Murmuration

Just like two adjacent pieces of photographs on a reel, the sky merged into the sea. The water was so still then, that it almost reflected the space above without a hesitation of nuisance. I observed how the sun slowly lost his shape – from a vicious round, to a semi-circle and then a thick, evaporating, straight line. The motion-less water afar, reproduced the same, creating a hallucination of noon; the sun being full. It’s so strange that we, as a race, evolved so fast –travelled galaxies, cured diseases, fought wars and sought peace, but we are still amazed by the same things. The first men drew sunsets in caves, we draw in iPads, nothing else changed.

When the rest of the travellers were taking a stroll on the sand, I dug myself a big, chair-like hole and sunk within. The sand rubbed against my bare skin, created a sensation of the earth caressing my body. Being merged in the sand, I almost fell asleep like a child on his mother’s lap, when I heard her – “Do you mind if I sit beside you?”

“Suit yourself.” I replied. Truth be told, I would rather be left alone but she took a seat before even me answering her question.

“Do you see those birds?” She pointed out to a massive flock, who were patrolling near the horizon.
I looked up and observed them fly. “Of course. It looks like they are going back home.” I responded. With an undisturbed gaze, she replied – “Look at the front. The tiny bird that is guiding them.” I looked again. There was, indeed, a tiny bird guiding the gang. It almost looked like they followed him blindly. If it takes a right, the whole flock takes the turn. If it goes left, they follow. And doing so, they create these astoundingly beautiful patterns in the sky, that you can be lost watching them for hours.

“Murmuration.” She said again. “That’s what they call it. What a weirdly mechanical name for something so lively.” Chuckling.  “They do it to keep each other safe. They also transfer information that they have gathered thought he day like this. It helps them to be better every day, in a way. ” She went on explaining. I just smiled back.

I saw her back in the bus. While everyone else was emerged in their own business, she was one of those few who was constantly chirping – much like those birds – sometime with the bus conductor, sometime with the co-passengers, and from what it looked like –  sometime with her own self. I on the other hand, am not a fan of conversing with people around me. I like my peace, and so I often turn to any weapon which keeps people away from me. Sometime one weapon is not enough, so I’m loaded with multiple of them – books, headphones, earpods – you name it, I have it. I don’t have any problem with people talking to me, it’s just that when I try to indulge in a conversation, it takes a turn that I don’t want it to.  Hence, the gears.

“I heard there used to be a dock nearby, even a few years ago. But You know how moody the nature is. There was a cyclone and it took it all away – washed the dock to the shore. The ships have changed their course now. The few families, who had houses nearby, also packed and moved near the city, where there is more work. This whole place is deserted now. It’ll take much longer to repair the bus than they said.” She again chuckled. If the whole story, what she just told, had any action following up, it should not be a chuckle.
She was calm as the sea. I would worry, normally. But watching her, I couldn’t. So, I decided to give in and take a part in the conversation –

“So, have you been to this part of the world before?” I asked.
“I have crossed here, but never stopped. What a beautiful place, isn’t it?” she smiled.
The sun had started to evaporate in the horizon. Darkness soon took over the sky, like ink spilled into a paper. With time, the sky was getting darker and darker, but face lit up as she continued her story of voyages.

I looked into the sky and observed a meteor fly through. The raging tail left a splash of light as it arrowed through the darkness. The whole sky, and the water beneath it, bloomed into light for fraction of second. I saw her clenching her fists, closing her eyes, making a wish. I too, wished for something.

Soon enough, the bus was fixed and we all arrived our destination. She went her own way.  I have crossed the road multiple times since, but I have never seen the beach or her again. But every time i look up in the sky and see a flock of birds circling in patterns, it reminds me of the places i'm yet to explore and the people, i'm yet to meet. 

This is a write up to spread the world for #TheBlindList and #SayYesToTheWorld. Participate now - here. 

Picture Source - here.

Tamed

I sat there with my broken phone on the table. Where there was a beautiful five-inch fancy display and a beautiful pair of lips carving a smile as the wallpaper, only the marble of the glass and teeth of smile remained.

I wondered if it still worked, whether I could check the status of the flight.

The flight! “What’s the time?” I tried to shout, but only a whisper broke.

“Oh, you’re up.” The nurse said passing a glass of water. 

I gulped it in one go and asked “Yeah. Can you help me with the time?” I asked again, this time in a more stable voice. 

“It’s 8.” She replied looking at her wristwatch.

She must’ve landed a few minutes ago. I thought. This was my chance to see her. Now that I’m here and she’s landed I won’t be able to meet her. The strange things universe do to fuck you up, I smiled.

What if I left home late today? What if that car suddenly didn’t brake? What if I did not pass out at that exact moment? What if I did not meet with the accident today and what if she was coming any other day? 

But all of those things did not happen. What happened was me breaking my phone and passing out on the highway while going to the airport to meet her! Now she’d never know that I came. She’d never think that I still cared. She’d never be aware that this was the day that I was waiting for years. 

[1]

“I cannot play with you.” the fox said. “I am not tamed”

“What I must do to tame you?”

“You must be very patient,” replied the fox. “First you will sit down at a little distance from me – like that – in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit closer to me, every day…”

It was that time of the year when rain and winter found solace in each other. The raindrops pierced through the fierce winter as if somebody was spray painting the whole city. The temperature rose below to a record level. Families took out their room heaters which were catching dust in some hidden corners of their houses, and bachelors turned to Old Monk as a replacement for their post-meal beers. 

When all the town was busy finding the cold, who knew that I’d find my remedy just across the corridor!

I met her in the elevator one day. I was coming late from office. The rains made it even harder to glide through traffic on my bike. It was near midnight when I got to the under-developed society of ours. From the exposed bricks and the machines, I managed to slide my bike to the parking. All the hassling and rustling of traffic made me sweat. I removed my helmet and unzipped my jacket to let the cold breeze kiss my soaked shirt. I got the lift and that was the first time I saw her. 

She was standing there holding the door for me. She must’ve seen me parking my bike. I saw her from the corner of my eyes. She was not the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. But that spark that she had in her was inevitable. Dressed in a black jacket and jeans, hair cut short and the office tag that hung around her neck made it evident that she too was a victim of the corporate rally. 

“Thank you.” I passed a smile. Still gazing at her eyes which were tired but glistening. She reminded me of those days when it was summer around these part of the world. I know that is a terrible way to define someone’s beauty. But she reminded me of the dessert in this defining cold and rain.

“Which floor?” she asked with a fancy smile. 

“5th” I replied. 

She pressed the button 5 on the keyboard of the lift. The doors of the lift closed. I wondered will she not press a button for her own floor?”

“You’re also going to the 5th one?” I asked. The lift already started moving at that time. 

“Yes,” She said. “I just moved to 504 yesterday.”  

“Great I’m at 502. Just across the corridor.” I replied, holding onto that smile. 

She tried to say something, but before that happened, we were interrupted by a bashing sound. And the lift stopped in between 2nd and 3rd floor. The lights turned off just then. 

“Shit!” I exclaimed. 

She took out the phone from her pocket and turned on the flashlight. The dark elevator turned white in a go. 

“What now?” She asked. 

“I think it’s the thunderstorm outside. The fuse must be out. And in this hour I don’t think anyone would be able to help!” I said. Frustration clearly visible on my face.

