Those were the days..

While sipping the customary lemon tea and exchanging pleasantries for the day with couple of my colleagues during our early morning banter, we ran in to a conversation that seldom fades away.

Our younger days are our inspiration and the greatest teacher (few would disagree with me on that). We cursed our teachers, accused our parents of being dictators and loathed on the paramedics of a delightful world that laid its shadow on us to beget. Well, or to say, besieged the frivolous mind.

In retrospective, I feel that our misdeeds have made us the mettle that we are made of today.

As a kid, we needed the cosy shields of our parents and flourished precariously. As teenagers, we saw them as paid liabilities, :). The most affluent aspect of a students life is to vanquish our teachers, and we take a lot of pride in such accomplishments. Our freedom is on a sabbatical journey and our aspirations look outrageously impressive.

We are at the disposal of every opportunity that encourages naive inhabitants and we strictly believe in the classic theory: all that glitters is certainly gold. Savouries, clothing, G&G, girls.. Merchandise was alluring and the opposite gender is swooning over your persona of callous grammar. Or, vice versa, for starters.

Dad’s money was RBI’s self funded economic mystery; I would be happy as long as it kept swirling out of his wallet. To our dismay, having five bucks in yours pockets in that glorious era was an aberration and spending them was equally distasteful. But honestly, dad’s money had its own flavour (still has!) and the cash coming out of his adorned enclosure was a boon. I might have more bucks in my pocket today than he does, but, somewhere down the line, I miss the chemistry.

Ek taakar cha, ded taakar singhara, 2 taakar garam kachoodi aar aadai taakar lengcha: the denominations look primitive but for me, these are priceless and offer life.

How could I forget ‘Symphony’ in the bustling corridor of Dharamtalla! Dad’s hard earned money lies in his little wooden box of overflowing proportions and I would gorge upon the store to wait for the new releases. Today, I am disposing my Dad’s souvenirs!

Folks, this juggernaut will never stop but got to go for good. But my coherent legacy will get me back and I assure to take you down the memory lane, again.

Steven Paul Jobs (1955-2011): The pioneer and his legacy..

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Technology became poorer by tons as we lost a charismatic leader and a creative genius who succumbed to cancer on October 5th, 2011.

I have been reading and celebrating the life of a man who lived in his own terms and his acute manoeuvring skills in the field of computing and later, towards the mobile revolution became history. He gave us the ‘i’ syndrome that has taken over our lives in a staggering fashion.

His oratory skills and presentations are revered all over the world and if not anything, Apple will probably never replace his debonair that stood outclassed. I am to believe (rather certain) that Apple will dominate and still come up with contagious products but for consumers, Apple can never sell anything like Steve Jobs does.

From a college drop out to meeting Steve Wozniak in HP to introduce macintosh was a beginning of an era. Getting fired from his own company owing to his provocative clashes with John Sculley was an aberration; he went on create ‘Next Computers’ and gave the world, a marvel called ‘Pixar Studios’ (Disney bought it from Steve and went on to make masterful commodities like ‘Toy Story’ and ‘Finding Nemo’). He was back at the helm of affairs in 1998 and 2001 saw the emergence of a unique introduction that would go on to change the face of the industry forever: The iPod. iTunes, iPhone and iPad followed, and Steve became the undisputed messiah from the Silicon Valley. Amidst, his health took a backseat (diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in 2004 and underwent a liver transplant in 2009). But the Apple juggernaut continued. His belligerent speech at Stanford spoke volumes about the man’s character. Outstanding conviction and awfully inspired.

Jobs’ failures (Lisa, Next, Apple TV) catapulted him to rare state of sublime self indulgence and his comebacks were lethal. Known for his pulsating banters and taking a dig at his competitors during his iconic product launches, he managed to woo them too. “We are here to make a dent in this planet”. Steve and Apple probably lived this dream in style.

My tribute wouldn’t cause a flutter since we all have been glued to his achievements for the past 3 days. But for a person who is an Apple freak and lives with almost every Apple product, I owe Steve an applause of a special kind for lending his inspiration all over.

“No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be. Because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you. But someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it’s quite true.” – Steve Jobs

Do we patronise Mr. Gandhi?

I opened up my day with the headlines and to my dismay, it appeared that tabloids were more keen to get a glimpse of the ailing Sonia Gandhi and get to more trivia behind the background rather putting in few sedate moments to remember the reverent Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi.

Is that the kind of relevance we attach to the birth anniversary of an iconic exponent? I am not glorifying ‘Bapu’ but his exploits and ideologies can seldom be forgotten.

