Cato

I had a passion of going out on a bicycle trip, early in the morning, even before the light was out in the sky.

I used to pedal for at-least an hour, watch the sun rise and return home. That morning I was about to open the gate of our home when I heard a strange sound. A constant mewling in a very timid voice, I thought that it was a bird but then I realized it was coming from the drain. I went to that place and saw a tiny kitten in the drain, hardly a fistful. I picked up a plastic packet and brought it out and took it inside.

I placed it in a bird cage and gave it a good wash. I was surprised to hear a strange hissing sound from the cage and realized that the kitten was threatening me. It was a hilarious thing to watch it trying to scare me.

I gave it some milk and biscuits and later he was set free. He instantly became Misha, my spitz’s friend. A funny relationship which lasted till the last day he stayed with us. She was a very sweet tempered creature and he was an imp. A bundle of mischief. He loved to pounce on her and play with her. Sometimes he used to tangle his claws in her fur and hang like a monkey from her neck.

But he was not that lucky with the Doberman and the pet monkey which my older sibling had at that time. The Doberman used to often catch him and take him to her den and chew him up. He used to walk out of her den all slobbered up and furious.

The monkey whenever he was able to catch him used to clutch him to himself for hours like children hug soft toys.

His only soft targets were Misha and myself. He just loved pouncing on us and causing us almost a heart attack by the shock.

Though I knew all the while that tom cats never stay still I missed him a lot when he vanished.

Misha

Some creatures walk into our lives, become a dear part of it and leave their marks all over it. She was that type of being.

I still remember when we brought her home in 1989. She was hardly a fistful. Bred by a pet shop owner for only money. She had her body full of lice and worms which we could not get rid of, though we tried every thing. Starting from veterinary to ayurvedic. All failed.

She stayed with us for next eleven years before she succumbed to the monstrous heat of Rajasthan in 2000.

She knew how to win hearts. She was a love hungry soul and no one in the house was able to resist her for long. Though a lot of them tried.

Her final victory was my mother. She was the only canine my mother petted. Ever since I have been able to store memories I have recollection of dogs and my mother’s immense allergy for them.

Misha became obsessed her very quickly. To my mom’s fury (though she was never able to catch her red pawed) she used to climb on her bed. Sit at her feet, sleep under her bed in the night.

During her last one year she was honored by my mother’s quite frequent petting.

She taught me a few very serious lessons.

Love is usually irresistible.

She taught me to walk cautiously, before bringing her home I used to take two steps at a time, and she had a irksome habit of sprawling right where your first step will fall. It was really extremely embarrassing to step down and hear her howl. So I started to tiptoe.

She controlled my temper a lot. She was impossible, so when I failed in molding her I molded myself.

She somehow completed my personality in more than one ways.

Blacky

He was my sibling’s pet Alsatian. His owner was a very possessive and abusive person; As a result he was a thoroughly abused dog who selected me as his owner till the last day of his very short life. .His death was a mystery.

He was one intelligent dog. And one of the most sophisticated dogs I have ever seen. Its funny but he ignored his owner and obeyed me. He used to spend all his day (and preferably nights) in my rooms. Sprawling like a king, not even moving a paw to give us a place to walk. It was his room and he allowed us to use it was his attitude.

He was roaming spirit, whenever he found the main gate open or loose he used to loose free in the street. People used to panic. No one will love a full grown Alsatian roaming around in the street without a chain and an owner. And it was almost always me who had to run after him screaming like silly. He was gracious enough to listen to it.

At that time I was staying at home and my brother used to commute to Kolkata from there. He used to return at night and leave in the morning. We used to take blacky’s food along with ours.

Whenever my brother used to stay in Kolkata (without notice) he used to wait eagerly for the dinner, as I used to skip it myself I used to forget him in the earlier days. Then I changed the pattern after seeing his hungry, pleading eyes one too many times. I used to feed him his dinner the moment his true owners retired and then keep the rest for us.

I still remember those pleading eyes on that black face, whenever I forgot to feed him the dinner.

He once scared the living day light out of me. He was my shadow. So he used to follow me to the roof, my favourite place. There is a pattern in our roof’s walls. The patterns of playing cards. He once stuck his head in the heart shaped hole. And I thought he will die there, stuck. Then he taught me the trick of getting his silly head out of there. For I struggled for more than an hour when I suddenly found out the trick. He was so shameless that he used to do it again and again.

