Canine Curse.

The term stinking rich couldn’t fit anyone better. Having an age old family fishing business, the Browns were one of the affluent few in the city of St. John. The only thing that probably spread more that the stench of their wealth was the myth associated with the family. 

Legend had it that Martha Brown had once rescued the pup of a dog and had brought it home. Mr. Brown, in return, had brought the house down and commanded his servants for its immediate riddance. That was the last Martha saw of the wet, white and brown furred body. Four and a half months later, people of St. John attended the funeral of Late Elliot Brown. He was mauled to death by a dog. Martha brown was offered sincere sympathies for the mishap. Around a decade later, Emmett Brown died of rabies after being bitten by a stray.  The mishap had taken the name of a curse. 

Edith Brown was only twelve years then. Protected by his widowed mother and grandmother, he led a life of extreme caution. He was fifteen when he took over the business. One could rarely see such a preoccupied teenager. But no one knew that what kept young Edith most occupied was the determination of not letting history repeat itself. He swore that he would never let such a situation arise where he would have to face a dog.

His determination started bordering on obsession. He refused to step out of the house and handled all business from indoors. He denied opportunities that involved travel. Security was tightened around his residence. "Keep even the smell of a dog at bay". These were his orders. Years passed as Edith continued living within four walls. Grandma Martha passed away the year Edith was blessed with Elliot Brown Jr. The city of St John had now grown accustomed to the manic Edith Brown. 

The year was 1950. Monsoon promised good business this time. His son had turned five. Although Edith hated to admit it but he felt his life was secure and at ease. It was his sister in laws wedding. His wife and son were away attending the occasion. He sorely wanted to accompany them but had promised himself that he would not leave the house as long as he breathed. 

It had been three days that they had gone. It was a regular Wednesday. Edith had a sumptuous lunch and took off for his siesta. The weather was calm and he could smell the salt of the sea through his window . . . his eyes closed. Edith was seeing a weird dream. An unknown hand was blowing a sharp whistle to which it felt the demons were marching, such was the intensity of the sound. He did not like what he was seeing and opened his eyes. But the sound didn’t cease. The sight that caught his eyes through the window was unreal.

The erstwhile blue sea had turned a frothy white that was churning itself over and over. The fishermen’s’ boats looked like little brown almonds waiting to be ground into the mixture. It was as if someone had finally opened the shackles tied to the foot of the trees. Their dancing and swaying knew no end. The sky resembled a laughing black monster spreading its wiry tentacles of lightning. The people on the shore ran helter skelter like disobedient children only to be picked up by the gale in its loving arms. Even with the wind and dust in his face, Edith was struck by the awful beauty, his gaze broken by the call off his name. Edith scrambled downstairs amidst the deafening sounds of destruction.

Everybody in the house was running out or helping the other escape the plight. Edith was caught in a dilemma. How could he leave the house? What if he met the same end as his forefathers? He was shaking with anxiety. He heard his name being called out again. Windows came crashing down. It dawned on him that if stuck around here he would most definitely die. One of his servants informed him that a heavy transport vehicle was waiting at a distance to take them away from the shore. Edith took a plunge and stepped out.

He could barely stand straight. The wind pounced on his body, scratching and biting him. Guarding his eyes and holding down his clothes, he looked back at his house. He thought about his wife and child. Would he see them again? Scrambled thoughts crossed his head. His tears spelt grief. It spelt fear. And repentance. He looked down and started scurrying behind the others. The vehicle was nowhere in sight. The snarl of the lightning under the open sky gave him shudders. Suddenly there were shouts. He looked towards where people were pointing. To his right, the wind was working evil and an immensely tall tree was being uprooted. Edith ran and tried to make his way to safety .He looked back. The tree was losing balance and falling with its heavy frame.  He knew it was too late. The thunder barked and Edith felt the tree pounce on him. He felt the last bit of life being bitten out of him. His eyes were closing but he lay assured that his death had finally broken the canine curse. Grimly gay, he rested at last.

The next morning the world read the headlines: Developing in the Lesser Antilles, Hurricane Dog produced a storm surge of 8 feet (2.4m) in Antigua with an estimated gust of 144mph (232km/h) recorded at St. John’s Antigua & Barbuda.

P.S. - Hurricane Dog was the most intense Category 5 hurricane in the 1950 Atlantic Hurricane season. Google it. : )

Reverse Gear.

This blog post is inspired by a whatsapp message forwarded to me by one of my best friends this morning. It said “Remember when we were kids and couldn’t wait to grow up? And now we think why did we even grow up?”

