Sunday, June 12, 2011

Hi, I'm Sam

The doorbell rang. The fourteen year old boy ran towards the door. He knew it was his dad. He spread his arms to embrace him. But his father was too preoccupied. He waved his son aside and throwing his office bag on the bed, he sank into the sofa.

“What happened? You look so tired,” enquired his wife, in a low yet concerned voice.

“Nothing. Had a real hectic day,” came a short reply from the other end.

“Oh, I see. Okay, freshen up a bit and I’ll serve the dinner. Sam, give the towel to your dad…

“I have already had my dinner,” interrupted the father, “I had a meeting with a client at the restaurant. I am full.”

“I know where you have been,” the little boy mumbled.

“Huh? Did you say anything?”

“No dad.”

“Okay, do me a favor then. Put my mobile on charge.”

Sam plugged the charger and opened the phone’s message inbox. A message dated a day before read:

I am so excited sweetheart. I have already asked for the keys of the flat. Can’t wait to be in your arms baby…

His mind echoed.

Dinner… flat… keys… arms…

He did not know what his father was up to. The only thing he knew that his mother, oblivious of everything, was being cheated.

“Mom, what if, one day you find dad cheating on you? What would you do?”

The boy was so amazed to find his mother instilled with such confidence on his father that he could not go ahead. “Your dad loves me like crazy. We may fight, but we love each other a lot. He would never ever do anything of that sort.”



Sam was eleven years old when he first discovered something that he should not have. One fine afternoon, while his father was taking a bath, Sam happened to receive a call on his father’s phone. It read, Mr. David calling… He took the call to tell that person to call back later, but was taken aback to hear a female voice at the other end:

- Where are you honey?

- Who’s this?

The line went dead.

Casually, Sam took a look at the telephone number. He was good in remembering telephone numbers.





Sam has now grown up into an adult. All these seven years, he was well aware of what was going on behind his back. He kept a track of the phone calls and the messages regularly. The messages ranged from cheesy to explicit. During this period, his father had learnt the know-how of texting, and he was quick at it. Sam could only watch his father from a distance. Yes, he loved his father, but hated him equally. There was an unseen wall between them, which was supposedly termed as ‘generation-gap’. Whenever his father fidgeted with his phone, he wondered, It’s got to be that bitch!

Sam was growing frustrated and helpless. He called up the number and took a few information that he wanted, under the garb of a salesman. The woman was married, with two children; her husband worked with Sam’s father. Whore, he thought.

Sam felt claustrophobic. It was something he could not share with anyone – neither his friends, nor his mother. His friends would have made fun of his father, which he could not allow. He could have told his mother, he had enough proofs – the messages and the call lists were enough. But deep down, he knew that his mother would not be able to bear this. He feared she might do something drastic. He thought of talking it out with his father. But that would be useless, since he himself would be accused of sneaking into his father’s phone, and his mother would believe her husband more than him.

I can’t let it go on like this. Mom has devoted her life to this man, and he has taken her for granted. He’s out there banging other women, having his share of fun, while mom craves for his love. How can he do this?

He had learnt long back – ‘Change it, or change yourself for it.’

He knew he could not change it, for it would change the lives of two families as well. I guess I will have to learn to accept the reality as it is. But I want to know how he felt like keeping a mistress. No, rather I want myself to be kept.



******







The car screeched to a halt. A man and a woman got out.

“If you please me tonight, you’re gonna come back tomorrow,” the woman said.

“I’d love to. You’re beautiful. But I’m afraid I have another appointment tomorrow. The next day may be…”

The doorbell rang. The little boy ran towards the door. He knew his mom had come with his dad. He flung open the door – “Hi dad!”

“Hi sweetheart! Sorry darling… but your dad won’t be able to return tonight. He had to go to some office work. It’s quite late now. Go to your room and sleep or you will be late for school tomorrow. Oh, and I want you to meet a friend of mine who will be staying here tonight.”

The man came forward and extended his hand towards the child –

“Hi, I’m Sam.”

Monday, July 12, 2010

The Vindictive Me

All this while I’ve been fuckin’ around,
Foolin’ around as I used to do,
Wrapp’d up, lock’d up, coop’d up,
But till then I was waiting for you.
You hit me, you stabbed me, but I went ahead.
And now I have come so far that I cannot return from the dead.

(Even though) I wanna be back,
(Even though) I wanna regain myself,
(Even though) I wanna make things right,
But you just want me to bleed all over again..
(Even though) I wanna pull through,
(Even though) I try to be strong
(Even though) the scar remains,
But you just want me to bleed all over again..

