THERE'S NO END, IS THERE?

The unending fire blasts shooting into the night sky, the incessant crackers waking up the whole neighborhood, were too fast in pace. They arrived and they departed. Three days erstwhile the same had happened; but today, the same festooned localities much lightened by virtue of those coruscating behemoth heights of concrete, had lost their charm. The lights were finally out. And what lay behind were those reminiscences which still lay nacreous in the night very explicably significant of their immortality. They might flow away with the thrust of time, its cruel wind, but shall remain fixed where they are and return next year once again with that same zest and verve.

The sky saw no blasts, the porches wore no light, and the streets were left empty except for those reminiscences that had illuminated everything one day. Silence had crept in and the houses stood like lifeless blocks of concrete only occupying their respective places. And so shall this silence remain and that “cacophony” shall return after some days elapse and the breathers regain their lost exuberance. For now, it is fact that Diwali has truly ended.

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Happy Diwali!!

The facades have been garnished with an éclat combination of flamboyant lights, scintillating fireworks are igniting the night sky, and refulgent candles, pradips have lighted up the buildings—yes, it’s Diwali, the festival of lights. It comes once a year, but it is a year in a day. Very gaily dressed in gaudy attire, people rush out from their houses and run life to the lease to indulge in the festival of lights with oomph and panache. Cleaving through the distinctions of caste, creed and faith, the world becomes united under the title of this day. The hearts throb with rapture and the pandal-hopping heads crane out to catch a glimpse of the Goddess Kali. The indefatigable legs too, with their seeming tenacity, tread through hundreds of souls, elbowing out each other or someone saying, “Dada ektu dekhi, side”. Yes, this is the expression of that latent passion that builds up after a long wait of one year.

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THAT UNENDING ROAD...........

As the darkness of the night unfurled, it brought in an eerie ambience signaling the chance to deliver the last words for the parting Goddess. The darkness got darker and even darker; but, the first rays of light illuminating our eyelids did not stand for that erstwhile happiness. It stood for desertion, agony and with it the painful throbbing of our hearts for Her departure. No one knew that three consequent days of utter enjoyment could end so fast and bring to us once again the life of our “extreme” routine. When, for even a split of second, the thought strikes our mind, tears fill our eyes and we give them freedom to start their journey and end in the depths of the earth.

Now as the blithely clad figures shall dart to the marquees, for their last rendezvous with the Goddess, with women frolicking with bowls of vermillion with their contemporaries, those same forms shall return with drooped shoulders toward their homes, slowly traipsing through the street; tears shall roll down their cheeks. But, those drops are of sorrow as well as of enthusiasm. They feel they have given their everything unto this organization and recline upon those pleasant memories with the Goddess, gladly waiting for their turn to come next year

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MUNICIPALITY TEAR TAP

As the marquee overlooked an extravagant display of colorful and refulgent lights, quite ironically, that same pomp could not be adequately reflected before the Goddess. An acute scrutiny of its vicinity could well inform the onlookers that this year’s festival had somewhat lost its taste, unlike the erstwhile years, when one could feel and exquisitely revel in its cadence. Today, there’s an inflection, the “old” days are more or less over. What we see today is a merely a superficiality that manifests itself at the expense of lifeless, inanimate ornamentation coupled with a “happy” and forced acceptance developed as a result of continuing the tradition of always being happy in spite of a suppressed feeling of disappointment and dole. The word ‘forced’ should be keenly noticed. It insinuates the very fact of one’s natural reluctance that might arise out of the wearing away of that real suitability and that they are compelled to follow the same tradition in order to vent superficially fabricated euphoria.

But, we people, who are living here for 14 years or more, have first hand knowledge of its history. Days, months, and years have passed, but nothing has changed. We are living witnesses to its development. As a result, it is extremely a matter of shock and dismay as far as the cause of its decadence is concerned.

But for now, please, let us not look gloomy and remain cheerful and successfully enjoy “Joy Maa Durga” to its best.

AGNIVA ROYCHOWDHURY

14^TH OCTOBER, 2010

MAHA SAPTAMI.

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THE EMPTY STOMACH

THE EMPTY STOMACH

Encompassed by the darkness of the other side of the world, strangled to death by its sheer brutal force, they live death in that dark and inconspicuous corner. Hardly cared for, hardly nurtured, hardly educated, they are. Their parents bring them to a life of the hardest degree, a life that sucks out the entire blood, the humanity, the soul from them. They have their backs lined against the wall, drooped shoulders under the curse of poverty. In one word, they are hardly existent.

The famished mendicant begging for an afternoon’s provender, the crying child wanting to eat, the waif’s dawdling life in the streets, the puerile teen moiling in households, factories—Ah! On one side of the street, lies the beggar’s “domicile” and on the other, the rich man’s skyscraper. Outside the car, is the poor dying under tremendous heat; inside, the parvenu’s AC is on.

Let us have a look at those desolate eyes—don’t they speak of a latent ambition, a prepatent desire for success? The gleam in them corroborates this very fact. Arbitrary distribution of resources has resulted in the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer by the day. This IS our world.

One cannot imagine a day without satisfying his prandial needs. It drives the hell out of that individual. The querulous attitude of the “social superiors” and no decision for rectification has led them into the wanton indifference towards those gaunt street dwellers. Yes, the street urchins—who run from here to there, beg for their siblings, swipe bread and sometimes being very much affected by their own condition, tears roll down those innocent cheeks. We cry over trivial matters, but they cry over issues of existence, issues of LIFE. Our woes are merely superficial; their, profound. We cry over our near ones’ demise, people show pity for us, sympathize with us; they too weep lowly, but have no one to commiserate with their undying woes. We drudge under the harshness of our master; they drudge under the harshness of bitter existence, battling to find a place in, as if, they are quite extraneous.