‘Gandhi Jayanti’, ‘International Day of Non Violence’ and being an epitome of truth in a dynasty of treacherous values is a credential that hardly evokes enthusiasm in the hearts of our youth. In other words, the message has never been passed on to the generations in a manner it should have been. No, I am not encouraging people to give birth to a messiah or mould children in to a statue of tethering principles. But history must never be bypassed for convenience and all I plead is to share awareness.

There have been numerous stories (written in an outset of fact, fiction, documentary and films) about Gandhi and his relentless battle with the British empire. Or probably, his decision to reach a compromise with Jinnah and subsequently agreeing to have a nation split as 2 individual judicial powerhouse. The latter, is still, a subject of acute debate and criticism, and we are struggling to come to terms with our partition despite the celebration of our Independence surpassing six decades. It’s imperative to have notions floating around, but honestly, you and me can only speculate, scrutinise and retaliate at forums of bane (in)significance.

I can quote ample instances but only with curious subjugations. Here, that has never been the intent. But I would certainly populate few aspects of our governance to the forefront. The idealistic mental tussle that the ‘Mahatma’ fought has been buried decades before, beneath a layer that he never explored or believed in. That, for us, is the greatest of resolute to bear and live with. With the growing advent of terrorism that continues to lead us in to a bludgeon of darkness, we might have to admit that ours has been a government of flawed amenities.

This would be just another stupid article for you that has been read at multiple junctures with collateral damage. But, I would rather invoke than revoke the essence of our legacy that needs to get transformed at the earliest, if not today.

Living amidst mayhem?

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A very brave question, especially when President Obama’s emphatic and proud proclamation of bringing down terrorism and it’s leaders descended upon all of us. If you ask me, I do not see a pin up to this entire episode which began long before the debacle of 09/11 engraved all of us.

Yes, Osama is dead. On a vehicle of context, even Prabhakaran, Veerappan and Saddam Hussain are gone. Each of them, at their own capacity of value system, were extremists of their own kind. Ironically, they were eradicated, not by our men of honour but in the hands of timeless squadron that failed to negotiate with none.

As we step on the tenth anniversary of an event that changed the world and it’s perspective for ever, I feel that we have probably eliminated key elements on course, but the road ahead looks less formidable with diminished sheen.

As we talk about those celebrated victories, I have my own engrossing reasons to talk about the blast in New Delhi, which aims to fracture the heart and soul of a nation that’s struggling to battle the ghosts of terrorism for decades now. Honestly, I fail to see a tunnel that could emit the bleakest of rays amongst the hapless human race.

Yet another explosion, the mundane condolence notification from our equally futile leaders and another couple-of-days of hush hush before we settle down to await another calamity in the heart of our homeland is our scheduled agenda for the year (infinitely not predictable would be my gut-feeling statement). Shameless, if it can be termed so, would be the prize winner for the understatement of the year.

Investigations are in place, evidences are being accumulated, not-so-very criminals are bravely captured and summons are issued. A fair verdict would take most of our lives or when we are engulfed in pondering over the next blast in our neighbourhood.

I am afraid, but secured is nowhere. Yet, our governments, administration and judicial system are fighting a gorgeous battle against an enemy who is clever, few in number and judiciously equipped to impose a seasonal jolt with maximum impact.

I am positive, for being capable enough to celebrate more such anniversaries that would devastate our lives towards anguish.

When humans are mortals..

I realise that despite our all conquering attitude and pervasive capabilities, we, as human beings, are susceptible at different strata of our lives. And life, to our utmost savouries, ceases to relinquish the mightiest of all.

Nuances and subjugations of life have been my greatest teacher, and undeniably, the force behind the man I am. Eminently, it would probably be true for each one of you. The more I see events scraping past us with a reverent sense of elation and grief, the more convinced I am about the forecast management of our lives. Honestly, such a phenomenon doesn’t exist. And even if it does, it’s invisible proportions are too stark for the minuscule yet powerful inhibitions of man to gauge and propel.

The invincible has its own contagious flaws, the champion is still prone to relinquish his dominance during his lifetime, an angel might still be required to stall it’s existence within the realms of heaven and the richest might not always relish the sojourn of quantum wealth.

I am not the one to travel down the ire and feed myself to anonymity, but at times, I wish to remain candid about my own credentials.

Seldom, but intended with famished hearts of courageous perils.

The ‘Apple’ that was..