14^th Novembers (1993- 2006) - That one day, and I think all of you will agree with me, which was considered to be the best day at school. For me, it was basically a day full of five stars, silver streamers and dancing teachers and most importantly, it meant carrying a smaller and more stylish bag, compared to those sacks of potatoes we carried every day. Oh yes, not to forget standing in line with the colourful slam books waiting impatiently for the favourite teachers to write a few good words and then displaying the same as badges of honour. The only worry I had was probably was a “I hope no one touches my nice bag with chocolate smeared hands” or a “I still haven’t got a picture clicked with so-and-so and I am already on photo number 28 of the 36 reel”. It was the most magical station that we passed through on the Life Superfast Express.

14^th Novembers (2007-2011) - We, twenty something college goers, could still be referred to as children. Hounding the professors to call off the lectures to hounding them more to give us treats in the canteen, it was definitely a relaxing day but not in the least the best day at college. The worry that I had was “Where will this train take me? What is my destination? Will it be good? Will I be successful? My eyes were closed and I invested so much time in thinking that I missed out savouring the various stations we passed through.

14^th November 2012 - The train had taken me to one of my destination stations. I was finally there but I have no memory of this day. I can safely guess that 14^th November 2012 was pretty much the same as a 13^th November 2012 or a 15^th November 2012.

14^th November 2013 – I am still at the same station. But this time it is different. Sure, there will be no goodies to eat or a word of praise to hear, but yes, there definitely will be a walk down memory lane.

The summer holidays, where the first week comprised of finishing the handwriting practice & math worksheets at breakneck speed, so that the last three weeks essentially meant waking up late, watching TV with groggy eyes, being bathed, being fed, being put to sleep, waking up to the TV, off to the playground, returning back soiled, being cleaned and fed, being shouted at for wasting time to which the finger was pointed at what was done in the first week. A month long home-vacation. What else did one need?

Cartoon network. “How can I sleep at 2.30?” it’s The Little Lulu Show time. “How can you watch news at 6:30?”I will miss Scooby Doo. “I want a laboratory like Dexter’s!””Can we please keep a pet dinosaur?” The list was endless. It is true that these days there are a greater variety of cartoons to watch, but unfortunately, the kids of today have missed Cartoon Network.

Movies and its phases. From the “Tu cheez badi hai mast mast phase” and praying to God for a white lehenga like Raveena’s to the “Tujhe dekha toh ye jana sanam” phase and watching the movie more than 10 times in the theatre (yes, I was a paaka baccha). Sported the blunt hair cut and the red dungarees look for more than a year post Kuch Kuch… Once, on our trip to Rajasthan, my parents decided to visit the Sonar Kella at night. I backed out of their plans. Why? Because Sony was showing Baazigar. (yes, I was a Shah Rukh fanatic, still am actually.) Obsession with Sound of Music. So much say that I kept a pair of lovebirds and named them Captain & Maria. Having a first time crush on Macaulay Culkin. Hiding the remote whenever Star Movies aired Home Alone 1 or 2. Finding Abhishek Bacchan hot in Yuva (now looking at him and wondering, “What just happened?”) I was a movie buff and watched them indiscriminately. You name it and I know it. The 90’s is in my pocket.

I purposely didn’t write about one thing that I did most in the summer holidays. The only reason is because it deserves a space of its own. My books. They were my magic carpets which transported me back in time to Anne Frank’s dark days to the magical tree top of the Faraway Tree, from the dusky evenings of Shamli to the upside down world of Esio Trot, from the eatable grass of the Chocolate Factory to my all time crush, Fatty, from Feluda carrying the “baadshahi aangti” in a matchbox to Byomkesh & Ajit tracking the “Pother kaata. From Harry Potter, an eleven year old to Harry Potter, a father.  These were my soul up lifters as well as tear generators.

I also did a fair amount of “ghurte jawa”. Nepal was my first taste of being semi-abroad. It was a beautiful city and our hotel was right next to the King’s Palace. Rajasthan was mighty and it was hard for me to digest so much of grandeur and remember the history. But the photographs bear proof that I had a pretty royal time as I saw myself having tea at the Uhmed Bhawan Palace. Mountains made me sick so I hated the travelling part but I was enthralled by the snow that I saw for the for the first time in Yumthang. Anything that happens for the first time is a lifelong memory. I always had a weak spot for beaches.  I have vivid memories of wearing a pink swimming outfit and enjoying on the beach of Mahabalipuram.  I visited Shillong when I was slightly older and I fell in love with it. The food, the shopping, my relatives. It was a perfect blend.  The only part of the Madhya Pradesh trip that I remember was the Kanha National Park bit, where a dangerously big spider fell on my father’s back and also when we could hear the rattle snakes doing their little jig on the roof of our jungle bungalow.  It was indeed a “Galli Bhar Travels”