Its really fun to have a dog around.

Another martyr : Satish Shetty

He had the courage of speaking out against corruption. The guts of challenging the powerful, corrupted people. So they chased him and killed him. If it was in some Western country I would have been hopeful that he will get his justice in Court. Can I hope the same here in India too? Chances are very slim, so all I can say that my deepest, wholehearted tributes are for him and all brave souls like him. Who had the courage of standing up and fighting evil.

 

I will wait for the day when the blood of these martyrs will result in punishing the evil-doers. Or better, their blood shall not be shed at all. The law will do its job and evil doers wont dare to flourish that much..

Two Birds

There was a time when I fed puffed rice to a bunch of squirrels. These tiny creatures were a lot of fun. I truly loved feeding them.

 

It started out of pity and soon became an enchanting habit. They used to wait for me or my brother to give them food. They ignored the rest of the people of the household. The very moment they saw any one of us two coming out to the verandah they used to inform us of their hunger by scurrying down from the trees. Ignoring them resulted in their invading our rooms.

 

While feeding them two birds became my bravest guests. A doyel and a water bird, we call them pankouri in Bengali. These are small, black coloured birds with long legs and they eat fishes and water insects or creatures. This bird’s courage was beyond words. I used two rooms. The room attached to verandah was my bedroom and the inner room was my kitchen. If his (or her) food was not served on time he used to invade my inner room, after crossing the outer room. It was amusing, touching and a little scary. Human beings should never be trusted that much.

 

The second one was a piece of courage too. I love gardening, I am not even a mediocre gardener but I love to work in garden. So I used to spend hours in garden, tilling the soil  or cleaning of weeds, he used to be my almost constant companion, sitting squarely a few inches apart from me, waiting eagerly for any insect to jump out of the weeds or ground.

 

Wherever I go, whatever I do I will never forget these two birds.

Summer

I am almost nonchalant about summer. As long as the power cuts are not driving me crazy. I don’t get much exasperated by heat. If I can stay away from roads of Kolkata and its buses I can happily suffer summer.

 

To me summer means my childhood days, the strict instructions from adults to not venture out in sun, to avoid sunstroke. We just waited for mom to fall asleep, and then were out in the garden. Sometimes stuffing ourselves with pickles, tamarinds or fruits from trees and sometimes running barefoot on the burning pavement to catch the kulfiwala.. the ice-cream man.

 

Summer noon in UP meant absolute silence, it was so hot that even birds did not made sound, sometimes a crow cawed breaking the silence, that’s all. The only sound we could hear in those three or four hours was the bells of the kulfiwala, braving the summer sun for livelihood.

 

The summer of west Bengal is romantic if you live in a small town, with trees and birds around you. People take a siesta because the humidity makes them drowsy. The noon are silent, all you will hear is birds calling. The doves calling their mates in a sleepy tone or crows and bulbuls calling out. In Toto it’s a dreamy atmosphere. To be felt from the very depth of heart.

Monsoon

I was born in UP and lived outside West Bengal for the first sixteen years of my life. Mostly in UP and Delhi, places which don’t have much rain fall. There rain is fun, joy and very quick affair, it pours and stops.

 

I shifted to the greenest district of West Bengal. Burdwan district is the greenest district of west Bengal and its greenery is a feast for eyes. It can be relished to its utmost if one travels in some local train from Kolkata to burdwan, a thing which I have done for years and it was awesome. To see those fields of luscious green paddy stretched on both sides is a heavenly feeling.

 

My home had a garden in frontage, quite a big one, with trees and shrubs of all size and shape. Before joining a job going out in rain is an optional matter, so I relished monsoon or rain fall for quite a long span of time. It was a real joy to watch rain pouring down on the trees and bushes, cleaning them up and leaving them sparkling.

 

When the rain was over the drops of water still sparkled on the leaves and bushes, just like small drops of pearl.

 

Rain is a really enjoyable thing if it lasts for a reasonable time-span and you don’t have to go out in it. Or the clogged water of street drains doesn’t enter your house. The greatest agony of a huge proportion of Kolkata residents.