“Is there network on your phone?” She asked me to check.

“Nope. Yours?” I asked. 

“No.” she shook her head.

She was as shaken as me, but all the worries were inside, her face was still lit up.

Maybe it’s the flashlight or the rain outside, or that little mole on her left cheek, but I noticed how beautiful she actually was. 

“Don’t we have any option but to wait?” she asked. 

“I don’t think so.” I said shaking my shoulders.

“So wait it is.” She said and sat on the floor in a whoosh. I followed the lead. 

What followed is a not so eventful night at the elevator. But in the morning when we finally got rescued from the elevator, we were two persons in awe of each other. We talked about films, music, art, celebrities, the galaxy, football, relationships, love, destiny, the moon in the cloudy night and thousands of other things for the whole night. But when we got out, no single drop of exhortation was on our faces. We were fresh as the morning breeze that followed the rainy cold night. Before yesterday we were two people in the sea of people.  To her, I was nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And to me, she was nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But after that night she was the fox that I wanted to tame and I was the boy that she looked from the corner of her eyes.

We watched the blossom of spring, we felt the scorch of the summer, the humidity of rain, we felt the breeze of autumn and before we knew the next winter was here.

We were so entangled in each other that it made it impossible to separate us from each other. We spoke less, listened more. 

It was one of those nights when the rain and the winter find solace in each other. Just like the night we met. The one difference was this time I had someone to find solace in too. And instead of the lift, we were stuck in other’s body. 

“Winter should officially be awarded as the season of the lovers,” I said, carving words on her bare back while she tried to guess them. 

“What?” she giggled. 

“Yes. Have you ever thought how romantic it is?

It’s so cold outside that people don’t want to leave their houses. Think of them who sit in their homes and doesn’t have anyone to snuggle with. How painful it must be to be alone in the winter? Don’t think that just like their breath vapor that floats into the air and dissolves into nothing, their life is incomplete. It’s meant to be spent with somebody close, somebody dear. 

I feel lucky to have you now. To be with you. To hear the songs that you like, to make you read the books I adore. To spent days dreaming and night capturing your essence.” I said still carving.

“You and your idiotic romanticism…” she replied chuckling. But before I could realize I felt a drop of warm tear on my chest that she rested her head on. Then I felt another one, and soon a rain of tears wet my chest. I did not say anything for a while.

She could understand the letters I was carving on her back. I did not have to say them, she understood. 

After a while, she said, “I’m in love with you too.” I wiped away her tears and kissed her on the forehead.

That night also we talked about a lot of things – stories, career, distance, closeness and I promised her that I’ll send a song to her every day after she falls asleep so she could start day with something I adored and so would she so that I could start my day with something that she is fond of. 

That night we fell asleep after a while or so I thought. I woke up early in the morning to find her gazing me at my sleep. Her eyes, still teary, her hair, still short, and her face, still unbelievably beautiful. 

My parting eyes made her face light up with a smile so bright that for a moment I thought the sun rose from the wrong direction for a day.

“Good morning!” said the sunshine. 

“Good morning!” I said. 

[2]

“Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course, you’ll hurt me. Of course, we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence means accepting the risk of absence.”

After that day, it’s been two years since I’ve seen her. I found out through her flatmate that she went away for an onsite project from the company to abroad that same evening. I tried to catch a hold of her for days. I tried calling, she didn’t pick up. I tried contacting on social media, she didn’t respond. I tried talking to her friends, but all that I could find that she was doing okay. 

At first, the absence of her pierced through a shovel into my heart. It became impossible to live inside the house, the thought of her made my every living breath heavier. It became even harder going out. But the toughest time came with the next winter. It did not rain that winter, but it was cloudy outside. It was colder than any winters I’ve ever seen. For days the town did not see the face of the sun. For months I did not see the face of the sun. 

I just wished I could take back the words. Words are the source of misunderstandings. She warned me before. But I did not listen. I was so in love with the idea of taming the fox that I forgot the most important thing of all. To tame is to set free. To put boundaries of words only meant scaring the Fox away. Thousand times over I thought if only I could take back what was done that night. If only we could just go back to her looking at me from the corner of her eyes and me sitting closer. 

But as the way the universe works, it finds a way to fuck you up. So here went mine. I could not take back the words, but I could have done, I did. 

I sent her a song, each day, for two whole years. 

I waited for the Fox to come back to the stone where we both sat holding each other.

[3]

“And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

And this was the day I was waiting for years, she was finally coming back. Her flight would’ve landed here at 7.30 and I was ready to the airport by 5, even if it only takes 30 minutes to reach there.

I left home by 6, and in the way I met with the accident that left me unconscious only to find me here in the hospital bed when it’s already 8. 

I lost my chance, I thought. If I got to meet her, I would let her understand the impact of the last two winters. I would let her understand that taming her was an excuse that I played to sit beside her for the rest of my life. I won’t ruin it by strangling the boundary of words with me this time. I would just watch her watching me with the corner of her eyes and light up when I struggle to part mine.

[4]

“You become responsible forever, for what you have tamed.”

My tangled thoughts untangled in a go when I got knocked on the door of my hospital room.

I saw what resembled the smile on my broken phone, only brighter, standing on that door.  

And in a single moment, it all made sense. The mysterious way the universe works.  The untaming and the taming. The tears and the joy.

The blossom of the spring, the scorch of the summer, humidity of rain, the breeze of autumn and the chill of winter. 

For after years, I had seen my sun rising. 

The fox was back on the dessert with the prince.

Note: This is a small effort to tribute the master of the craft Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, and his masterpiece “The little prince”. To look at the book in a different perspective.

Braveheart

Sometimes I wish
I would have known,
Of that strange town
That you once called home
And ran away from.

Sometimes I wish
I would have felt
That loveless regret
And that nasty heartache
That keeps you wide awake.

Oh and sometimes my mind wishes
Like those black and white fishes,
We should’ve snuggled and we should’ve cried.

But it was too late when we finally realized
That all our smiles and our sufferings,
All our temples and our coffins
Nothing was ever safe!
And all we needed was someone
Pretending to be brave.

Full moon in a cloudy night.

There's something so serene, so beautiful about a full moon in a cloudy night that it makes it nearly impossible to describe it in words. You just have to feel it to know it. The clouds – some white, some pitch black, skiing thorough a rather clear sky. And the moon, playing hide and seek with them – sometimes it decides to unveil itself, shining through the darker clouds, overthrowing their dominance, sometimes it hides behind the white ones making them glow like neon lampposts in a distant road, and sometimes it even tries to pretend to be crescent, only to surprise afterwards.

“Don’t you think we live in a world which was predetermined for us? Whatever happens takes us towards where we’re supposed to end up. And when it does, everything starts making sense. That job I quit, that city I visited, that risk I never took. Everything somehow falls beautifully together like missing pieces from a puzzle.” She said, still half dozed from the alcohol and the day long journey combined.

“But are you sure it was destiny? Was it mere luck that those decisions somehow aligned? Or is it us who chose our fate? Think about it, what if that day you never had said yes for the trip? Your life would have been the same. We would have never met, but your life would have continued. You would still be happy, maybe or maybe not. But my point is, it was your decision altogether.

I think life is a game of probability. You get to roll the dice, but the sides will always be six. You would have limited options to choose from. But you must choose. And whatever we choose, we own it, our achievements and mistakes, our smiles and heartaches.” I said, looking towards the sky.