We never went out as much as the little ones of today enjoy the malls and movies. The first time we (seven of us, including my mother) ever went out together was to Nicco Park for a birthday treat.  And boy was it epic. We didn’t do anything extraordinary. We simply took the rides and ate at the food plaza but the feeling was momentous. It was as if we had achieved something.  There were photographs in weird poses and also arguments about “ke kaar sathe jaabe” on the Moon Raker.  Luckily for me, these friends are my best friends till date and we still have a hearty laugh about our first date escapades.

Dim bhaat omelette khawa with storytelling sessions.. .. half filling a glass with coke and taking slow slips “boro der moto” pretending to have a relaxing Saturday drink.. Mario & Battleship sessions on the video game… Making  table cloths in craft class… Playing hopscotch in the veranda…  Watching my first movie in the theatre and shouting “Koto boro TV!!” …  Making a scene and getting that frilly dress for my birthday… Having lunch on the floor on a hot Sunday afternoon…. Going to the VCR parlour every weekend only to get the Sound of Music time and again… 

And the happiest memory... Late night rides back home in the car where my parents sat in the front and I lied down at the back and looked at the inverted stars through the window humming “Edelweiss” and not having a thing to worry about …

Well, I sure had a long walk but it is now time to return. I can’t say I don’t like being a grown up. It has its own perks, wider opportunities and definitely a lot of liberties and I enjoy that. But sometimes, just sometimes, you feel like reliving a period when cigarette candies were the most exciting thing in your life. And more importantly, 14^th November 2013 will no longer be a memory-less day.

Unfortunately, “Life Superfast Express”, does not provide the facility of a return journey. So what has gone has gone for good. But who said we can’t stick our hand out of the window with a mirror for a few minutes? : )

First Post. Last Love.

Oh boy. This feels like first day at school. I am sure I am getting the “Who’s the new kid on the block” look. But for me, this has been long pending. There are innumerable times when I thought to myself “Okay this is it! Today is the day I shall finally get down to writing  my blog” but never got around to doing so, either due to dongle non cooperation, sometimes a bout of laziness or maybe because I found a Jab We Met, Wake up Sid or a Terminal running on the idiot box. So, finally I make a move forward and in the next moment I look at the web page asking for the “Title of the blog”. I mentally smile. This is one of those things which I had decided long back, just like you decide what number you want for the first car you purchase or the tattoo you want /where you want it (provided you get a chance AND courage of getting it done!)

Mélange- Doesn’t it sound like a delicious looking dessert? Like a big fat water filled yellow balloon? Doesn’t it remind of you of a very festive sunny day? Of a brush still thick and wet with paint? It is such a happy word. Technically it means a “mixture of incongruous elements”. And that is what my blog is going to be all about. A motley of coal and clouds. A punch of Vodka and Tequila. A juxtaposition of the happy, weird and surprising. What makes it perfect is the fact that it becomes all the more better when you break it up. Have a look:

Me:      I, my, self, myself
Lang:    Short form of the word “language” (Yes, it is actually a word)
E:        Letter denoting everything that is electronic (E-mail, E-commerce and the like)

So if we do a 2+2, it would mean the words and thoughts penned by me electronically. :D

This is as perfect as how ironical the letters U-N-M-A-D are. When pronounced in Bengali it would mean being crazy and when spelt in English it would mean the state of not being crazy.

Quite some time back, I had written a note on the reasons why I love Calcutta. Sharing the same (with a few additions of course) and hoping that I have one hell of a ride on this bandwagon.