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Legends leave a legacy that’s easy to revere but difficult to cherish without embracing tussles of the highest order.

Steven P Jobs was an outstanding entrepreneur who lived and graced life in his own terms. More than self, Apple Inc. and it’s meteoric rise to the número uno slot was testimony to his mercurial genius.

But Jobs had an ominous team of talented technicians to envision is quadruple size dream. Certainly, he will remain one of those characters whose charisma will remain undisputed. But I would place the list of luminaries under Jobs in high esteem, who rallied across to see Apple where it is today. At the top.

Every success story has a string of infinite failures attached to it. Apple and it’s wizards have seen those bumps in plenty (Apple struck an all time low in the late eighties and early nineties before the messiah bailed it out with the iMagic).

Apple was certainly Jobs’ caricature but for me, it has much more to offer in future that would keep the demeanour of Steve emphatically alive.

The ‘Yahoo’ man is no more..

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He wasn’t the ultimate legend like Amitabh Bacchan, neither was he a pioneer superstar like Rajesh Khanna. He isn’t a Dilip Saab either. He was a pale shadow underneath the aura of his elder brother and showman, Raj Kapoor. But, by all means, Shammi Kapoor was one of the charismatic celebrities that graced the silver screen in the 50s and 60s.

It’s never easy to belong to the Kapoor clan and expectations could get mammoth if you are a sibling of the ominously talented RK. But his emergence was phenomenal and post ‘Tumsa Nahin Dekha’, there was no looking back. I have never been a great admirer of his credentials as an actor, but he definitely was cherubic and made his characters look lively. No wonder, he is known by all as a fighter and treated life like an ice cream: enjoy it before it melts.

Cheerful and soulful performances in films like ‘Kashmir ki Kali’, ‘Junglee’, ‘Prince’, ‘An evening in Paris’ and ‘Brahmachari’ made him a youth icon; ‘Teesri Manzil’ hit the jackpot and Shammi was reigning high. His greatest and defining strength was obviously Rafi Saab, and his voice catapulted him to superstar status with his jovial charm. I don’t vividly remember his films but the songs in his numerous blockbusters were aids during my childhood days. They were inarguably, the finest.

One of the recent trivia that caught my imagination towards Shammi Kapoor was his penchant towards possessing tech gadgets and exploring them. He was one of the first in the industry to lay his hands on a MacBook and his fondness towards growing technology was a surprise to many (at least, I am usually famished to hear such updates from the park).

A great enthusiast, Shammi Kapoor lived cinema with honesty and passion.

‘Tareef karoon kya uski
Jisne tumhe banaya…’

The ‘Prince’ leaves abode but his legacy will linger for a long time to come.

Naukadubi (Bengali): Sinking sublime!

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Tagore’s illustrious works are magnificent manifestations of vindicated human encore. We famously get acquainted to those components in our daily lives as ‘Relationships’. ‘Naukadubi’ is yet another marvel from the basket of the renowned master.

Rituporno’s works usually fascinate me for his treatment of characters that sink like butter in a soaked Italian loaf; Ramesh, Kamala (or Susheela) and Hemnalini are such fine prints embedded in this engraving tale of love, love-lost and the desire to recuperate from fiddling relationships.

I still remember Byomkesh Bakshi’s chosen words in ‘Chiriakhana’ describing Tagore’s famed masterpieces: “No story can ever be scripted sans woman and every epic surrounding a woman cannot be woven without the threads of illicit relationships”.

This one, admittedly, doesn’t explore this contagious attribute of man but does depict the skeptical and two mindedness of a man caught between his lady love and the sympathy towards the unknown woman who cajoles him beyond the native desire of his father. I adore the language in few Bengali classics and this one engrossed me, not surprisingly though.

Performances: Raima Sen as the ethereal Hemnalini sizzles and carries the film on her shoulders, central to her thematic portrayal in this courageous adaptation. Jisshu Sengupta is restrained and does justice to Ramesh. Rituporno has gambled with Riya Sen for Kamala; I would not term it as Midas touch but the move did not backfire, to say the least. Prosenjit chips in for a quickfire cameo; others are there in bits and pieces (I was watching Dhritiman Chatterjee after quite a while) and deliver as any supporting cast of Rituporno would.

‘Dosar’ was the last product I saw from the talented filmmaker; ‘Naukadubi’ manages to stay afloat amidst ruins.

Bhindi Bazaar Inc.: Stigmatic evolution!

If lust, deceit, conspiracy and the hunger to destroy self become the bane of human continent, then presentations such as BBI would rule the roost with grace.