But they are part of the future citizens, they grow just like others do, but they are not nurtured. In order to make both ends meet, they take to pilferage. By the time they grow up, they are already a dacoit. Why not try to change the course of their lives? Provide them with education, proper food along with proper upbringing? Yes, that is possible only when the others take initiative. And then only shall their life take a better turn.

Let us fill the vacuity in the stomach, transform the huts into buildings, turn the ocular gleam into eternal glory. Let us make life better for those unlucky occupiers.

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NATURE AT ITS VERY BEST

Long silhouetted against the sky line lie the majestic Himalayas; their peaks utterly obscured by the dense cumulonimbi. The breeze flows intermittently bringing in a cozy ambience. The rustle of leaves is heard. Some dogs barking at a distance..

It is afternoon. All doors closed. People nowhere. Suddenly form the north, dense cumulonimbi drift towards the southern sky. The sky roars.

I see a crow in its nest in the betel tree. I see a couple of parrots flying in form the eastern sky. I see scarcity in the streets.

Far lined against the northern sky, some birds fly; and I savor the sight. Some trees with their heads high above the houses trap my eyes. Their beauty mesmerizes me. My mind laughs out loud in this breezy summer afternoon.

Nature appeals to me.

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WHERE IS THE CHILDHOOD OF THE CHILD?

Under the yoke of unnatural oppression, they carry on with their work for the seemingly endless hours of cruelty and torture. They are desolate, despondent, desperate—they know not what to do. Yes, they are those who have no guides, no power, no resources. But, they have one thing in common; they have a dream— a dream to achieve success, fame. Their hearts are filled with sorrow, pain and their shoulders droop down due to the truculent forces of CHILD LABOUR. There’s none to care for them, none to bring them up. They are on with their lives— they themselves care for themselves.

They are hapless, they are helpless. They are born of penurious parents who are too impuissant to nurture them. They end up working in factories, industries, households from the green age of 6-7 years. The curse of the undying poverty has taken them. They have to make a living early in order to live. Can’t we do something for them? Their families? Educate their children for free? Educate their parents about this problem so that they understand their child’s dream, his future? Yes, why not? Why not each of us take up a challenge to try to enable education for any child we see working to earn their living? Protest against any instance of Child Labour? If each of us can do something or the other for them, there shall surely be some considerable change in our society.

Through this post, I appeal to all the social welfare authorities and educational institutions to visit every nook and corner of this so-called “modern” India and bring out from those, the plight and affliction of this suffering puerile society and definitely ameliorate their inhuman visitations.

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HOW DUMB IS HE?

HE FLUNKED RECESS.
HE WENT CORDLESS BUNGEE JUMPING.
HE THOUGHT KARL MARX WAS ONE OF THE THE MARX BROTHERS.
HE THOUGHT THE ENGLISH CHANNEL WAS BETWEEN HBO & NICKELODEON.
HE THOUGTH HARRISON FORD INVENTED THE AUTOMOBILE.
HE TRIED TO BUY A GARAGE AT A GARAGE SALE.
HE TORE OUT A PAGE FROM HIS CALENDAR BECAUSE HE WANTED TO TKAE A MONTH OFF.

Wasn't that funny? That's from the same book.

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Signs You Bought A Bad Computer

1. It comes with an 1-hour warranty
2. A sticker on the bottom reads MADE IN OCCUPIED JAPAN.
3. The manual says when it freezes, wrap it in a sweater.
4. This is the best of all, On closer inspection, you realize the "Apple" logo is actually a "lemon".

These are in fact not my own. Some excerpts from a Joke Book. You might see more of them in following posts.

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"BINNACLE"

“Binnacle”—came the word bubbling through the mouth of Peter Sokolowski, the Editor-at-Large of the Merriam Webster Dictionary. I asked for the definition, asked for continuous repeats. Asked if it is “Bin-na-kel” or not. He agreed. I made up my mind to tell “B-i-n-n-a-c-l-e” but when, a sudden whim surrounded me; I don’t know with what spontaneity I uttered, “B-e-n-o-c-le”. Spontaneously came the reply, “The correct spelling is….” I closed my eyes in arrant disappointment, descended down the stage and took my seat. I was eliminated out of the remaining four contestants of the competition.

Paavan Agarwal, contestant no. 54, who had been sitting right next to me for the whole competition, came out as FIRST. Frankly speaking, I don’t remember the other names! It was only a week when I came out as 1^st from the east zone at Kolkata after competing with Kolkata and Patna. And it was a month ago when I came out as 2^nd from Siliguri. So fast these days have passed—now I sit and put down my thoughts, my delightful experiences on paper.

The 1^st, 2^nd and 3^rd at Delhi received DELL laptops each and a couple of thick dictionaries although every contestant was awarded a certificate of merit and a dictionary. The experience at Delhi was a great one; I met 54 students, different kinds of people and was really happy to have taken part in such a marvelous competition. It’s my first time at a close-to-national level competition and that I became 4^th was satisfying—but there’s still a “but”. I missed the laptop and moreover, 4^th was below my expectations. Anyway, better luck next time. Class XI will be an opportunity. So, that’s for today. Comment, my dear readers!

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