The clouds now thickened. Covering every bit of the gorgeous glow. No matter how hard the moon tried, it couldn’t sneak a peek. Only thing that still reminded us of how beautiful it was under those thunderous clouds, was the moon dust, the afterglow that some clouds carried from the time when the moon still could breathe. And as it is said, you can only know someone’s worth when they’re not with you anymore. Same goes for the moon too, the only difference is, the clouds around the moon will soon go by and it’ll come back, unlike people.

 “Perhaps! But I still think that whatever is meant to be, will happen. It might take a shorter or longer route, based on what we choose, as you said, but it’ll happen for sure.

Tell me don’t you believe in intuitions? The feeling you get in your guts that you should do a thing or refrain from it? Can that moment of self-believe be derived with logic?  You just know it, you know.

I think that’s how the universe converse with us. It tells us what to do to shorten the distance between you and your fate. We all are a part of a bigger picture and we have our own roles play.” She said.

 “I agree with you to some extent. The only thing that I would add to that, is at the end, even the universe asks for our approval. It gives us that gut feeling, that intuitions, but leaves the choice to us. Would we take its advice, or we decide otherwise is our own call.” I replied

“Tell me something, what’s your take on relationships, do you believe in clichés? Do you think that someday someone will come and share your pain and your happiness?” She asked out of the blue. I stared right at her face, she was looking at the sky. I could see the stardust settling down on her face, finding peace in it, and her face glowed like a thousand fireflies captivated in a jar. The night might not have had a moon just then, but the chair beside me surely did.

“Oh I believe in clichés. Clichés are clichés for a reason. The truth within is what makes them clichés. But my clichés are different. I believe in suffering. I believe everyone has to suffer in their own way. It’s a matter of fact of time that you’ll get hurt in any relationship, but until you don’t, there’s nothing more fun than them.

See, I’m a wanderer hitchhiking from one place to another. That is how my life has been. Staying too long in one place scares me to the core. I wonder if one day I feel like to stop running. Will I be able to?  Some questions never found their answers.” I said I sighed and looked up.

The clouds that were fighting for their turn to hide the mood and feel proud of their darkness were long gone. The moon was still there, though it’s light dimmed to minimum. The sky came to rescue and was trying hard to light itself. The night was almost over, sun would soon overshine her and even though the moon will be there, no one will notice her for the next twelve hours.

I could see the horizon turning red, followed by an orange and yellow aura. The dull dark sky suddenly turned colorful like a painter had spilled all his colors over it. Like everyone else, it was time for the night to leave.

“I have a cliché for you.” She said. “What’s darkness? The absence of light. What’s evil? Absence of goodness. And what’s pain? Absence of happiness.

Don’t you think that if you believe in suffering and pain you, you’re also believing in happiness and ecstasy?  Think about it, you can only know what’s suffering if you have seen better days. Look, I’m not asking you to start believing in something all of a sudden. I’m asking you not to stop. And that being said, I want you to answer your question. You don’t have to do that right here, right now. You don’t have to share your answer to anyone. But you owe that to yourself, don’t you?” She asked.

The tiredness was evident on her face, still she somehow managed to look as beautiful as ever. I could see the orangish yellow aura slowly turning white and the redness around the horizon taking an oval shape. Somewhere near some birds chirped. The night full of thunders and clouds now slowly was turning into a dawn of songs and morning breeze. I saw her fighting hard with her hairs, which were determined to wash away stardust from her face and she struggled to save them. She caught me staring – “What?” she asked.

I pointed towards the horizon and replied – “Look, It’s a new day!’”

Source of the picture : here.

Butterfly

You’ve crawled, all your life,
Asking questions, you don’t want an answer to.
You’ve followed, all the rules,
Making promises, and following through.
Oh caterpillar, climbing up the ladder
Of a world you don’t believe in.
Stop for a while, take out your time
Feel the silk hugging you in.

You’ve watched, up from a branch
Pretty souls, come and go,
You’ve drenched, fists clenched
Witty travelers, to and fro.
Oh cocoon, wake up soon,
For you have to change the sky.
Shake off the dust, burn out the rust
Because it’s your time to fly.

You’ve seen, tears of the queen,
From the top-right window on the castle.
You’ve kissed, the morning mist
And rained tears into the riffle.
Oh butterfly, wake up and try
For you only get one day to live.
Take off the wig, learn to forgive,
Because you’ve given all you had to give.

With you.

When the wind will kiss your face,
Your hair will fly in grace.
The merry-go-round of thoughts
Will jump from place to place,
I’ll be wandering, with you.

When sky will darken with storm,
Paper-boats will be crushed and torn,
The rail of cold will blow with full horn
You’ll need a shoulder to lie on,
I’ll be frightened, with you.

When the sun will finally smile,
Birds will chirp, tears will dry,
Dust will be washed from a pile,
You’ll get up and again you’ll try
To walk on the aisle,
I’ll be brave, with you.

And when the leaves will turn yellow
Skin will turn gray and smiles mellow,
When you’ll lose all your glow,
I’ll grow old, with you.

Will you?

You.

She willed herself to not check her phone to see if he had replied. It had been about three days now. She hated that she was constantly checking his 'last seen at' status and yes, he had logged in just five minutes ago. Yet she couldn't stop herself. This sinking feeling to find absolutely no communication from him was becoming unbearable, almost torturous.
And then, just as she sat down in her chair, her phone vibrated. With her heart thudding in her ear, she unlocked her phone and stared at the screen. Finally! It was his message.
But when she opened it and read it, she nearly stopped breathing. She didn't know ifhe was joking or not. What was this?
“Look to your left.” It read.

The massive crowd of Kolkata Metro, especially this time of the day made it almost impossible to move your head, let alone spotting someone in the midst of it. But from the corner seat, she somehow managed to look up, to the left, and among many unfamiliar faces, she found the familiar one. Gobsmacked, she was. She didn’t understand. He should be in another country, riding a train to grand central may be, but there he was, standing in the jostle of Metro crowd, with no trace of worry on his face. He was smiling.
A hearty smile, was the first thing she remembered that ensured that she falls for him. And when he flashed that enticing heart-stealing smile of his one more time, she knew that it’ll take a lifetime, maybe more to get over him.
“Hey.” She tried to shout, but the buzzing sound of the rail ensured that never reaches his ears. He waved his hands, asking her where she’d get off. She pointed, the next station. They both got down from the train.
“You’re supposed to be in USA right now. What are you doing here?” she asked as soon as she got the chance.
“I changed my mind.” He said, still smiling.
“What?” She still was in an awe.
“Are you hungry? I’m starving. Let’s go get something to eat.” And before she could answer something, he took her hand and started dragging. He was always like this. The youngest child of the legendary ‘Chowdhury’ house of Shyambazar. Always doing what he wanted. He wanted to study commerce, so he did. He wanted to pursue economics, and he did. He wanted to do his masters from
abroad, and he got in. But now, he wanted to not go, so he didn’t. Adamant, persistent, there isn’t an adjective with similar meaning that can’t define him. And she, on the other hand, was the calmer one. Music, art and poetry that interested her more than numbers.
They were childhood friends. Their parents were business partners. Though the business never worked out, but their friendship did. And with that came thousand memories.

