Virtuous Vociferous | May 10 | May Blog-2 | 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

Didu can never be forgotten

Didu always

We still feel

her presence

among us, within us

She spoke the language of love because she knew only to love. Didu, Amma, Thamma as she was addressed by us; her battalion of five grandchildren, she was special, she will remain special. Even though I am the eldest among my siblings, I would often feel that her love was getting a little more shared between the other four. Well, that is how Didu was; ever loved, ever generous, and ever supportive of us. And all the five of us, loved her infinitely.

On many occasions, that we revisit our memories of her, we remember how she was our friend, our mentor, our guide and as my brother put it – our partner in crime. But what were these crimes, which we would commit and she would happily be a part of? Most of these crimes included purchase of few more candies from the shop, a piece more from the crispy French fries made by her or an extra serve of a piece or two of the mutton she cooked or a little extra cash. Beyond that she would sometimes also be supportive of deducting the extra hours, which our parents might demand us to contribute in studies. But Didu would do this only on one condition; she would make us promise that we should make up for the lost hours in our next session.

Didu was our gravity. She took over from where Dadu left. My two sisters and I were lucky to get pampered by Dadu as well as Didu. My brother and my little sister never got to see who Dadu was or the person, the human being that he was. But they got to see Didu. And Didu showered them with love and blessings. Before she breathed her last on April 20, 2018; it was my younger brother and youngest sister who served her and attended to every demand of hers. One of my sister was already married by then.

My relationship with Didu had been that of grandmother and grandchild. But she was my sister during Rakshabandhan; my mother during my mother’s absence while she was teaching in her school; my father during my father’s shift duties; my teacher while studying. During my college days, I stayed with Didu. I would stay awake till she was awake. And I would sleep when she would sleep.

Two years faded away. But even today, her memories remain fresh in our minds. Be it her own children or us; her grandchildren. At times, I remember those moments when I had fought with Didu. These fights were just like the fights, we break into with our friends and forget about them; as immediately as possible. She would never take offence. But yes, she would grow emotional. Still she was strong enough to make us stronger and make sure that we are prepared enough to take up all challenges of the future, she prayed for us.

The fondest memory, which I hold about Didu is the train journey between Mumbai and Kolkata of 1993. I had just appeared for my board exams. My parents took the landmark decision to send us both to Kolkata. This was my first ever solo journey sans my parents. Didu was traveling with me. During the journey, a mother and son were our fellow travelers. The son would demand anything and everything, which her son would demand. My Didu would buy it for him and I was left fuming. On many occasions, I tried stopping her from doing that; Didu didn’t budge. Finally, there was one such moment, when the mother happened to visit the bathroom and I got the opportunity to ask Didu some tough questions. But the compassionate soul that she was, Didu silenced me in two seconds. When I asked her, why was she spending so much for that kid? She replied, ‘His mother has been putting her hand in the wallet to fish out money. But do you know that she is penniless. Her husband made her board the train but didn’t give her any money to spend during travel. She will only have some access to money when this train reaches Howrah station and her brother comes to fetch her.’ I asked Didu, as to who shared this information with her. Didu replied, ‘When you were fuming and being angry at me for buying him that toy, she saw you. She broke down and told me her story.’ The journey ended. The woman and her son were attended by their relative. I looked at the woman and the child; they smiled and waved at us. I felt a lump in my throat.

So, as another year passes by after Didu’s absence from our lives, we still feel her presence among us, within us. Because for the kind and compassionate soul; Didu can never be forgotten.

- Virtuous Vociferous | April 22 | April Blog-2 | What If | 2020

SHUBHO BIJOYA

Strengths of all mothers 
in this universe were combined 
together to create Maa Durga.

I guess, I am the latest entrant in the long list of avid readers on twitter. Yes, apart from being an active twitter user and before publishing another tweet out there, I too am a reader. As I continued with my journey of reading, I came across this little piece by Ronita. Titled ‘Bijoya Doshomir Chithi’ meaning ‘A letter on account of Bijoya Dashami’, Ronita left me with intense longing for Kolkata again. She wrote and I quote:

BIJOYA DOSHOMIR CHITHI

Bijoya Doshomi is a testimony
that evil may celebrate 
a momentary win but the victory
belongs to the one who has 
the courage, powered by truth.