Pets

Ever since my childhood I have had pets at my home. Of all types and species I guess, except reptiles and illegal ones. Name them, and we had them cow, birds, cats, monkey, cats, dogs, fishes, rabbits.

 

If you have a spacious house and someone to care for them pets can be great thing. But one should never have pets unless one really cares about them and is capable of taking care of them.

 

My cherished ones were a spitz Misha, a cat Cato, budgerigars and rabbits. Though I have voluntarily taken care of the pets of other family members but these four were my pet ones.

 

Misha was a very important part of my life. She needs special description so I will just leave her with saying that my family members used to call her my daughter.

 

Cato, I rescued  him from drain, he became a darling part of my life. Then just like tomcats he left us. He later came back once or twice but was scared of us then and did not stay. It was a great fun to have him around.

 

The budgerigars were very cute but I was happy when they broke free.

 

The rabbits were the cutest pets I guess. We bought a pair and soon our home had quite an ample number of their offspring. They dug their own holes in the garden and lived there. But we had to keep an eye on them, the moment we realized that the mother was pregnant we had to trick her to the cage so she could have her babies there safely. The first time she had her babies in the hole was horrible. It was lucky that we saw them in the drain, red ants have attacked those tiny things before their eyes were opened, we had to pull those ants out and place them in the cage with their mother. After that we kept a watch that she does not bring forth her babies in the hole. It was a great joy to see those tiny bundles of fur.

 

I really think that every spacious household which can spare some time should have some pet. They make our lives complete.

Caged Birds

I really don’t like caged birds. I have once bought a cage full of budgerigars and after that I decided I will never keep a bird in cage.

 

Budgerigars are fabulous looking birds, they look like miniature parrots with different colour, completely different from parrots, their main colours are white, sky blue, turmeric yellow, lemon yellow and green. They have to be kept in cages which will give them a little place to fly, if you hang some appropriate earthen pots inside their cages they breed in captivity.

 

I have kept their cage in a verandah attached to our kitchen, which descended on the courtyard. Flocks of parrots always came to my home, always trying to build their nests in the mammoth sized drain pipes which released the rain water from roof.

 

It really was tormenting to see the budgerigars clinging to the net and crying in response to their cries. I was really happy when they flew away one by one (of course without my knowledge) after breaking the net of their cage by their sharp beaks. I never bought birds again.

This winter

This year winter has visited us quite graciously. Winter happens to be my favourite season, all time favourite seasons.

Courtsey blogging, my friends are not scattered all over the world. its funny, how a thing which is awesome in one part of world is a nuisance in another.

It was snowing a lot in US around Christmas, I gushed about it to a friend of US and he immediately pointed out the misery attached to snow fall - shovelling.

His comment brought back a memory of my own, I hate kolkata monsoon, a few months back a blogger from Arizona was surprised that I am so much allergetic to rain. :)

Well, for the winter, I am keeping my fingers crossed that she will stay a little longer with us. :) She is no nuisance in Kolkata, she is an adorable visitor, who often forgets to visit us.

rebecca

This novel by daphne du maurier has bowled me over by its wonderful writing skill. The way the authoress has portrayed manderley and its surroundings. I have loved the description of manderley since the first time I read the novel. The admiration has increased with repetition.

It’s a story of a very ordinary looking girl who marries a noble man, whose first wife was a gorgeous seductress.

The novel is about her journey into the footsteps of her enchanting predecessor and all the things she had to face in pursuing that journey.

The way the authoress have portrayed the characters is really fabulous. Even the mansion comes to life with every thing surrounding it. I can take a mental stroll in the woods near Manderley any time. The doves calling, ocean winds rustling the leaves and the faint footsteps of Rebecca. The earlier owner of all those things. The reckless young lady.

It’s a book every one should read at-least once I believe. Just to relish the writing skill.

Unnecessary violence

I am on a movie watching spree lately. I  have been watching a lot of movies without being censored before. That is, earlier it was a habit of mine that my brother used to watch movies and tell me which are suitable for my weak heart. Violent movies have an adverse effect on me. A very strong adverse effect. I get very moved by music, literature and visual media I believe.

