Friday, October 21, 2005
... killed the cat, I know. BUT ...
This is not very politic ("cautious and meticulous", nor "full of high sentence", mayhap "a bit obtuse"). But I am very curious.
WHO in Brazil reads my blog? iBest service provider. If you drop by again, please be kind enough to illuminate.
Also, Belgian Catholic University? (Do I have the translation correct?)
Malaysia? Friend of Jay's?
And Nigeria ... Nigeria? S* won't even move there till November, I would have understood if it were he.
The key-word search is even more disorienting. For a while, the leader was pantua. Which was OK (though I prefer malpoa), until a really raw phrase displaced it.
Right now, 'Giuditta Scorcelletti' is up there. Nice to know she has some following, I really liked her voice.
The Ponytail is high on every search list, so I can understand that one.
But 'boudi stories'? Ye Gods and little fishes.
The really wacky ones are:
- 'khus sharbat'. Eh?
- 'Insead PhD' - leads to some exasperated browsers, I daresay.
- 'S.P. Zariwala' - Who?
And of course - 'dodges chicken'. Mental picture of large enraged fowl striding towards a portly figure that jinks at high speed. Heh.
(Yes, I'm ill, bored AND sick of 'comparative investment figures' and 'core competence'. Or as my blasted colleagues would insist, 'core competencIES'. Morons.)
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Quite Sethled
Two consecutive evenings of stimulation.
Intellectual stimulation, of course. What other kind do we Bongs know? (As I’ve mentioned earlier, we define a loser as ‘one who copulates with a moron’.)
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Went to a book launch Monday evening. Awfully thick book, 
but a diminutive man. Turned out, however, that both were not only immensely likable but also rather impressive. Self-deprecating humour, yet firm and assertive when required.
The man knows at least four languages (Hindi, English, Chinese, German). Speaks German with that accent. Cleared his A levels in German with just six months of preparation. Mentioned translating something from Hebrew.
Read pure math before he went up to Oxford. Because he ‘enjoyed it more than applied math’. Quite.
Two degrees in Economics ("both from good universities", as he mentioned in a recent interview. Didn't know he went to school with Amitav G)
Bisexual, which seems pragmatic. As Woody Allen pointed out, it doubles the chances of getting some on a Friday night.
Speaks fluently, lucidly, articulating clearly. In complete, grammatically impeccable sentences. A rare quality even among writers and politicians, who live off their words. (In my experience, lawyers don’t even come within hailing distance)
Very evidently at ease in his own skin. Another rare quality. (I wondered how he could be at ease in that Nehru veskit; he took it off after the photo-shoot.)
I had assumed that he had formal training in Western classical music; I asked him about it and it turned out he learnt khayal in his school-days. Later started singing Schubert lieder as a means to relieve stress. The apparent insider angle in An Equal Music was just research. Academic rigour makes me despair.
I give up. I shan't ever bother to write anything, I can never be a hundredth as good.
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Sunday had brought its own dose of despair. I’d been telling myself I’m not quite middle-aged yet. Yeah right.
The next-oldest blogger present was ten years younger than me. I was nearly thrice as old as the
youngest in evidence. The matter was gracefully settled when I was dubbed ‘Kaku’ (Uncle). Hmmm.
All very intellectually stimulating, however. Food for thought and all that.
Inspiring variety of interests (also mentioned here, here and here). Like RSS. The feed, not the (a)
political organisation. 
(I don’t think I could have survived khaki shorts in Flury’s.)
A surprisingly mature level of intellectual give-and-take.
Eclectic topics. Like fish in chocolate sauce.
Meditative moments. 
.(I suspect he practises that look. Only he did it better in his profile pic.) The presence of a literate 
(and literary, though not famous for it yet) celebrity. 
Some, of course, beg the question. Some seek to be self-effacing.
And some succeed only too well.
We even had a suitably admiring audience. Or perhaps ‘bemused’ would be more accurate. Note the expression.
A very productive meeting. We drafted a document to address what we considered the most important concerns of the blogosphere. (For serious researchers, a right-click should provide magnification ...)
Like all good things ...
but this almost came to an end under the wheels of a Calcutta yellow cab.
Until we conceded that this, too, must pass. The cab. Not blogging.
Last word - a venerable colleague started to tell me about the new phenomenon of 'blogging'. I nodded and mentioned weblogs; he contradicted me and went on to a detailed exposition. I realised, to my horror, that he had confused blogging with 'dogging'. Then I pondered on which of the two seems more exciting.
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Thursday, October 13, 2005
Kobe je ele Maa, kobe Maa gele...
The second day of Pujo; in an aunt's house. I hadn't been there in 20 years. The experience was faintly Proustian. Old polished floors, dark looming rooms, louvred windows. A paved yard outside, with a patch of earth where old trees hunkered over flower bushes. The coolness under a fan that ticked and groaned. The smell of old thick faintly damp walls, ghee (clarified butter) burning in the lamps, chopped fruits and khichuri in the proshad (votive offering).
And the subdued hubbub of a hundred people or more, wandering round the old house,
sitting in the yard ( ...playing games with the faces).
Occasional shouts to "bring the fritters, what ARE you doing!" or "Rice, more rice here!"
as the family served lunch to the visitors on long trestle tables under a cotton awning.
This is one Pujo we have visited every year for more than 20 years. The old red house has given way to two blocks of flats in pristine white, but the Shib mondir in the corner and the thakur dalan (the verandah where the image is installed) remain unchanged. The Pujo evenings still pass in adda and tea from little earthen cups. I can now, however, light my pipe in the presence of the elders; another generation now slips away to the corner behind the Shiva temple to light up.
Shondhi Pujo'r por, thakur dalan-e adda.
I'll miss Kali Pujo there this year. Midnight pujo and a feast afterwards. That strange Bangali phenomenon - non-vegetarian food, goat mutton in fact, but cooked 'the vegetarian way' without onions or garlic.
Just up the road from my friend's place, Ekdalia Evergreen, one of the largest 'community' Pujos. A fairground atmosphere rather than a religious occasion. I'm always awed by the crowds. Not just from Calcutta, but from Noihati, Bongaon, Diamond Harbour, even from as far away as Purulia.Keeping their annual promise to themselves.
Oshtomi'r bhog.
As a friend put it, 'I meet you twice a year - once here and again in January at our cricket match"
Park Circus. Nice details. Reproductions of old pot paintings high up on the walls. I liked the cool white look.
This year some abstruse astronomical calculations led to a 3-day Pujo instead of the usual 4 days. Nobomi and Doshomi were both on Wednesday.
Durga Bari in Ballygunge. I used to go there every Pujo till 1987. This was the first time since then.
I felt so OLD.
Also very avuncular and nostalgic at the sight of the milling multitude.
. While the aunties jostle for their shnidoor khela.
All over now.
I never go for the bhashaan (immersion of the idol). Very depressing, such a finite ending to the annual magic. Instead, I sit near the window and listen to the immersion processions shouting as they pass.
The Bangali equivalent of "Next year in Jerusalem".A communal promise.
"Aashchhe bochhor abaar hobey"
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The few years that I've been away from Calcutta during Pujo,
I've sought vicarious fulfillment through others' descriptions and images.
Does this effort strike a similar chord?
Comments invited.
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