“Mitra café?” He asked. She nodded.
In came the famous kabiraji and cutlet.
“Will you tell me, or do I have to ask again?” she said, taking a bite.
“Tell you what?” He replied, instantaneously.
“Sounak…” she warned him, rolling her eyes.
“Okay okay. Ask me, what do you want to know?”
“Why are you still here?” She asked.
“Because I never got in the plane.” He said, paying no heed to her curiosity and concentrating solely on his mutton.
“Why?” she almost shouted.
He gobbled the meat, put down his knife and fork, looked up to her, and replied reluctantly –
“Because I didn’t want to.”
“I don’t understand. You scored the highest marks in your college. You got into the University of your choice. You even secured a grant. Then why are you backing off?” She still was confused. “Because I belong here. This is my home, and I can’t leave my home.” He said.
He was a rational man, or so she thought. She never knew he could take such a decision purely based upon emotions.
"You had your life planned. It was perfect. Why would you abandon it? Just because you’ll be away from home?" she asked.
“Yeah pretty much. I realized I could never leave Kolkata.” He replied, still on his cutlet.
“What?” she tried to understand him.
“Wow I didn’t know that Kolkata means so much to you.” She said. Again he put down his fork and replied in a disturbed tone -
“Why won’t it? It is like the oldest companion I have. It has seen me being born. It has seen how in lazy Sundays I curl up in the front porch and listen to Manna Dey. It has seen me in my best, and in my worst. It has seen my cricket playing phase, my pink floyd loving phase, my long beard, short hair. It has seen me grow. My first friend, first math book, first school dress, first guitar, first cigarette, first parker pen, it has given me all my firsts. I know in its lanes like they were veins running through in back of my palm…”
“But is a city enough to hold you off your dreams?” she cut him midway.
“Dreams change Divya, and so do we.” He said.
“So you want me to believe that the love of a city changed you?” She asked.
“But you know it’s not solely about the city. It’s the people that changed me. You know, just a few days ago, when I was all set to go, Baba came into my room, my things were packed. The room never seemed so big. He came and sat on my bed, and in a shaky voice, he told me how proud he was. But never, not for once had he looked me in the eye. I knew the reason when I saw a tiny drop of tear escaping his eyes.
Later, when I told him I won’t go, I again saw another drop of tear finding its way out. This time he didn’t tell me how proud he was, instead he scolded me. But believe me, more than words could explain, the difference between those teardrops explained the truth. He never wanted me to go.”
A silence prevailed. She had known him for the most of her life, but had never seen this side of him. And the strangest part is she couldn’t make how she should feel. Shattered? Because he’s throwing his life away just like that. Or happy? Because at least now he will always be in her sight? Ever since childhood, she was madly in love with him, but never had the courage to confront. For she realized that numbers and figures are more important for him than flowers and kisses. But this new found side of him shook her beliefs from the root. She thought she knew him. But now she doubted that. She realized all she ever knew was a fraction of him, maybe the larger one, but it still was a fraction. The fraction he let her see. The fraction he himself unveiled to her, and the fraction she unveiled of him. He was far too real to be bounded by a finite number of adjectives, she thought. “If you’re not going, then what are you going to do here? Are you applying in colleges? for your masters?”  She tried to understand him, the most she could. “No.” he replied.
“Then?” she inquired. A strange smile tuned up on his face. His eyes danced in the rhythm of excitement.
“Well, I’m thinking of starting the restaurant again.” He said.
“Are you serious?” her face lighted up. It was the same restaurant that her and his fathers opened jointly.
“Yeah. I mean think about it. The restaurant has been shut down for year. Yet our fathers never thought of it to sell.” He said.
“But it didn’t run well the first time it was opened? What made you think that it’ll run good this time? And have you spoken to your baba about it? I don’t know about him, but I know my Dad. He’ll be tough to convince.” She almost shouted. The mere idea of opening the long lost restaurant was exciting for her too. She had so many childhood memories there. And besides when he is so excited, it’s tough not to be excited. After all, excitement is a contagious emotion. “I believe, if I can convince them to let me have it, then I can make it work. I’ve done a detailed research of how much it would cost, and how profitable it would be if it is operated with patience and precision.” He said, flashing a smile. “I have faith in you. I know you can do it.” She smiled.
They finished their plates. The waiter came in with a bill in his hands. Sounak put a five hundred rupees note in the booklet and said, “Divya…” “Yes?” she replied.
“Apart from Kolkata, baba, and everything else, there was another reason why even when reaching the airport, I could not get in the airplane.”
“What reason?” She asked, trying to think what other reason it could be.

He replied with a smile, "The reason is..."

Source: here.

Reminiscence.

I’ve heard,
The pinch of skin,
That forms an oval indent on her perfect face
Catches more attention than Monalisa’s grin.
I’ve heard that with a single look
She can penetrate someone’s heart
Like a sharp knife does to a blob of butter.
I’ve heard she sings the sweetest of songs,
Recites the darkest of poetry.
She dances like there is no tomorrow,
And she paints flawlessly.

I’ve also heard,
Rumors about her past,
Men she'd been with, men she'd lived part.
I’ve heard people pray, play and pay
Just to be with her for sometime.
But she was like a hurricane,
Binding her would be a crime.
I’ve heard stories made of her,
About her beauty and fame.
The most desirable woman. Or so they claim.

But so much can be heard from beyond the reach,
So one day I decided to meet.

She was something that all of us wanted to be,
She had everything that we wanted to have.
She was somebody the warriors could die for
She was someone all men wanted to grab.

My search began from the mountain
And moved to the plain.
Seasons changed but my search didn’t stop.
Someday it scorched, someday it rained.
And then, in a vacant warfield I found a stain.
Of a place I’ve never heard of, and a name.
After a few hiccups I found the den,
Of the most gorgeous woman.

‘Don’t spill the secret’ the guard said.
‘Let others find themselves,
Of this place and this cave’.
And in I went, to darkest corner,
And waited till the sun kissed the roof
And finally I could see her,
Loud and clear.
Just like the stories said,
Just like I pictured her.
There she was standing tall,
Smiling through the mirror.



Pic courtesy  : 5phoron( Supriyo Mondal) 

No Bake Mango Cheesecake (Sugar free).

No bake cakes are the new cool when it comes to delicious desserts. Today, we'll prepare a no bake mango cheesecake. It's sweet, fruity and healthy. Because we're using sugar free natura, instead of sugar. So without much adieu lets get to it.

Here's the list of ingredients we'll use. 

For The Crust :

•  1 cup of biscuit, crushed.
•  4 tbsp of  melted butter.
•  3 tbsp of sugar free natura powder.

For the Filling :

• 1 pack of cream cheese at room temperature. 
• 3/4 cup of sugar free natura powder. 
• 3/4 tsp of vanilla extract.
• 3 mangoes for the filling + 1 mango for the topping. 
• 1 tbsp of gelatin. 
• 2 tbsp of warm water. 
• 200 ml of heavy whipping cream.

