Friday 30 October 2015

Sharodiya Showtime.


My parents never lived in Calcutta. They did their schooling at Darjeeling & Shillong respectively, and by the time they came and settled in Calcutta, they had already given away their hearts to some other place they remembered as home. So, it isn’t a surprise that I didn’t grow up in an environment where the city with all its bangali-ana was celebrated. No, don’t get me wrong. I had the best childhood ever and remember every bit of it with utmost fondness. But I have always wondered how I developed such love for Calcutta.

Was it those tram rides with my grandmother at dusk? Was it the kaatla maach er lyaaj? Was it the smell of Calcutta winter as I played hopscotch on the terrace? Was it the daily rickshaw ride to nursery school? Was it the Biryani? Was it the yearly Zoo-Circus-Victoria Memorial visit? Was it the deem sheddho bhaat? Or was it the fact that I spent five long years away from her? These questions have crossed my mind more than once during the last ten days. 

The last ten days? Yes, they’ve been blurry, dreamy and surreal. While my city was busy being psychedelic, my heart was busy admiring the glamour she was oozing. If Calcutta was a queen, Durga Pujo would be her bejeweled crown, if Calcutta was a plate of Khichudi, Durga Pujo would undoubtedly be the dollop of ghee poured on it, if Calcutta was a live performance, Durga Pujo would be the standing ovation moment. This has been, umm, let’s see, the most extraordinary Durga Pujo ever and there are a myriad of reasons why it turned out to be so:
 
·    Pandal hopping was something I never did since childhood, so even today, the number of thakurs I have seen is not what matters (I am not judging people who enjoy it). What matters to me, is that fervent vibe She gives out and that is something you don’t need to see a hundred times to feel. Yet this year, I was out during the odd hours, saying “oi dekh aar ekta thakur!” and counting off a mark on my finger with a giggle. Sometimes we end up loving something only because our love loves it.

·    While Maa Durga rode proudly on her lion, Uber and Ola became our bahons. From enjoying “Gum hai kisi ke pyaar me” from his collection as the cab inched along in the jostling crowd, to asking “Aapni ki pujor prottek din duty korben?”, from listening to the number of frocks he bought for his daughter, to wishing them Shubho Bijoya with tired smiles, these ever happy ever helpful drivers became my best pujo friends this year.

·    I could manage my sarees very well this year. Thank you very much. 

·    We had our “Andhere raaste par chale jaa rahe hai, Ratlam ki galiyon me” moment on our midnight rickshaw ride. Thank God, we didn’t run into a Hotel Decent. Oh wait, we did, in the form of an obscenely shaped balloon.:P

·    Chinese food, please dawsh haath dure thaako! Right from Chaturthi lunch to Dashami dinner, you have been an incessant stalker.  

·    It’s funny, but this is probably the first time ever that I did the Dhunuchi dance. Or rather, just managed to hold the Dhunuchi and swayed awkwardly. Oh well, then I moved into my tried and tested zones of Mithun da/Govinda dance, and someone else took to the floor with a “Dola re..” and successfully cleared the space with his long legs.

·    Drunken men were an integral part of this pujo. Right from buying ice cream from a guy with bloodshot eyes, who looked at me as if I had asked him for his intestines, when I requested him for a butterscotch cup to the doped half naked man who did the bhashan of the barir pujo and subsequently splashed (read: soaked) us with water and cackled madly.

·   What I admired most were the breathtaking pandals and idols that we discovered tucked away in obscure corners of the city. While one had a mandap that was made from ethereal and misty Buddhist prayer cloth, the other had an idol made from jute and glass.  Also worth mentioning were the idols having a pure gold polish and the one where the mother and her four children were designed in a dancing posture.  

·    Best Comic Moment: An almost 6 feet man trying to wear a dhuti and being helped by two less than 5 feet women (No, I was not one of them!). I was the one laughing and earning a stomach ache, oh and also the glares of the struggling man.