1. It gave me my lifelines. Friends & Family.
2. My school. The fantastic 14 years and all the fiasco associated with it.
3. Durga Puja. Those who haven’t witnessed one here haven’t lived at all.
4. The "Adda" feeling. *Bliss*
5. The Book Fair. From the dust to the crowd to the collection.
6. Phuchka. Call it gol gappa/paani puri, whatever you want. But nowhere does it taste better.
7. The Autos. Breakneck speed with speakers that would put Bose to shame.
8. Victoria Memorial. The topmost white icing on the Calcutta Cake.
9. The Hooghly Bridge. A purple delight post sunset.
10. Rosogollas. Little sponges of heaven.
11. The Coffee House. Not a coffee lover. But it doesn’t negate the fact that this place is legend
12. Law School Tutorials at Deshopriyo Park. A concoction of education and eccentricities.
13. Peter Cat. The mouth watering Chelo Kebabs. Not to forget, extreme pocket friendliness.
14. Tea from the road side stalls in the finger burning bhaars with the weirdly tasty biscuits.
15. Oxford. The wood furniture and smell of books. Time just flies!
16. Politics and the caricatures that follow. Nothing beats it.
17. The Alipore Zoo. Love it despite the reducing number of animals and the increasing stench.
18. Public bus. Saviour when you’re late. Ledij seat. Over braking. The experiences never end.
19. The Roll. Nizam. Sher-e-punjab. Egg mutton.
20. Biryani. God's gift to our taste buds.
21. Dakshineshwar. The holy buzz it gives out.
22. Park Street. Glitz. Glamour. Class. Get it all.
23. Kochuri aar Aloo'r dom with Jilipi from Tasty Corner.
24. The Lake. The Masala Sprite and the uncensored sights!
25. Mishti Doi. Melt in your mouth happiness. Fighting for the top layer of the “shawr”.
26. Science City. Time Machine. Earthquake zone. Makes you forget age.
27. Saraswati Pujo. Overdose of dressing up. Bangla valentine’s day.
28. Rabindra Sangeet. Love it, hate it but you can’t ignore it.
29. Mall Magic- Forum, Camac Street, South City, Gariahat Mall, City Centre, Mani Sqaure & the latest- Quest Mall. Chilling out at its best.
30. The loose kurta and the jhola bag look. So Calcutta.
31. Fish Frenzy- Ilish, Pomfret, Chingri, Papda, Bhetki, Rui and many more.
32. Maddox Square during Durga Puja. Open license for innocent flirting!
33. Shantiniketan. The place of Rabindranath Tagore. Music & Literature defined. Holi-days are the best ;)
34. The famous monkey tupi aar muffler during winter.
35. The traditional shada sari lal paar and the dhuti kurta donned on Ashtami.
36. Christmas and New Year. Calcutta becomes a Christmas tree with Park Street as the Bethleham star.
37. Luchi aar aloo bhaja. Hands down.
38. The Dhaba. Lip smacking'!
39. Gariahat Bazaar. There is nothing that you won’t find here that doesn’t fit your budget.
40. Typical Bengali Sarees. Dhakai being the favourite.
41. Bata and its hawai chappal. Long live!
42. Poila Baisakh. New clothes. Bhaalo Khabar. Lots of Blessings.
43. The light, sound and water show at Millenium Park. A sight to behold.
44. Khichuri aar Ilish maach bhaaja in borsha kaal. How it livens you up.
45. Lep kombol muri diye ghum in winter.
46. Bishorjon on Dashami and the strains of "Aasche boshor aabar hobe!"
47. Tangra. Haven for Chinese food lovers.
48. Flury's. An early morning breakfast.
49. The tram. Mark of our city.
50. Nicco Park, Aquatica, Wet o Wild. Fun unlimited!
51. College Street. Para for bookworms.
52. Writer's Building, Race Course, Red Road. Feel of old British Calcutta.
53. The Taj, HHI, Grand, Hyatt, ITC Sonar Bangla. Luxury Defined.
54. River Cruise on the Ganga. “Amar mon cheyeche aaj hariye jabo”.
55. Nightlife. Moulin Rouge, Trincas to Sheesha, Venom, Underground.
56. Hilarious Bangla Channels. Hats off!
57. The Circus. Spells out childhood.
58. Carpool system. Absolutely unique.
59. Kosha mangsho and bhaat on Sunday.
60. The city's love for music and movies of any kind.
61. Eden Garden. Cricket is food for life!
62. The theatre. For those who can appreciate talent.
63. The little street kids that surround your vehicle when stuck in a traffic jam.
64. Long drives at wee hours in the morning or late in the night.
65. The Sai Baba temple I frequent near Deshopriyo Park Petrol Pump.
66. Although I don't understand much but east bengal and mohon bagan are the souls of football lovers.
67. Movie catching at Priya, Menoka, Inox and Fame.
68. The slow contented feel that you get from the city.
69. All the memories Calcutta has given me for the last 25 years.
70. For the simple reason that it is Calcutta.... My definition of home.

Calcutta is like a kaleidoscope. Every time you look at it, it appears differently colourful, shiny and picturesque. Sometimes I feel Calcutta is a Taurus man. Taureans are fiercely passionate, committed and loyal. They are home makers. They love strong roots. They have the innate ability of making you theirs forever. Calcutta, you fit the definition aptly. One can’t think of another, once they’ve been touched by you.

Yours till the very end,
Hopeless me.