Procedure :

1. Break the biscuits (any kind apart from salty ones) and crush them. Add the crushed biscuits in to a mixing bowl. Pour the butter and the sugar free natura powder in and mix until the mix feels like wet sand mixture.
2. Pour the mixture in the base of a springform pan, and press down with the back of a spoon.
3. Extract the pulp out of 3 mangoes, and blend them using a blender.
4. In a bowl mix the gelatin and warm water, stir until the gelatin fully disolves.
5. Add powdered sugar free natura to the mango mix and add the gelatin mixture to it too. Stir until everything incorporates well, and let it set aside.
6. Mix cream cheese, sugar free natura powder and vanila extract to a separate bowl. Mix until the mixture is thick.
7. Whip the whipping cream until it forms stiff peaks.
8. Add the cream cheese mixture to the whipped cream, and fold  them together. The mixture should be smooth and aerated.
9. Add this mixture on your biscuit mix and fill the springform pan upto 3/4th. 
10. Spoon the mango purée over the top.
11. Cut another mango, and make long strips with the flesh. Now decorate the cake with these strips.
12. Put the whole cake in a fridge for atleast 4 hours.
13. Take out the cake from the fridge, and with the help of a sharp knife cut the edges, so that it is easy to remove the sringform pan.
14. Enjoy your no bake mango cheesecake. 

(Source : here.)

Disclaimer : This recipe is inspired by a recipe by David Hood.  And this post is a part of Sugar Free Dessert Challenge (http://sugarfree-india.com/).

The truth of crash diets.

Do you have a party lined up just after a few days? Or do you want to look slimmer just for yourself? Well, most practiced and effective way of doing that, in a really short span of time, is to crash diet.
So what exactly is crash dieting and what doctors have to say about crash dieting?

According to experts, crash diet is a method to lose weight really fast in a short period of time, by reducing the daily calorie intake to as low as 700 calories a day. And if you don’t know how much that is, it can be said 700 calories per day for an adult is pretty low.

Some popular crash diet programs are - Juice Fast Crash Diet, Xtreme Fat Loss Diet, Cleansing, Cabbage Diet etc.

So does this crash diet thing really work? And if it does, does it have any negative impact over our body? You may ask. Well, there are two groups. One who claims it does, and the other one opposes.
Nutrition experts, however mostly are against Crash Dieting.

“When you limit calories so dramatically, your body goes into starvation mode and your metabolic rate plummets.” says Darcy Johannsen, Ph.D., R.D., assistant professor at Pennington Biomedical Research Centre. She also said, “: Crash diets might be a quick fix, but they can also be awful, dangerous, and come with lasting negative health effects.”

“Because they are nutritionally unbalanced, crash diets can lead to long-term poor health,” says dietitian Ursula Arens.

Says Anjanaa Damodharan, a health freak, "In my opinion, crash diets are generally not a good idea because they don't let you eat what you want. And that causes irritation and physical change as well,"

So what harm a crash diet can do to you?  Here’s a list:

1) Your Metabolism slows down to that point until your body starts to react. Your body tries to conserve energy. So that necessarily means you’ll just move less than normal because you have less energy.

2) So you are restricting your body not only to calories, but to food groups, and that means that your body will not just burn fat, but it can burn down some of the muscles too. And guess what? Well, they might not bounce right back after the crash. Because our body is programmed to rebuilt the fat storage first!

3) Having an empty stomach will have an effect on your mood too. You are bound to lose your charm, along with the weight.

4) Crash Dieting can affect your nervous system. This can make you feel colder all the time, slow down your heart rate, or produce a drop in blood pressure that could even cause you to pass out.

These were just 4 points, but Crash Diet can harm you in more ways possible.

So, losing weight in a gradual manner (hit the gym, swim, yoga etc.) is much more recommended than Crash Dieting.

So quit trying to lose weight by stressing your body and stick to more healthy food regime. Fruits, vegetables, and measured calories will make a healthy diet. Eating healthy will increase your longevity, it’ll boost your energy, help you fight off diseases, lift up your mood and last but not the least, and it’ll help you to lose weight, in a more healthy and prescribed way.

This summer Dabur Honey brings you the Honey Diet.  You can have honey instead of sugar, just to have your meals in a healthier way, without losing the taste, if not increasing it. Not only that, the most traditional way of keeping your immune system good, and to control your weight is to have a spoon of honey taken with warm water in the morning.  Connect to http://www.daburhonewy.com/ to find out more benefits of honey along with experts' advice.

So this summer, don't let the short timespan of crash diet lure you. Loose weight, but in a healthy way!

UC browser

All hurdled up as my mother called us for dinner. The essence of family gathering is in the fun of all having dinner together. My Delhi-wali aunty,Patha wale cousin, Tito, Bublu, and who not. Our 3-BHK flat was filled with people. Everyone I loved and admired was present. But I couldn’t concentrate on the food and conversations, because my mind was somewhere far from our home, our building, and even the town. All I could think about was the vast stadium of Adelaide Oval. It was the game 4 match between India and Pakistan. And I badly wanted to switch on the TV. But because of the lack of space, we merely could all sit on the floor, let alone watch television. And these people seemed so ignorant. How can they be so calm when an India – Pakistan match was on?
After a lot of brainstorming, I reached to my pocket and take out my smartphone. I fired up the UC Web Browser. And voila! There it was, the little blue button that would save my life.No one even noticed, and I felt like I was present in two places, at the same time! So thanks to UC Cricket, I could keep record of the whole game, as well as could enjoy my mother’s delicious food.
So what actually is UC Cricket? Well it is the permanent solution of googling continuously for scores. And to say the least, UC browser provides the best cricket service in India, which includes live scores and latest news.
The key features of UC cricket includes,
A live score card with auto update, so you do not need to refresh it after each ball.
The match fixture as well as the result after a cricket match.
Latest news of the teams that you follow and the series you might be interested in.
And videos, starting from the highlights, to each wickets, individual shots and everything you want to see in a cricket match.
Excited much? Well it’s not the end. Download UC browser for even more intriguing features. And if you are still asking why, then the answer is:
1) Because it is faster than any mobile browser, anytime. And no need to worry if you are on a low network coverage. Switch to the speed mode and UC browser will load any website faster for you.
2) Are you more interested in downloading? Well UC browser offers 40% faster downloading.
3) It now has a PC version. So switch to mobile and then PC, your data will be saved and never lost.
4) A smart file manager is the last thing you expect a browser to provide, but then again UC exceeds any expectation. It’s that good.




So download UC browser now, and find out why Yuvraj Singh, along with numerous other users prefers UC browser.

To find out more, you can visit http://www.ucweb.com/
And to find out about UC cricket, connect to http://www.ucweb.com/English/UCbrowser/cricket.html

Al dente : Part 4

She burst into a chuckle. “Shivani… Shivani Dey.” She said, extending her hand towards the chef.
“It is very nice to meet you Shivani”, chef held her hand and shook it firmly.
“My name is Joe, and as you can see, I’m the chef here.” He said, flashing his teeth out.
“So, what were you saying, about helping me?” Shivani asked, this time.
“No offense intended, Chef Joe, but I find it hard to believe that you know about writing so much, that you can inspire me!” Shivani said. Now she was in the game. And she was, not at all, intimidated by Joe.

“Yes, Yes. Signora. Though I know a little about that stuff but I can help you with your writing. I know food, and you, believe it or not, good food and good stories, have more in common than you and me.” He said, in the same old, ridiculously charming way.

Shivani couldn’t resist but smile all along. If she listened carefully, all he was saying were gibberish. But to her that tiny decorous room, his contagious positive vibe, everything made sense. She knew, even if whatever he was saying was completely meaningless, it was meaningful to him, and hence, worth listening.