Debi Durga comes to visit us every year
to remind us that, we have ten hands 
to fight all evils around us. 
She is a symbol of limitless.
May you win over your own limits.

Choto der bhalobasha, 
Guru jon der pranaam 
Ebong bondhooder janai
Sharodiya priti o subeccha.

Iti, Ronita

The ritual to bid adieu to Maa Durga

Words, which instantly struck an emotional chord and will not fade out too easily from my mind; our minds. Simple lines but so rich in feelings. These feelings will continue to run deep in this system of a so called Probashi Bengali. 

Ronita’s words also remind me of the climax of Sujoy Ghosh’s startlingly original climax of Kahaani, when Amitabh Bachchan’s baritone voice echoes: 

Sometimes even Gods end up committing mistakes of grave nature. Gods themselves created the demons; gave them power. And, when these demons started misusing the same power, Gods created Maa Durga; to put an end to the blood-soaked reign of these demons. It’s said, strengths of all mothers in this universe were combined together to create Maa Durga. Every year Maa comes home. She puts an end to all the sins of this world, and then returns to her divine abode in the skies. So that we can continue living happily, peacefully without any fear in our minds. 

This year too, Maa Durga came and she left. She made sure that she liberates this earth of all the sins. But she left behind an evening of unfinished conversations, discontinued journeys and yet to be written stories. Another twelve months of an incessant wait might sound frustrating. But then the many avatars of Maa Durga started giggling joyously. The Sindoor Khela had just commenced. Even though, the moment is not too joyous, these women, draped in red bordered white saris have come out in large numbers to announce the victory of this year. 

Sindoor Khela 

And, I bow down to touch my mother’s feet. She moves back saying – Son, I am wearing a chappal. 

I smile at her and tell her – Your feet are where my Universe is Maa.

She smiles and I see an idol of Maa Durga slowly being immersed in the waters of Holy Ganges. And I also hear the crowd announce – Ashchhe Bochhor Aabar Hobe (Coming year this will continue in the same manner). 

The evening takes over. Clouds clash with each other. Rains descend. The electricity supply goes off. The electric supply is restored. The WiFi jumps into action; a message on WhatsApp makes me smile; it reads – SHUBHO BIJOYA (meaning Positive Victory).

Note: Picture courtesy - Google. 

- Virtuous Vociferous | October 09 | October Blog-2 | Never Settle | 2019

DURGA PUJA (PUJO) IS ALMOST KNOCKING ON THE DOORS

Durga Puja is oxygen,

survival, a moment of awakening

for the red blooded Bengalis.

Devlina Ganguly happily wrote on September 30; just two days after Mahalaya - Calcutta during #DurgaPuja is a fairytale land. No matter the workload, the traffic or any other shit, the Pujo (Puja) feel is so contagious that the smile keeps coming back on your face. The heart brims over with happiness.

Durga Puja, Picture Courtesy: Lonely Planet, India

For a moment, the heart jumped with joy.

The heartbeats tried to synchronize with the rhythm of Dhak playing on Gaana.Com.

Unexpectedly, the mind gently slipped into the dark comfort of a cute little boat, which set sail from the Princep Ghat; now moving slowly towards the middle of the sacred river.

I know, all of it is just an imagination.

But, before that, it was my friend Satabdi Sarkar, who sent an urgent message on WhatsApp; the message carried the title of this blog post in bold – PUJO (PUJA) IS ALMOST KNOCKING ON THE DOORS. I just added Durga in the beginning to make it more obvious, clearer.

The door/ doors, mentioned by Satabdi Sarkar, is the heart of a Bengali or the hearts of innumerable Bengalis (including me, my immediate neighbor, my others); be it the Resident or the Probashi. Durga Puja is oxygen; Durga Puja is survival; Durga Puja in every sense is a moment of awakening for the red blooded Bengalis.

I must tell you, opinions stand divided too about the happy population of Bengalis.