·    Talking of all the lovely pandals, how can I forget mentioning the time we spent in our little house under the tank on the terrace? Right from having the first cup of tea, to staring at the perfect puffy white clouds on the blue canvas, from catching the strains of the dhaak to humming favourite songs. It absolutely made us feel like children, because we couldn’t get inside the house until we crawled on all fours. On second thoughts, when do we not feel like children? :P

·   On someone’s recommendation, we went to a shop to try it’s famous lemon tea and despite me being a ‘tea’totaler, I was absolutely star struck by it. It is undoubtedly the bestestestestest lemon tea ever made on the face of this planet!

·   Last year, during Dashami, as She was about to leave, I had asked her for something, and She whole heartedly granted my wish, so this year was all about saying thanks and a million thanks to Her. There is something else as well. On Ekadoshi this year, we were doing the last round of thakur dekha and that was when an insect went into my eye and I ended up looking like those short swollen eyed henchmen for the next four days. I am terribly thankful to Her for literally saving my face in the pujo pictures.

·    8 out of the 10 times we were about to take a selfie, my crazy half sang “Chal beta selfie le le re!”.  Yes, you are free to judge us. But trust me, if you saw our shaky, giggly, hazy pictures, you’d be horribly jealous!

·   Another first was following the bhashan procession on the street. What made it an out of the world experience was the huge Japanese war like drums which made reverberations that travelled long distances. The cherry on the cake was the four feet something lanky rock star who was playing them sporting an Afro hairdo and some retro shades (at 8 in the night). No prizes for guessing who fell in love with that cool dude and copied his zealous drum playing moves in the middle of the road.

·    Revlon kajal is the best ever. Even after the joggyo, and the cumulonimbus smoke it emitted, it stayed put in its place and saved me from looking like Kangana Ranaut in her initial drug addict roles. 

·    So, on Dashami evening, he was cribbing that it was all coming to an end. I tried to comfort him reminding him of the “Aasche bochor abar hobe” line. Then he said, “But the first pujo won’t ever happen again”. And, it dawned on me. So we decided to make it special. Result: Dinner under the stars. 

Coming back to the question, that has been bothering me, I begin to wonder. My love for writing and creating is something I owe to my father. The optimism and eccentricity are a gift from the mother. The little compassion I have is something I learnt from my grandmother. The thirst for knowledge has been passed on to me by my uncle. So who is responsible for the crazy commitment I feel for Calcutta? 

The feeling that I cannot bear to hear a bad word about her, the confidence that I will never voluntarily leave her and go, the childlike excitement when I hear “Welcome to Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose International Airport”, that automatic attachment I have for people who are equally hopelessly in love with this city, that bout of pride when someone praises the pocket friendly food and transportation we get here. There can be no logical explanation for what I feel, except maybe the fact that this was something I was born to do.

I have never been a true blue Bengali. I have only read Bengali stories that have been translated to English, not seen most of the Bengali classics, know very few Rabindra Sangeets, can’t speak bhalo shuddho bangla, and undoubtedly, receive a lot of flak for being a so called tyaash. A lot of people feel and some have even told me, that owing to all my above mentioned shortcomings, I have a much lesser right to love Calcutta compared to someone who is more culturally aware about the city. To them I would like to say, congratulations on the awareness, now if you’d please excuse me, I’d rather make love to my gorgeous city. 

We've all had that moment in life when we’re on a fourth drink and getting happy high, and a blasted friend decides to bawl and throw up and the high just goes poof! Well, the first day of office is that blasted friend and out it throws the intoxication of Durga Pujo. As my fingers type out a damned service contract, my heart replays the memories of the last few days, and successfully distracts me in every sentence. Right from sleepy eyed early morning anjali to sleepy eyed late night adda, from triple helpings of kur-kure aloo bhaja to triple pegs of Old Monk. As I slap myself out of the daze, there stood typed a permutation clause in place of a termination clause in my contract.

Pardon my ranting, as I’m once again in the clutches of PDPD (Post Durga Pujo Depression). I keep looking down at my left feet sadly, to see the fading remains of my pujo phoshka. The 500 something pictures in my phone gallery is making me grin and pout at the same time. Office er jama have taken the forefront, while pujo’r jama are washed, ironed and hibernating at the back of the cupboard. Ironically, it’s the silence that hurts my ears more than the sound of the dhaak I had been waking up to. The absence of pujo has left me bittersweet. But you know what the silver lining is to the unhappy black cloud that looms above my head? The fact that it’s going to be November in two days and it promises tons of reasons to make merry and celebrate. 