He continued. “You know I wasn’t a chef all along.  I was a banker. I had a really well-paying job in USA. I was staying in Silicon Valley. My life was perfect, in a materialistic way. But I wanted something more out of my job, rather than money. I wanted satisfaction. I wanted to feel the pride of creating something and bringing happiness on people’s face. And numbers couldn’t satisfy my needs. So I had to leave the job. And I had this knack for cooking since I was young. So I joined a restaurant, as a line chef. Then I was promoted to sous chef, and then finally I joined this one as an executive chef. And now, I enjoy what I do. I see people smiling when they have a bite of my food, and then I know that I’m happy with what I’m doing right now.” Joe said looking at Shivani, who was lost in his food, with a smile on her face.

She looked up, mesmerized. “Everyone dreams to do what you did. But not many can actually do it: to quit a job, and pursue your passion.”
“Why not? That’s my point? Why can’t they? What are they afraid of? Acceptance in the society? First you need to accept yourself, then the society will. Else you’ll be just a lost stone in the desert of a rat race.”  His face turned pinkish red.
Shivani already finished her egg, and now she devoured herself into the hot chocolate. She looked up from her plate to ask- “So what were you saying? Something stories and food…?”

“Ohh yeah. I’m sorry. I have this bad habit of drifting away from the topic.” He chuckled.

“See, good food and a good story is somehow similar. Let me give you an example. Let’s take pasta for an example. You like pasta right?” Joe asked.
“Of course, who, in Italy doesn’t like pasta?” Shavani said.

“Great. So, you see, there are different types of pasta: Tortellini, Penne, Farfalle, Spaghetti and many more. Each and every pasta has different taste and different preparations. In the same way, there are different types of stories. Mystery, Romantic, Science-fiction, and whatnot.” He said. Excitement was oozing out of his eyes.

“And for each story, there should be distinctive types of characters. Likewise, for every pasta dish, there are different ingredients.” He smiled.

“You see, but what brings together the pasta is the sauce. And what brings together a story is the emotions that are attached with the words.” His eyes sparkled as he spoke.

Shivani finished her drink and was now submerged into thoughts. What he was explaining was making her think of her story from a very unusual and ‘delicious’ point of view.

“I’ve been working as a chef for a long time now. And you see, the secret of making a pasta is in the making of the actual pasta. You let it boil first, and when you see the pasta floating in the bubbling water, you take them out.
We have a phrase in our profession. ‘Al dente’. It denotes the cook on the pasta. When a pasta is perfectly cooked, to the point of perfection, it is said to be al dente. Now, I can’t relate this to storytelling, but maybe you can” He flashed the same old charming smile.

That morning was like any other mornings in Rome. As divine as any other. The people were as jolly as ever. The unstoppable cold-war, between modernity and heritage, was as evident as any other day. And Shivani, well it was like any other morning until she met the chef of a nameless restaurant in the streets of Rome. But that morning, finally she met someone, with whom, she could talk for hours. For the first time since she stepped onto the soil of Italy, she wasn’t missing her home. Instead she was glad, that she could step out and see the world, all by herself. She met someone who knew the true meaning of passion. And maybe she’ll miss another deadline, but she knew, whatever she writes, she will write with all her heart. And as far as her ‘own’ story is concerned; well, thanks to a proficient chef, it will be ‘Al dente’.

Source : here.

P.S.- You can read the previous parts of the story :

• "Al dente : Part 1" from here.
• "Al dente : Part 2" from here.
• "Al dente : Part 3" from here.

Author's Note :  I am overjoyed to see the responses to my posts. So here's something new and exciting for the readers. 'Al Dente' is a series. I'll be posting it part by part. Drop in your comments to encourage this new endeavor. Thanks in advance. Keep supporting. :) 

Al dente : Part 3

“Yes.” she said.
“I ordered a plate of scrambled eggs. And you gave me a plate of eggs with tomatoes and some weird looking green things and…”
He cut her midways, before she could complete her sentence.
“They are called kale, dear, and they are healthy for you.” He flashed a grim expression.
“Okay! But why is my plate full of cheese?” she asked in an angry tone.

“Because that’s the way we Italians like to have our scrambled eggs. What’s the point of eating a plate of plain and boring eggs when you can have it in a delicious way! That’s up on the front board. We serve only delicious food here.” He stated.
“And this…” pointing towards the melting cheese he said, “This is happiness. Haven’t you heard what a photographer says when he clicks a portrait? He says, ‘cheese’. Cheese means happiness, cheese means laughter. Have you seen anyone eat, or even say, cheese with a sad face? No! ” He shrugged.

His imbecile explanation somehow made sense to Shivani. A smile lingered over her face as she heard him talking more about how much he loves his cheeses.

“You haven’t even tried it yet. Did you?” he asked.
Shivani realized, she has been so distracted by the tomatoes and kales that she didn’t even had a single bite. She picked up the spoon, which was lying idle on her table since the moment she walked in, and dig into the platter. She tried to heap on all the elements on one tea spoon, making it overflow with the melting cheese and shove it into her mind. That taste! That perfect combination of sweet, savoury, citric flavour from the lime juice and that cheese, it really brings the dish together. It would be an understatement if she didn’t say that this was the best scrambled eggs she'd ever had.

She looked up to the chef. He was eagerly tring to analyse her expression, crossing his arms over his chest.
“It’s delicious.” She said, with hesitation.
His face lit up with pride, as he looked at her with an ‘I-told-you-so’ expression, but kept mum.

“I’m sorry. I’m just having a rough week. I shouldn’t have disturbed you.” She said, making a sad face.
“Ahh! Don’t worry about me. My shift is over anyway.” He said, stripping away his apron.
“And moreover I’ve been working here for the past three years and you are the first customer who summoned me to criticise my food. Usually, people do that to say how delicious it is. You intrigue me!” He chuckled, making gestures in the air.

She loved this about Italian people. They talk with their body. As if their body is in sync with their mouth. And that makes them more convincing. They speak their minds, and it shows.
Same goes with the chef, when he was angry, it showed. And now he was pleasantly surprised, and it was showing.

“So what’s your story?” He asked, neatly folding his apron and placing it on the table.
“My story?” Shivani asked, confused.
“Yes! Signora. Your story. I mean on a beautiful sunny morning like this, you are sitting alone with a notebook and a pencil box. What are you, an artist?” He asked, pulling the chair next to her and making himself comfortable.

His eyes sparkled as he spoke. And that spark was telling Shivani that there was something very engaging about him, something very alluring. And that mystery was attracting her to have this conversation even if she didn’t want to.

“No. I’m an author. I’m just trying to write a story. But nothing inspires me enough to write about.” Shivani explained her misery.
“Maybe I can help with that. But only if you tell me your name.” The chef grinned charmingly. Flashing a smile so enchanting that no one can ever say no to.

To be continued...

Source: here.

P.S.- You can read the previous parts of the story :

• "Al dente : Part 1" from here.
• "Al dente : Part 2" from here.

Author's Note :  I am overjoyed to see the responses to my posts. So here's something new and exciting for the readers. 'Al Dente' is a series. I'll be posting it part by part. Drop in your comments to encourage this new endeavour. Thanks in advance. Keep supporting. :) 

Al dente : Part 2

One fine morning, she decided to take a break from the job. She took out a month just to embrace the city and to write. She knew that her this decision will hamper her career as a fashion designer, but she was ready to make that sacrifice, to write.