 

I was recently watching a movie, thinking that it was horror then I finally realized it was not. It was horrible. A young pair of lovers being chased by a group of mentally deranged persons through out the night in their summer house and finally getting butchered. Now, being a normal human being that’s not exactly the type of movie I will love to watch. Its okay if ghosts kill one or two human beings after chasing them all night but the same thing becomes repulsive when human beings do that without any reason but “fun” or cannibalism -  I watched a movie in that a family was lost in desert and eaten up by a gang of cannibals I fell sick after watching that movie it was so gory and violent.

 

What is the purpose of making these movies? To trigger violence or make people like me fall sick if they accidentally watch it?

Cacophony

I believe every horror or suspense movie addict will share my misery. The hero/heroine is walking through dangerous alleys, darkness surrounds her, our breath stops… suddenly our heart leaps sky high, just misses the ceiling by an inch. Not because a horrible thing leapt out of darkness, but because of a shrill background music of horrible composition.

You will feel that your heart will simply explode. Then you will scramble for the mouse to turn down the volume before angry neighbours start to curse you in their heart because it’s late at night and you love to watch horror movies late at night.

 

I love a good horror, thriller, sci-fi and suspense movie that is why I notice this thing so keenly. Fortunately I watch them from home, in computer so I keep my hand on the mouse to choke that sudden blare of cacophony. I pity those who have to go through that blast in auditoriums.

 

Horror or suspense works best without background music. Because then you are completely in dark about what is in the director’s mind.

Rain man

Its one of the cutest movies I have ever seen. A spoilt young man comes to know from his father’s will that he has given away all his money to a trust. He finds out that the whole money is given to his autistic elder brother through that trust.

 

He goes there, plots a plan that he will either win his custody or force the lawyers to pay him half  his father’s property. He coaxes Raymond, his elder brother to go away with him. Thus starts a journey, ending in Raymond’s winning love of his brother.

 

In the end Raymond had to return to the asylum because he was too sensitive to live in real world but he transforms his brother completely. He becomes a loving and caring person from a self centered, sometimes mean guy.

 

It’s a worth watching movie, a truly heart warming movie full of beauty of human soul.

Of human bondage

I have read this story twenty years or so back for the first time. It was a little dull for me at the first go. But after finishing it I realized it was one of the best novels I have ever read. Then I repeated it and became confident that it’s the best novel I have read. Its still my favourite novel, of course there are half a dozen more in the same pedestal with it but none is above it.

 

I have learnt so much from this one novel, I too am a dreamer just like the hero of this novel. And just like him, I too have wasted a portion of my life pursuing a passion, an ambition which fell flat on its face due to lack of wind beneath my wings. But I have not faced the remaining tests faced by him because I fortunately had more control on my passions.

 

The hero is an orphan, who is brought up by his nonchalant uncle and aunt. A life without any one to guide him. To tell him what is wrong or right. The paths that he followed and their consequences. The lessons which we can learn from him are priceless.

 

I loved three lessons which I received from him, first, to know when to say goodbye to one’s passion, even if it is greatest passion of one’s life. He thought he was a talented painter so he stopped studying medical and went to Paris to become a painter, he was exploited amply by greedy tutors but finally he realized that he does not have the talent and went back to pursue his studies.

 

Second one was the cruelty which he had to face through out his life because one of his feet was defected. That taught me to practice kindness for those who are not blessed with a healthy body.

 

The third one was the greatest one, he fell in the clutches of an evil and cunning woman who shamelessly exploited him for years. But finally he settled down with a very nice girl. who did not had any physical charm but had a heart of gold. We all should learn from him that one sided love with a fiend will only shove you to hell, again and again, till the day you end that affection.

 

Fourth and final lesson was we can make our life a success even if we fall a hundred times in the path to success.

 

Finally I will suggest every one to read this book at-least once.

Aranyak

Its written by my favourite Bengali author, bibhutibhushan bandhopadhyay. The writer of the novel “Pather panchali” story of  Satyajit Ray ‘s legendary movie of the same name.

 

Aranyak means “of forest”. It’s a fabulous story of few years spent by a man in a remote forest covered land of Bihar. A fashionable young man of Kolkata, who had to go to Bihar for livelihood,.  How he fell in love with forest and its people. The innocent people of rural Bihar,. Who were so poor that they used to throng his Kachhari (office) to eat the leftover rice.  