In my presence you epitomize me
The bitching starts when I’m gone
Who the fuck do you think you are
That you’ll screw everything I live upon?
Only you can have bloody expectations from me
And I gotta burst mah ass for you
Failing which, you try to kick mah ass
As if I’ma hoe for you (that’s true).

(Even though) I knew I was a dumbass
(Even though) I should have made it fast
(Even though) I knew it’s mah own life
But I just didn’t know how to get the better of you…
(And now) I have had enough
(And now) I’m gonna screw you up,
(And now), you’re gonna pay for them,
All that you’ve done to me over and over again…

You lack the spirit I have
You lack the courage I have
You lack the attitude I have
Now get ready, ‘coz you’ll be fuck’d up
And I… I… and only I will do the honour..
That’s meeh.. the vindictive meeh..

You’re gonna repent for this
That’s for sure…

Monday, February 15, 2010

Escapism

“If being an escapist makes you live your life, then why not be one?”
This is what I have believed and preached to all those who call escapism as an act of cowardice. All throughout the nineteen years of my life, I have seen people messing up their own lives as well as that of others. They are entangled in their own mess and all that they are left to do is to mourn and mope for the rest of their days. Yes, it’s natural for each one of us to make mistakes, screw up our own lives. Sometimes, we face challenges which we have never thought of even in the wildest of our dreams. Naturally, we feel dejected, frustrated. We ask every other person about the possible solutions and override them with one silly reason or the other. Deep down, we kind of like to remain in that dejected state, because we earn people’s attention, their sympathy, their concern; and perhaps that’s why we don’t really look forward to solve our drudgeries. Most of us are usually unaware of this aspect of our character, but if one sits down with oneself for some time, one will probably agree with me.
Of course, there are times when we genuinely cannot come out of the pit that we fall into, no matter how much we try. We feel tired and frustrated with everything around us – the people, the environment, and even our own self. We long for a break, literally, symbolically. We crave for a deserted place, where the only companion with us will be our solitude – no worries, no anxieties, no fears, and no tensions. At one point of time, everybody wants to run away from reality. While the heart becomes an escapist, the mind rebukes it. The mind chides the heart to stay back and face the reality, no matter how harsh the reality is. The heart being weaker and more docile than the mind, gives in to the latter. But it still yearns for the solitude, while the mind tries out every possible way to end the misery, but in vain. The suffering continues. With the gust of time, new wounds are added to the old. They say time is the best healer. But what about the scar that remains, which pricks at the slightest provocation, even after a long span of time? Time only buries the wounds under a heap of dust. When strong winds blow, the dust flies off, leaving the wounds stripped again.
Not everyone has the strength, courage and will-power to face every single thing that comes his way. Human beings are one of the most fragile and vulnerable creations of God, for they are bestowed with feelings and emotions in a far greater proportion than any other species on this planet. So what is the harm in being reluctant to face the reality? What’s the harm in being an escapist if one cannot withstand the miseries he faces for days? He has got every right to be happy, by whatever means he can afford. The world calls him a coward. They want him to be bold and brave. What if he fails? None of those noble souls will come and take responsibility of his life, his happiness. It’s easier said than done. Not every problem can be solved by facing it. Some mysteries are meant to remain unsolved. We spend our entire lives searching for the answer to the question life gives us. The moment we think we have found the answer, life changes the question. It’s a complex labyrinth; we set out on our voyage only to come back to the starting point. It’s natural for a man to feel disgusted. He needs to have something he truly wants. He has the right to experience the ecstasies of the life that he has been given. This will never happen if he is too realistic or if he submits to his mind and sticks to his drudgery. Reality and ecstasy are poles apart. In that case, one needs to run away from life, to experience his share of bliss. He needs to escape from life to live life. There is nothing pusillanimous in it. Even if he escapes into a world of happiness for a day and lives his life the way he wants to, with full mental peace and happiness, that will be of much more worth than being a ‘dumb-driven cattle’ for years.
He may be a craven for others, but he experiences something which people only think of, in their best of literary fancies – few moments of unadulterated happiness. They are the ones who will envy him, for he has got something which they can never get. If this is what they call cowardly, so be it.

“Life is ours, we live it our way,
All these words I don’t just say,
And nothing else matters…”
- Metallica.

Sunday, January 24, 2010

I faced, when you left me, a rose in the rain.