Some onlookers, followers, critics, reviewers, fans of Bengali culture wish to know:

• What does Pujo do to Bengalis?
• Are Bengalis busy seeking love during Pujo?
• How can Bengalis have nonveg food during religious festivities?
• Is it true that Bengalis grow completely insane from Panchami to Dashami?

To me, the rising smoke from Dhunuchi is the first sign of Agomoni (the arrival); the first rhythm, the Dhaki sets the Dhak to is the second sign of a much awaited festival; the early morning of Mahalaya is the third sign. And once the Devipaksha begins; there is no looking back. It is all about the Pujo; not just ordinary Pujo but Durga Pujo (Puja).

Festivals are to be celebrated together. But, just when the Pujo is about to begin, what if someone breathes her or his last? The heart sinks; the mind numbs; the vision narrows; the words disappear; the euphoria calms. But does the Bengali soul in us sit down quietly? Perhaps not! Because by the time, I reach the end of this blog post, a Bengali from the other corner of the world will be wishing Shubha Panchami to a Bengali from just another corner of the world.

Yes. Durga Pujo (Puja) is almost not knocking on the doors any more. It has begun! Time to bring the hands together, blend into festivities of yet another amazing year. And, maybe wait for yet another love story to unfold. Oh did someone say, they will be serving Rosogolla after the Bhog? Dada, count me in. I will be right there. Come Maa. Let’s go!

- Virtuous Vociferous | October 02 | October Blog-1 | Never Settle | 2019

IT IS TOUGH TO RECOVER FROM A MOVIE MARATHON

The marathon must be over 
but the stories and their characters 
are still alive.

It was just after that Friday; I had deposited my mind in the reservoir of the night. For a good amount of hours, the reservoir helped the mind to season well to wake up to a Saturday, then follow it up with a Sunday. 

A Saturday, which eventually began at 9.30 am. Rains were in full bloom. Painting the skies in gloomy shades of grey and making the earth feel more wet with its rage, the rains bulldozed every single plan of stepping out in bright colors. 

It didn’t take me much time to decide upon a movie marathon.

So, what was on the platter?

1) SWEATER – a Bengali movie
2) BADLA – a tight Hindi remake of the brilliant 2016 Spanish mystery thriller THE INVISIBLE GUEST 
3) A National Geographic documentary

Sweater. Beginning with the name and the star cast turned out to be no less than a gem. Slightly slow-paced, Sweater transported me to the hilly comforts of Darjeeling. Tuku’s father has found her a match. The prospective groom’s family arrives at an unearthly hour and demands to meet Tuku. Not meeting with much success, they return another day and a strange condition is proposed to Tuku, to be taken in as the bride. The entire story revolved around this strange condition. But as a storyteller and a creative writer, I could understand the various themes, the director helped us to sail through. The climax was unusual. Thankfully, memories of that warm Sweater still lingers in mind.

From the cool comforts of Darjeeling, we drove our way to the ice rich locales of Glasgow. A grey haired public prosecutor had his client believe him that he will put up a winning side for her. Built like a network of barb wired storytelling, Badla made for a good watch. But, having seen the original in Spanish, the climax didn’t have the same impact on me. Still, it was a delight to watch two lovely actors in a remake of a well-made foreign body of work.
   
Thereafter, we jumped into a huge National Geographic vehicle to capture super speeding lightning and thunderstorms. All of it was both; thrilling and jittery too. Yet, the joy of watching a documentary of such stature only left me inspired.

Saturday concluded. Sunday had just begun. Greed to continue with the marathon was still in the back of my mind. 

Thus came in Uronchondi. A Bengali movie shot in and around Purulia district of West Bengal, the movie hurled interesting characters at us. Even though it lacked a serious storyline, I loved the Imtiaz Ali kind of treatment given to the screenplay. I can’t say if the movie would make for a memorable experience. But I am sure of wanting to visit the places, shown in the movie.

Even though the Sunday is long over and I am stubbornly awake, writing this blog post, I must say it is tough to recover from a movie marathon. Because, the marathon must be over but the stories and their characters are still alive; in a way inspiring to get indulged in few more experiences like these.

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