Ever since she came there, Shivani didn’t have the chance to roam around Rome. In the first week, all she did was to explore the city. She went to  the Colosseum, St Peter’s Basilica, Santa Maria and all the places she wanted to see but couldn’t because of her tight schedule.

She wandered through the narrow, winding streets to the vast lonely roads, just in search of muse. She went to the countryside, tasted some wine; she even went to the busiest corners of the city in search of inspiration. Stories, which were crippling around her head, were nowhere to be found. That is one thing about art; it comes naturally. If you don’t execute an idea when it is blooming, you’ll lose it for sure. And you can’t force an idea into execution. To be able to execute an art, is an art itself.

And with the first week gone, she was nowhere near around starting to pen down a story. Panic found its way through her ambition. She had only three weeks left of her deadline, and she was yet to write a single word.

No matter how beautiful Roman mornings are, when you’re stuck in a condition such as Shivani, instead of embracing the beauty, you’d start hating it. How can a city filled with multicultural people, with their own sets of problems, be so calm? It feels like Yoga when you wake up in the early morning and have a look around. People are in rush, but they are not chaotic. Everything seems so serene, so romantic!

‘Urg!’ frustration was getting the better of her. ‘I need to start writing. And I need to start writing today.’ she thought. After a quick fresh up, she grabbed her notebook, her box full of pens, and the keys to her bicycle, and left for an unknown destination. She crossed some roads, riding past some parks, and finally reached to a weary but opulent white building. There was something sumptuous about the simplicity of that place. Something was scribbled in Italian, which, if roughly translated be said as ‘Delicious food’.

Shivani parked her bike, and went inside the building. She had heard of this place. People say the ambience is so calm here, that you can almost hear the chirping noises of the birds outside. And the food here, is literally ‘Delicious’.

A waiter, dressed in vibrant white welcomed her with a typical "Ciao" and escorted her to a table of two. The place was almost full. Though morning was getting over and sun was scorching high above, but inside, she felt a decent morning breeze. Two minutes inside, and she could feel the place charming its charisma. “One plate of scrambled eggs. And one cup of Cioccolata Calda” she ordered, trying hard to pronounce ‘cioccolata’ as the Italians do. ‘Why can’t they just call it hot chocolate? After all that is what cioccolata calda is!' she chuckled.

As soon as the waiter left, she took out her notebook and started gazing outside. All she could think about was her home in Kolkata. Life there is so different. There was this closeness to earth that she used to feel when she was in India. Everything was not for a reason. She could do anything she wanted, anytime she wanted. But here in Rome, when she’s finally facing the world, she always feels like she is chained. Unknown shackles of responsibility and pressure were somehow extracting the closeness from her. She felt detached.

“Your scrambled eggs and Cicolata calda, signora.” the waiter said.

She withdrew her graze from nowhere, and looked at the plate.

“Why are there tomatoes in my scramble?”  She asked softly, still lost in thoughts of home.

“Pardon me signora, I can’t understand you.” The waiter replied.

“I ordered scrambled eggs! And this is something with tomatoes and some green things. What is this thing?” Shivani said, flustered.

“I apologise, madam. Do you want me to call the chef for you?” the waiter said. He didn’t have a clue.

“Yes. Please call him.” She ordered.

The waiter went inside the kitchen, and Shivani heard as he and the chef yelled something in Italian. And a gentleman emerged through the gate and approached towards Shivani. He was dressed in a black full sleeved tee-shirt and denim blue jeans. And a white apron was kissing his body like a wrapper wrapped neatly onto a gift.He had long hair that was tied into a not-so-long ponytail. By the looks of him, she figured he was about her age: somewhere between late twenties and early thirties. He folded his sleeves up to his elbow as he came forward. He rested his arms on her table, and leaned towards her. "So you have a problem with my food?" he asked in a typical Italian accent.

To be continued... 

Source: here.

P.S.- You can read the previous part of the story : "Al dente : Part 1" from here.
         You can read the next part of the story : "Al dente : Part 3" from here.

Author's Note :  I am overjoyed to see the responses to my posts. So here's something new and exciting for the readers. 'Al Dente' is a series. I'll be posting it part by part. Drop in your comments to encourage this new endeavour. Thanks in advance. Keep supporting. :) 

Al Dente : Part 1

The mornings in Rome are just divine. It is said that Rome is the eternal city, and a sunny morning like that is just another evidence. It has withstood over 2700 years and like an old, wise grandparent. Despite of its wrinkly frontispiece, Rome still blooms with pride. But with every passing day, new buildings and skyscrapers that withheld themselves, maybe out of intimidation of the history and culture of Rome, is making their way through. Like sun-rays creep through holes on the wooden wall and brightens any dark room, these multiplexes lift the heritage of Rome and with care and love, sand was slowly incorporating modernity.

Shivani was elated when she got to know that she had to shift to Rome for her new job in fashion designing. Though she had never been away from her parents, but this was an offer that she just could not turn down. She admired everything about Italy, and more precisely, Rome. Renaissance, Michelangelo and Italian cuisine. What’s there to not love? And being an author of three romantic novels, Rome was highlighted on her wish-list.

But things look prettier in the head, than they are in reality. A vacation in Rome was she always dreamt of. But to work, to dwell in the daily life of a foreign country that is thousands of miles away from her home, was not as serene as she thought it would be. And to add to her misery, her publisher was pushing her constantly to write another chick-lit, for her fan-base was dying to read from her again. It has been two years since she had penned down a book. And if she doesn’t write now, she may lose her fan following. She’ll be just another author who was lost in the crowd. But her dreams were to stand aside from the crowd. Not just aside, but above. She wants to touch the sky. Feel the furious breeze and to see water droplets evaporating and then making love on the cloud. She wanted to see the whole world drenching in rain from up above her cloud. And she was succeeding. She had already written a trilogy before finishing graduate school, and was nominated for various awards. She loved writing so much that writing loved her back.

Everything was going as planned, until she moved to Rome. Now she was regretting her decision to some extent. Her routine was exploited during the process, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t take out time to write. Stories were crawling inside her mind like worms, but she couldn’t get them out on a piece of paper. Not because she lacked the expertise, but because time was becoming her worst enemy.

To be continued... 

Source: here.

Author's Note :  I am overjoyed to see the responses to my posts. So here's something new and exciting for the readers. 'Al Dente' is a series. I'll be posting it part by part. Drop in your comments to encourage this new endeavour. Thanks in advance. Keep supporting. :) 

P.S.- You can read the next part of the story : "Al dente : Part 2" from here.

Treat or fiasco.