I am walking down a lonely boulevard on my way back home. Not a soul is here, except me, myself and I – one of the many survivors in this ruthless world, I – one of those people who have realized that love is only a figment of fantasy, an effect of the rain. It is mysteriously silent over here. Clouds growl over my head, as if they are rebuking me for being so ruthlessly practical. The sky is dark. May be this darkness is a metaphor of the harsh reality. May be this darkness is symbolic of the hatred that I have nurtured in my mind about the so-called meta-physical feeling called ‘Love’. I love to hate love, may be because I had been its victim more than once, but did not give in to its destruction. However, somewhere deep down, I have this feeling that today’s thundering of the clouds is aimed at me, as a precursor to the retribution that is to follow.
A drop pinches my right cheek. I glide my finger through it. “A drop of water,” I tell myself. Another drop follows. My heart skips a beat. I look around. Everything seems to smile at me. “No, it’s not going to rain. There’s nothing so romantic about it,” the mind rebukes the heart, and I hurry to get back home. Quite unexpectedly, my feet have become heavy. I think I’m losing control over my legs.
A drop of water hits and rolls down my left cheek. Has someone touched me and vanished in the thin air? Another touches my eyelids and clings to it. I blink. It does not leave. “At last, there’s something which does not want to leave me,” I laugh at my own joke. Despite the poor joke, my heartbeat increases. The more the drops of water come down on me, the faster my heart beats. Some brush over my hair. Is it my imagination or has someone actually caressed my hair and run away? I look around. I try to see the invisible. I want to know if it is really my imagination or she’s actually playing hide-and-seek with me…
I look up towards the sky. A gust of wind brings more drops on my face. I close my eyes as a reflex. It hurts, and badly so, not physically though. I forget about the physical pain… what torments me the most is the ecstasy. My dry lips are ecstatic and helpless… ecstatic because they longed for a foreign touch and it really feels as if someone has moistened my lips with hers and helpless because I cannot touch her. It’s hurting…really hurting… even more than corporal or capital punishment. I spread out my hands. Has she held it? But why can’t I? “God, it’s hurting like hell,” I say and look up again…
The clouds growl, much louder this time, but in a different tone. They seem to have fun at my expense. They seem to mock at me. A person, who stays miles away from love, is now thirsting for love, craving for the woman he has fallen in love with – a woman he has never seen, a woman he has never spoken to, a woman he has never touched, a woman he cannot find anywhere.
Out of the zillions of water droplets rolling down my cheeks, I can distinguish two of them. My eyes are irritating. I don’t believe I’m in tears… What am I crying for? A lost love? Or a love never lost? Or a love that never happened? No idea! I look around. Rain has increased manifold, along with strong winds, that create ripples on water surface. It is misty everywhere. Yet in this mist, I see a shadow beckoning me. I want to reach out to her, but I can’t find my way out…
Hang on! Why is the shadow diminishing in size? Damn! She’s going away from me… hey you! Stop… stop right there… don’t leave me…. Please don’t go… I have pined for you all these years… even in the ruthless practical world, I craved for your touch, like the dried up flowers crave for rain… Wait… don’t go… stay right there… please… don’t go… hey… stop!


The shadow is no more. The girl of my heart is gone… perhaps we shall never meet again… Sigh! She’s gone…

Suddenly, I stumble upon something very delicate. It landed a few inches away from my feet. I picked it up – a rose – half-dead with a stamp of my shoe.

Monday, January 4, 2010

Life Aaj Kal

Life Then:
Life then, was a cakewalk for me. Life for me was academic excellence. Life for me was unrestricted attention. Life for me was STHS’s Silver Jubilee celebrations, my performances – on and off stage. Life for me was winning academic accolades every year. Life for me was quiz contests and extempore, and the victories associated with them. Life for me was a Teacher’s Day party with less of teachers and more of DJs. Life for me was bunking coaching classes on a Sunday morning to watch Jaane Tu… Ya Jaane Na at INOX. Life for me was cooking up stories at home to attend the fete of DBL. Life for me was Dia, and the numerous têtês-à-têtês with her over the phone. Life for me was a 7 page long message which PJ had sent me to study before asking a girl out. Life for me was my 1st date which AG n PJ were hell-bent on spoiling but somehow failed to do so. Life for me was useless discussions with AG on womanizing. Life for me was the useless fights with PJ that started and ended nowhere. Life for me was texting Suman whenever I felt low, knowing full well that he won’t be able to find any solution to anything, yet seeking in him, a shoulder to rest on, notwithstanding the hour of the day. Life for me was the long chat sessions with Dodo over the phone, almost everyday, till I ran out of money or someone else called me. Life for me was the love to hate Howrah and its residents. Life for me was counting on Dodo to take me out of every little problem that I had. Life for me was chocolates, pastries, movies and most importantly, friends and a guitar. Life for me was Linkin Park. Life for me was Fossils.