Hope you all had a fabulous festive time!

Pujo Pujo Gondho.

Tuesday 27 October 2015

Sorry Sir.


“Subroto, where the hell is my presentation? Does it take so long? You are absolutely useless!"

“Sorry Sir, I was just formatting it. I’ll mail it to you in five minutes” 

“I am sure I will still find mistakes. Send it fast. I have a group of fools working for me.” 

“Sorry Sir. I am just doing it.” 

Hari Bajaj was the General Manager of the department in which Subroto worked. Every employee of the department loathed him. His key responsibilities in the company were to eat, talk on the phone, go on expensive trips at the cost of the company, be over friendly with a particular female employee, leave early and blame others for his shortcomings in the review meetings. Needless to say, he had no clue of how the work got done. Even a minor report that the management required of him had to be prepared by his subordinates. Subroto was preparing one such report. 

“Sir, I have mailed you the presentation. Kindly have a look.” 

“What? What presentation? Oh. Okay. Let me see what utter rubbish you have prepared. Sit.” 

“Yes Sir.” 

“Subroto! How many times have I told you not to use such a bright yellow background? And, I absolutely hate this font!” 

“Sorry Sir, but I thought Times New Roman, is the standard font for all reports.” 

“Don’t try to teach me. I am your boss. If I tell you to hand write the whole report, you still have to do it. Understand?” 

“Yes Sir. Is the content alright Sir? Are there any modifications required?” 

“You don’t have the brains for that. Leave that to me. I will make the necessary changes. You are lucky that you have a boss like me to spoon feed you all the time. Now go change the color and fonts and mail it back to me. ASAP!” 

“Okay Sir. Um Sir, there is something I wanted to talk to you about.”“What now?” 

“Sir, my promotion is due this year. I wanted to talk regarding that.” 

“Subroto. Focus on your work. You lack dedication and…” 

“But Sir, I have always delivered on all my responsibilities and I also...” 

“Shut up! Will you decide that?” 

“Sorry Sir. I was just saying that…” 

“Enough. I want my report. I will see what can be done. I can’t promise anything.” 

“Sir, I just got married. I need to make ends meet. I require this promotion very badly, Sir. I have done overtime almost every day. I have truly put in…” 

“Hello.. Yeah tell me! How is everything? Subroto, please leave now.” 

“Sir, but…” 

“Can’t you understand? Just go now.” 

“Sorry Sir.” 

Subroto stumbled back to his workstation. Subroto Sen, the hardest working employee of the department, no doubt about that. His only flaw was that he couldn’t keep his boss happy in any way apart from the work. This was how he had been all his life. Honest, simple and straightforward. He didn’t know how to make tweaks for his own convenience. He never got into confrontations, no matter how much the other side humiliated him. He led a simple life with his mother and wife. 

Subroto started on the presentation once again.  A hundred thoughts raced through his head. Appraisal announcements were due in a week. This was his sixth year in this company. He was due for promotion three years ago but for some reason or the other, it got delayed. This year he had worked exceptionally hard and had been keeping high expectations, though after the conversation with Hari Sir, he felt a little tensed. A colleague tapped him on his back. 

“Hey. What did the boss say?” 

“The usual. He said he is not sure. Will see what can be done.” 

“Why are you letting him do this Subroto? You are the most deserving employee. You must fight for what is due to you. You’re letting it go too easily.” 

“I am sure Hari Sir won’t let me down. He knows…” 

“Knows what? Oh please Subroto! For the last three years, you have kept this abnormal amount of faith in him and he has proved you wrong every single time and still you refuse to see reality?” 

“It’s not that Raja. I am sure Hari Sir had his own problems. But he knows how hard I have worked this year. He won’t let me down. He speaks rudely I know, but ultimately he cares for all of us.” 