I remember that day precisely. It was a Sunday evening. And it was our anniversary. Our relationship had just completed one year. It was a bitter-sweet experience, though slightly inclined to the sweet part. The journey was a roller-coaster, each peak was enjoyable.
I had promised her a beautiful evening. I had it all planned out. We'd watch a movie together, and then a romantic dinner, and then a long walk back to home. That evening was supposed to be a perfect one. I knew how happy she would be. And I could do anything to see that smile one her face to linger just a little longer.
It would have been a perfect date, but I forgot something. I forgot that some political party called for a strike that very day. And everything including movie theatres to restaurants was closed that day. I tried to find just a single diner which was open. But couldn't find one.
So I called my mother, telling her everything. And the question she asked after hearing the whole story was - "What's in your fridge?"
"What?" I stuttered.
"Tell me what do you have in your fridge. Hurry!" She ordered.
So like an obedient son, that I was, I went to the fridge and opened it up.
"There's some Chicken, some yogurt, and some vegetables." I replied.
"Great" she sounded ecstatic.
"Now you'll cook a perfect dinner for your girlfriend." She said.
"Have you lost your mind, ma? You know I can't cook." I said, helplessly.
"Don't worry. I'll be cooking." She said giggling.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"See, I will not disconnect the call until you finish cooking. You just do whatever I ask you to do, and you'll have the best dinner." She replied.
"But ma, I don't know that I can pull this off or not. It could end up being a treat or a fiasco" I said with a shaky voice.
"Don't worry! Just listen to your mother and you'll have such delicious food that she'll remember forver." She said in a calm and composed tone.
"Okay." I gave up. And besides, I did not have much choice, I could try and make her a meal myself, or I can send her home with an empty stomach.
"What do you want me to do first?" I asked my mother over the phone.
"Wash the chiken and marrinate it in..." she contineued.
That day, within two hours I had prepare a stunning tandoori chiken, a side of veg salad, a mint chutney, and perfect paratha to eat.
I would rember that day for the rest of my life. I, who had never made a cup of copy himself, made a beautiful and dinner. I lid candels all over my place, and we watched a movie on the DVD player, and then this charming dinner. She was wooed. And there was just one person to thank for, my first expert, my mother.

"I am writiing this post for Godrej #MyFirstExpert contest (http://godrejexpert.com/single_used_pack.php) hosted by Indiblogger." 

That Tandoori Chiken with Salad, and Mint chutney.

A letter to maa.

Dear maa,

Like any other adult, I don't remember much of my childhood. Just bits and pieces. Scratches of memories, both bitter and sweet. But among all those experiences, I can't remember a time when you weren't around. You were always there with me. You pushed me when I needed that extra motivation. You were my anchor at times when I couldn't control myself. Teenage is a very crucial and critical time for any individual, but with you by my side, it seemed like a cakewalk. You were a friend to me, a supporter and a guide, when needed. And with these little moments of happiness, and tiny tokens of love, I grew up with a lot of morals and values. And to be very frank, you are one of the most honest human being, I  have ever come across.
There were several moments and incidents when you proved your impeccable honesty. And especially, I remember that one time. I was little, studying in class four or five. I had just come back from school. It was a holiday season, and our distant aunt, from Delhi, had come to visit us with her family, unannounced. The house was a mess. You were running around from one corner of the kitchen to the other. Though the maid was helping you, but preparing a sudden meal, for an entire family at such an ungodly hour is not an easy task. But you still manage to hang a smile on your face. You fixed me a quick meal, and I was busy with the TV.
Just then, I heard a beeping sound. It was the fire alarm! The kitchen was on fire. And you were stuck. I came running, only to find out that flames had devoured the entrance of the kitchen. I was frightened, and helpless.
Though you were saved, but you had suffered second-degree burns. And upon asking, you could have easily put the blame on the maid. But what did you do?
You accepted and took all the responsibility. The embarrassment and the defamation came with it was uncalled for. You could have easily avoided the condemnation, but no, you faced everything with an apologetic face.
That day, I learnt a very important lesson of life. You taught me the value of honesty. Without honestly a human cannot live with dignity and pride. You inspire me maa. You always have been, and you always will be.

                                                                                                          With love,
                                                                                                                 Your son.

“I am writing a letter about how a mother teaches honesty to her child with the Max Life Insurance i-genius #YoursHonestly activity in association with BlogAdda.”

Image Source: here.

A Poem For Maa

Whenever I was lost,
You gave me light.
Whenever I felt defeated,
You gave me the strength to fight.
You are the reason of my existence,
You are the reason of my love,
You are my guide, my friend,
An angel sent from above.

Though our bodies are miles far,
Our souls will remain near.
You are the reason of my happiness,
And the comfort when I am in fear.

I can't even say 'Thank You',
It would be so lame,
Thanking a mother for her love,
Will always be a shame.
And all I want to pray is,
May you live long
May all the happiness be yours..
May you always be as strong.
And always remember,
You have a son who cares for you,
No matter what happens next,
He will always love you.

Image source: here.

Rabindranath and our generation.

Yesterday, my roommate asked me, "Do you know what day is tomorrow?"
"Saturday", I replied, without even looking at him.
"And why is it special?" He asked, with a grin on his face.
I looked up at him, and tried to remember. No, I didn't remember anything as such. What could it be? Mother's day? But isn't that supposed to be the second Sunday of May?
"Mother's day. But that's not tomorrow. That's the day after that." I said.
"No. Tommorow is a special day. You should know. Try to remember" He stated.
"I can't think of anything." I replied.
He went to the next room, and through the thin wall, I heard him asking the same question to others. At first, no one could answer, but then, someone replied, "Isn't tomorrow 25 se baishak?"
As soon as that penetrated through my ears, I was left with an utter disappointment with myself. How can I forget? I claim to have a knack for writing, and the man who won the first Nobel prize for literature in India, the legend who wrote our national anthem I forgot his birthday! I forgot Rabindra Jayanti?
So the natural question arises, is it only my ignorance, or the impact of Rabindranath is fading away day by day? Will the coming generations ever know of his great works, or will he just be a legend just present in textbooks, but not in their hearts?

source: here.

Source: here.

The answers for all these questions are as complicated as the questions themselves.  The only answerable part is what are the views of our generation on Rabindranthith. Is he only trending on twitter and facebook on this very day? Or is he a trending topic on our everyday life?
And to answer that we have to dig deeper into his works, and find out exactly what is left of it. Are people interested to read his poems, and stories even now? Are they listening to his songs till now? Are they enjoying his dramas?

Source: here.

Source: here.

And ironically, the answer is noticeably short. Yes! People are still reading Rabindranath. His books are still ruling the market. And not only in a commercial sense, Sanchayita and Geetanjali are the absolute favorites for many till present. People are reading and rediscovering Rabindranath each and every day. He is someone who is still alive even after seventy-four years of his death, through his works. But Reinterpretation and rediscovery! How? One can ask.
Let's talk about Rabindra Sangeet, the songs written and composed by Tagore. The beauty of the verses are incomparable. Even today, they are as popular as contemporary songs, if not more. And alterations, and arrangements are made to rediscover the beauty of these. The use of technology and more precise electronic and acoustic instruments helps to built an arrangement with is loved by the youth. And in this way the Rabindra Sangeets are being rediscovered,
Let's talk about Tagore's proses, novels, and dramas. They are a major influence for many regional and  national skits, soaps, and movies. As for example, Chokher Bali was influenced by a story of the same name by Tagore,  And apart for Chokher bali, there is Kabuliwala, Elar char Adhyay, The last poem, Dekha na-dekha, and many more for that example. And it is heard that a bengali movies based on the personal life of him is to be released this year. That is how our generation is rediscovering Tagore.

source: here.

source: here.

So yes! Rabindranath is still as influencing as he was years ago. And as the poet said himself -

"Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come."

So, no matter how advanced we get, we will always be indebt to him, for offering us better understanding of life and ourselves. And he might be dead for nearly a century, but he will always be alive in our hearts, and in our thoughts.

source: here