Life Now:
Life is now staring at the Orkut screen on a tedious evening, expecting to catch up with a friend. Life is now taking the futile tests on Facebook. Life is now sitting back and contemplating upon my next step. Life is now retreating myself from all those things, all those people who had once been my life. Life is now success, career, and ambition. Life is now giving up on friends owing to geographical as well as emotional distance. Life is now a platform to cope with jealousy and hatred from the people outside, as well as the people inside. Life is now giving up on all values, all feelings, all emotions. Life is now just nostalgia – a platform to stand and look back at those endearing moments spent with Dodo, Suman, AG, PJ… at the DBL Fete, INOX, Belilious Park… on Saraswati Puja, Durgapuja… Life is now reminding me every moment of the pros and cons of falling in love. Life is now striving hard to keep the friendship alive with the same old emotions. Life is now a broken string of a guitar. Life is now screaming like Chester:
“In the end, it doesn’t even matter…”

The different similarities and the similar differences:
The public attention is still there, but now it intrudes into my personal life. PJ and I still argue in vain, but on different contexts, on serious issues. AG and I still discuss womanizing, but that is done to keep his lov- life strong and sustaining. Suman and I still text each other, but that has become too topical, not whenever we feel like… SMS balance has become one of the limiting factors. Dodo and I still talk over the phone, but the frequency has declined way beyond expectation. Both of us are too contemporary now… that fervor, that affection, that expression is missing from both of us. We want to talk, but cannot. Something bothers us. I still look up to him even when I’m in the silliest of mess. But somehow, I feel he is too preoccupied to focus on me… and perhaps that makes him unapproachable to me. Who knows, even he thinks likewise… There is no more pastries and chocolates, I’ve become health conscious. We still freak out on movies, but that’s only when the tickets are sold at Nandan at a maximum rate on 50 bucks. The guitar is still there, but it is not tuned for months. Shamik Da is no more. LP is there as well, but sometimes, Chester’s screams get on my nerves, unlike a couple of years back. Even Rupam da is there with his Fossils, but his one quote has become one of the finest lessons in my life:
“Buddhiman chele-meyera prem korte shuru korar agey eta mathaye rekhe prem korte shuru kore je, je kono somoy ei somporko shesh hoye jete pare…”

Everything is still there; hollowness amidst everything is the latest addition...

Friday, January 1, 2010

Dhurrrr.....


Happy New Year folks. May you all have a great year ahead.

So, what did you do today? Must have been out with friends/spouse/family… Victoria, Esplanade, Park Street, South City Mall, blah..blah..blah… I was at home, sitting all day long on a couch, much like a couch potato. I opened my eyes at 10 in the morning, only to find heaps of New Year messages on my cell phone.  Today’s a Black out day, so couldn’t reply to any. I had to come online to reply to their messages from the internet.
The rest of the day, I got horribly bored. Nobody could have a portion of their valuable time dedicated to me. Most of my friends were out with their counterparts, and I had lost count of the number of times I had to answer questions like, “Why don’t you go out with your girl?” (As if I wouldn’t have gone out if I had the opportunity). A few of my friends had their plans already made with other friends, and they were like, “Why didn’t you tell me before? I would have cancelled this one.” (Please. Get a life!) So here I am, writing my first post on my blog, for the sole reason that I don’t have any other work to do apart from pissing you off with my tales (You are free to go to some other page if you want.
It was 4 in the afternoon when these people (my family that is) came out with a ‘brilliant’ idea of going out. Venue: Esplanade. Reason: Phuchka! Can you beat it? Going to Esplanade all the way from Howrah only for Phuchka! I was pissed off all the more. I refused to go out. Somehow, the desire to hang out had died down within me. By this time, one of my friends asked me if I’d go out on a movie tomorrow. What’s wrong with our going out today? He said he’s busy with some bullshit people around him even though he didn’t want to join them. Wow! How cool an excuse! If you really didn’t want to join them, you wouldn’t have gone out. Your weren’t at a gunpoint. Now my dear reader, you’d think I’m selfish, I’m jealous. I ain’t really selfish, but yes, I’m jealous. Imagine yourself sitting alone at home doing nothing when the world around you, even your dumb neighbor, is partying hard. Imagine yourself sitting alone at home with no one to talk to, for they are too preoccupied and SMS charges are very high. I guess even you’d have felt the same as I’m feeling now.
I guess I’ve spoken too much. So much for now. Time to get into some more boredom. Keep visiting this page in future (if u really want to read, or whenever you suffer from a boredom-syndrome like me).

Ciao.