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.

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

Anti-feminist

I usually avoid travelling in local trains. The overcrowded compartment scares me. I would spend double the money and book a cab than boarding a local train. So, naturally where other people take the train from garia to jadavpur, I try my best to avoid it. 

It was such a day, I had to visit my cousin, who lives in jadavpur, so I chose to take an auto-rickshaw. But if you use public transport, overcrowding is inescapable in kolkata. In a seat of four, they will squeeze in six people promptly. And then the altercation about the 'khuchro' (change) is inevitable. 

When I reached the auto-station, I had thirteen rupees ready, which was the fare. Surprisingly there was no line, and I sat in an empty auto. Minutes later, two other gentlemen came and sat beside me. The back-seat, which was capable of accommodating three people, was now full. And we were waiting for two more passengers to board the auto-rickshaw, then only the driver will ignite the engine. Another gentleman came, and sat beside the driver. 

I was already getting late, my cousin was constantly nagging me by calling repeatedly in every second minute. I was getting restless too.

Just then, a woman came near the rickshaw. Folding her umbrella, she leaned forward. "Jadavpur?" asked the girl. The auto-driver nodded. Dressed a black tee-shirt and a denim blue jeans, she looked liked that she was in her late twenties.   

I couldn't help but notice how little space was there in the vacant seat. With the driver and one passenger seating beside him, the space left was scarce. 

"Excuse me, ma'am, you can sit in the back I will manage to hang in the front seat.” I said, flashing a gentle smile. I did what any man with dignity would do.

She looked at me with a blank expression. Just when I expected to hear a token of appreciation and gratitude what I heard was unforeseen. Squeezing her eyebrows, she stared me back and said -

"What did you just say?"

"I offered you my seat." I replied, stuttering 

"Did I ask for your seat?" She stroke again.

"No! But I saw how little space was there in the front seat. And I thought I can't let you sit uncomfortably while I enjoy my cozy seat.  So I thought the polite thing to do is to offer you my seat." I replied, being as courteous as I could, 

"I know guys like you, you just can't stand the fact that women are equally capable as men." she said, waving her hands ragingly in the air.

I was baffled. "What are you saying?" I asked.

"Yes. I'm right. You belong to the category of men, who think men are superior to women. You think you can boss us around, tell us what to do. You discriminate people by their gender. You think the place of a woman is under the feet of a man!" she said, reflecting rage in her voice.

"What are you talking about? I just offered you my seat, and you are saying that I think men are superior to women? You must have lost it." I was irritated. 

"Yes, you are an anti-feminist, I know, you don't believe in woman empowerment, you believe the only place a woman can excel is in the kitchen, and you are the type of man who doesn't want girls to go to schools." She said. Her face was turned red in anguish. 

"Yes. You are right, I'm an anti-feminist. I am sorry to offer you my seat. You sit in the front, and I am going back to the rear-seat, I apologise." I stated.

She looked at me with the same disgust and squeezed herself in the front seat, only to find that it could only fit half of her body. But she sat there nevertheless.  

I didn't say a word after that. The whole auto-ride, I kept mum. Because I knew, that a woman, who misinterprets chivalry as anti-feminism, isn't worth wasting my breath on. And she, who understands feminism as to act repulsive to any courtesy, can bring nothing but disgrace to the world 'feminist', and I don't mind being an anti-feminist in her judgement.

Author's note: This post was selected as one of the Tangy Tuesday Picks, by BlogAdda. 

   

                                                         Image source : here.