 

First he was sick of that desolate land, without any companionship with kindred souls. Then he slowly fell in love with the nature. It unraveled its virgin beauty to his mesmerized eyes. In the nights he spent on horse back traveling from one place to other, while miles of land lay in front of him, miles behind him and above him the moon shined in a magical glory.

 

The acute poverty of local people, their pain, innocence, exploitations. The  cruelty of those who had the power.

 

How he tried to fill up a local pond with different types of flowers with the help of a person who was equally in love with the place. Then the sad part starts and he had to chop down the forests and every thing to distribute the lands, mostly to the corrupt and powerful people. Finally his return to Kolkata with ever-lasting memory of that beautiful place, virgin nature and human beings.

Maupassant

I have always admired Maupassant, ever since I read his story “The necklace” in my early childhood (translation).

 

I was gifted a compilation of his short stories a decade ago and have been reading it since then, I believe I have already read it more than a dozen times, finished it a fortnight back and am eager to start it all over again.

 

My admiration for him has shot up ever since I have started to write myself. I don’t call myself a writer, I just love to write. M y only alibi is its better to write something than watch movies to kill time. It  keeps the brain active and improves one’s linguistic expertise.

 

Back to Maupassant, if any one asks me to crown my favourite short story writer, I will simply place my crown at his feet. He is a magician. With limited words he can stir any soul which is open. Make them a better person.

 

The more I read his works the more I become mesmerized, how easily and expertly he touches the very soul and illuminates them.

 

His stories are full of human compassion (not for very conservative persons, I should humbly warn).

Bibhutibhushan Bandhopadhyay

This is another author my mother taught to love. She was a big fan of bibhutibhushan bandhopadhyay, so am I, just like most of the bengalis, I first read his pather panchali and cried like a river. I first came across this book when I was studying in raisina bengali school, delhi and instantly started to dote after durga. And that girl still holds a piece of my heart, and always will. With time I started to pity sarbajaya, love indir thakrun, feel ranu’s pain. But my first affection was for durga. I have read this book atleast fifty times and can read it again with great pleasure.

A simple story written by a fantastic writer, in gist, so simple a story, just like of human bondage by somerset maugham.. struggles of a clubfooted, ordinary boy. Pather panchali is struggle of a village boy, his entire life. Yet the magic touch of the master sculptor made the entire difference. Its one of my hot favourite books.

Just a little more adored is another masterpiece by him, aranyak, not very popular, even though I don’t know why, may be because most of the people don’t feel strong bonding with nature. The bonding which is reflected in every line of this book. Now, as I am writing this a piece of me is asking me to get up and get the book and start reading it. it’s a fantastic, divine story of a surveyor appointed by a landlord to chop off a forest and sell that land, how he fell in love with that forest and how it broke his heart when he had to order his people to chop it off. I will never forget those descriptions of simple life of rural people and tribals. The gorgeous beauty of virgin forest.

He was one of his kind writers, one of those who has left a priceless heritage for coming generations, books which can be relished again and again with same love.

when they came..

When they came for the darkies, I did not say anything because I wasnot a darkie.

When they came for the low castes, I did not say anything for I wasnot a low caste.

When they came for the maimed, I did not said anything for I wasnnot maimed.

When they came for the women, I did not said anything for I wasnot a woman.

When they came for the weak, I did not said anything for I wasnot weak.

And when they came for me, no one said anything for there was no-one left to speak.

A German Poem written in Nazi Era.

To kill a mocking bird

This is another movie which recently moved me. Its an old movie starring Gregory Peck. I really admire this guy. Have been his fan since long, well I guess most of the women of my generation are big fans of this guy. I have rarely seen such a combination of sophistication, good acting and dazzling looks.

This story really stirred my soul. Reminded me how sometimes we hate others without any reason at all. It’s the story of a black farm labourer who was falsely accused by a white woman, and even the law took her side…. Knowing all the while that she was lying.

We all have done it, but its better to get rid of this feeling of hating fellow human beings as soon as possible, unless they have performed something really heinous, and are caught red handed doing so..

We should try not to occupy the judge’s throne unless its must.