BBI is not one of it’s kind, but certainly elevates in terms of the treatment of the content and a slick screenplay amidst predator like vicinity.

The concept is taken from various gangster films of addictive persona and a la RGV like framework cannot be disregarded; nevertheless, there is an intrinsic charm that kept me alive and meander to figure out the collages.

I loved ‘Mamu’s’ portrayal; the newcomers have hatched on to their roles like beehives and do justice. Cameos are always an integral widget of such thematic ventures and this one has them in plenty. Rest falls in place to fill up the usual ingredients: Satta, Badshah aur Badshaahat, infidelity and packet sizzlers of sexual add ons keep doing the rounds to compete with each other.

The outcome has always been the cynosure in such films; the ending was conducive to my thought process and loved the way of stitching the KK Menon sequences with the entire gamut of players bought in with a flair of admonishing charm.

Bhindi Bazaar is valued enough to give it an affordable miss but you can watch it for the classic syndrome attached to it’s overlay at entirety.

The greatest story that remains untold..

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When the whole nation was busy admiring the exploits of a world cup winning nation and it’s undisputed heroes, one man stood and watched unfazed. We celebrated the genius of ‘God’ but somewhere in the ambush, the greatness of one Rahul Dravid got diluted.

Today, when he nears yet another glorious ton in his glittering career, I could proclaim that Dravid’s contribution to this elevated status of India’s success and euphoria has been monumental.

Yet another innings of sheer character at the face of adversity. And, he has not finished. And I can recall numerous such elite occasions when he has graced the symposium with his class and tenacity. England, South Africa, New Zealand have watched this man with tethering aplomb. His technique is inarguably, the finest and flawless (No wonder, he is nicknamed the ‘Wall’) and remains cricket’s most respected ambassadors in contemporary context. The Chips are down and out walks Dravid at number 3 with an advent of a self accomplished man. I see him as the perfect tutor for the youngsters to grasp the nuances of the authentic version of this legendary battle between bat and ball.

Harsha stole those magical words from me before I could lay my hands on them: an innings of dignity and supreme exemplar as I applaud an outstanding innings from India’s most valuable man.

Rahul Dravid, you might not be the cynosure of world cricket, but the game certainly rejoices, relishes and salutes those gems from your caressing willow.

Turbulence could be a boon..

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Beware, I am not talking about broken hearts here. Neither am I redundant enough to talk about those acquaintances that never cease to exist. Probably, trying to venture out on those moments when you feel that ‘not working out’ is a blessing in disguise.

I believe in relationships that selflessly caress through it’s rugged path to establish trust and bonding. At times, probably, it doesn’t work. Better said, we as human beings, are prone to get insecure every now and then. In a quest to make things work and get everything arranged in a package of unheard perfection, we miss out on those little thing things in life, that predominantly make things work. Alas, no wonder, our relationships get thicker with dormant energy.

Some relationships are better foregone. Cats and dogs, Osama and Bush, India and Pakistan, Mahatma and Jinnah, Australia and England. I realise the ones listed are honest protagonists as well but we cannot ignore the audacity of those characters in terms of a bilingual and monopolistic attention.

Let’s not derive solutions of out of this extract. My works tend to become courageously naive and distinguished at times. But honestly, we all need to work towards building our relationships towards a positive future.

Life’s anonymous ways..

The past few days of my life has been spent in an advent of crucial veracity; and a feeling within that says that you might be the blessed one with all the ingredients of a perfect plateau. There isn’t one, but I might be the closest to it.

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A brilliant Saturday afternoon coupled with eternal memories shared amongst my school inmates did emit more than just the syndrome of nostalgic aberration. The sea beaches in Digha meant that my ride in the mysterious and elated circumstances would come to an end soon. Humans are a bundle of the 3 Es: Ego, Expectation and Ecstasy. Those convulsions are contagious and tend to remain within you lest you try to (rather you do!) segment them in acceptable packages.

And, not to forget, relationships have always bothered me, for good. Few continue to stun me with their sumptuous affection and sometimes wonder to believe that most of our precious adversaries would never be your own unless their ass is below the nutshell and require intervention to break open.

Fine moments get etched as diamonds but significantly, allows you the courageous bandwidth to sustain such magical intercourse.

Similar to those gigantic arms of the picturesque ‘Vidhyasagar Setu’, we are occupied in designed packages of corrigible quantities: the greatest of powers besieged collide, reverberate and retreat to marry successful sojourns.