“Haha! Are you for real? Everyone in this department knows what Hari Bajaj actually is and it’s you who thinks he is an angel and so you work tirelessly for him, without expecting a thing in return. He treats you like filth. Are you blind?” 

“I know he is moody and he screams at me a lot. But he is my superior. He has the right to judge me and my work. He is doing it for my growth and…” 

“Okay fine. Do as you wish. You are frustrating me. But I just wanted to tell you that there is a rumour doing the rounds that this year Sir is planning to promote Niharika.” 

“Niharika? But it’s hardly been two years that she has joined.” 

“Come on! We all know how happy she can keep the boss. Don’t be so naïve!” 

“Let’s not make these allegations against someone’s character. Hari Sir will be fair. He will make the right decision. I know.” 

“Forget it Subroto. No point explaining to you. I’ll catch you later.” 

The week passed by quite weekly and it was finally the day everybody had been waiting for. There was a lot of anticipation and whispering. Subroto tried to stay calm. He knew he had given his best. The mail arrived at 16:13 PM. He opened the excel containing the list of the candidates who had got a promotion. There were a total of six names and there was definitely no ‘Subroto Sen’ in that list.
Quietly, he approached Hari Sir. 

“Sir, could I speak to you for a minute?” 

“No. I am really busy right now. Later.” 

“Please Sir. This is about the promotion. I just got the mail.” 

“Oh that. Yes. Don’t worry. Keep working hard. Maybe you’ll get it next year.” 

“But Sir, it has been due since long. I really thought I would be promoted this year.” 

“Look Subroto. If you have not been promoted, it clearly means that you have not worked enough and that there is someone else who deserved it more than you.” 

“But Sir, Niharika has not even completed two years and she got promoted, Sir. I don’t understand.” 

“Niharika is an extraordinary performer and that is why she has been promoted. Stop complaining Subroto.” 

“Sorry Sir. I was not complaining. I just couldn’t understand what went wrong this year again so I came to you.” 

“Well I think I have told you already. Now please leave and don’t bother me with such petty things.” 

“Sir, please, Sir. Can nothing be done? I was really depending on this.” 

“Leave Subroto. Unless you want me to take some adverse action against you.” 

“No Sir. Sorry Sir.” 

Subroto felt devastated. Many of his colleagues consoled him while others kept repeating that they knew something like this was bound to happen. Subroto didn’t say a word. 

Three days had passed. Everyone had accustomed themselves to the new changes, including Subroto. He had accepted the reality and was focusing on his work. One had to say, it was rare to find a man with such perseverance. Around six o clock, he approached Hari. 

“Sir, we need to discuss the data that has come in today from Bombay.” 

“I am busy right now Subroto. I will be leaving for a meeting shortly. But I will be back in two hours. Wait for me till then.” 

“Okay Sir.” 

It was nearly eight o clock. Few employees were still working. Subroto was waiting for his boss. He started feeling hungry. He took out a mango from his bag, cut it in pieces and ate one. At that very moment, Hari Bajaj walked in. Subroto quickly kept the food aside and went up to him. 

“No Subroto, not today. I am not in the mood right now. We will discuss the issues tomorrow.” 

“But Sir, I waited for you…” 

“So what? I am paying you. I can make you wait as long as I want. Now quit bothering me and go home.” 

“Sorry Sir” 

Subroto quietly packed his bag and walked out. The building was almost deserted and dark. He felt eerie waiting for the lift all alone. Just then, Hari Sir came up to the lift. Subroto was glad to see him. At least he was not totally alone. The lift beeped when it reached the eighth floor. Both of them got in. 

“Sir, I hope the meeting went well.” 

“Not your concern.” 

“Sorry Sir” 

*7th floor* 

“Sir, actually there is one thing I need to tell you” 

“What is it?” 

*6th floor* 

“Sorry Sir.” 

“Sorry? For what?”

*5th floor* 

“For this, Sir.”


Subroto Sen took out a knife and stabbed Hari Bajaj. Thrice. In the chest. 

“Sorry Sir”

He smiled an evil smile, stopped the lift at the second floor, and walked out. 

The lift reeked of mango and blood, as it reached the ground floor.