A bit of nostalgia

Growing up in a determinedly middle class Bengali family, your identity and sense of self gets linked irreversibly to that annual ritual called Durga Pujo. And so I want to write about it. Not about how I celebrate it now, but about how things used to be. It is not going to be a dirge (hopefully), it is, like most things here, about putting down in words the feelings and emotions that it evokes.

Firstly, it is not just the glorious 5 days starting from Sashthi (the sixth day) till Dashami (the tenth) that identifies the festivities, it is, on a conservative basis, at least a couple of months before that. The severity of the rains, and it used to rain quite a bit in Farakka, had usually lessened by the time Pujo came. Obviously, it would still rain, but it wasn't quite so bad, if you get what I mean. 

The biggest hint that the festivals were around the corner came when upon returning home from school one day, you'd chance upon the glorious sight of the pujabarshikis, the annual editions of the Bengali magazines that every self-respecting Bengali household still subscribes to. Satisfyingly thick and substantial, those editions of Anandamela and Shuktara were like nothing else. Food would be forgotten, TV shows brushed to the side as I would rush to turn the pages and read the many stories and novellas and articles and quizzes that populated them. The adventures of Kakababu and of Arjun, the seafaring sagas of Francis the Viking prince (not a very Viking name I realize now, but then Ranulf doesn't lend itself to easy typesetting in Bengali), the sporting stories by Moti Nandi where the underdog always triumphed and most specially, the stories of unique folks that used to live in the worlds created sublimely by Shirshendu. This is not quite the complete list obviously, but there used to be enormous comfort somehow in getting in touch with all these characters who had been away for an year and then returned magically to tell the tales of where they had been. I haven't traveled much, but I have been to everywhere in my head and most of that is because of these books.

There were other things that heralded the coming of the Devi. The kaash phool (Lat: Saccharum spontaneum) that colonized the banks of the Ganga as the monsoon waters receded, the sari-wala who came over on at least two Sundays carrying an almirah-sized cloth sack on his head. The buying of saris was an extremely delicate affair, with color schemes and design patterns and price points which would mysteriously accord varying levels of respect to the gift receiver. I used to be so fascinated by it all.

The last couple of weeks leading up to the Pujo used to be extremely tough, almost character building I'd call it. The teachers usually accepted defeat after handing out the half-yearly marksheets and then there was this unbearable tension and anticipated ecstasy as  Mahalaya came closer. There were milestones along the way, Viswakarma pujo which heralded the beginning of the pujo season, the first lot of new clothes that were bought (the rest were all given by the relatives you see, refer the sari buying process), the tickets to Calcutta that hopefully would have been booked. Calcutta, where the relatives would gather and where we'd have our very own Pujo. And that's a memory for some other day.

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Now, onto our irregular feature - "Songs I have been listening to". 

We have 2 songs from The Cure - the seminal English band which inspired and stimulated the growth of post-punk and goth rock movements while evading any such categorization themselves. To explain further, here are the songs themselves -

1. Lovesong

The song that proves that they could write, well, a love song.

2. Pictures of you

The song that proves that the first one was no fluke. The better song in my opinion. The opening hook builds up with the drums and leads to chimes and synths and a wall of noise that segues to almost pop vocals around the 2:20 mark. Robert Smith has a voice that is quite unique, persuasive and melancholic with a stalker-ish undertone - no wonder he is a favorite. The album, Disintegration (1989), that both these songs belong to, is a classic. If you are interested and you should be, try catching the Trilogy series of concerts - performed earlier this decade if memory serves me correctly - this band still has legs on it.

I also have a documentary to suggest, Steve James biographic documentary on Roger Ebert, Life Itself. Ebert is somewhat of an idol. I came to know of him during my MBA days and the way he overcome physical setbacks (and here I am understating things) to find a new voice and become an inspiration for so many is something worth knowing. Read his books, visit his site.

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The Indian PM is visiting the USA.

Top 10 Books - Fiction

This is basically a re-post of my first ever Facebook post. And I wrote it honestly enough, just that I found a few grammar issues with it afterward and since I also don't like the fact that any edits to the post would show up, I decided to put it here as well - with a few improvements, of course.

Here goes.

Its impossible to really pick your favorite books, they change from day to day and as you get older, your tastes change and your language changes and all that makes it really difficult. Most of these books are ones I grew up with and ones which introduced genres to me.

Top 10 books - they all turned out to be fiction, cause those were the ones that first came to my mind.

1. Upendrakishore Ray Chowdhury - Upendrakishore Rachanasamagra - 2 volumes, cardboard bound and with blue glossy covers. Ultra thin paper. For really being the first literature I read and for being my introduction to the Indian mythologies (including being the best possible introduction to Ramayan and Mahabharat).

2. Rabindranath Tagore - Gora - Its about religion, tradition, family, caste, patriotism and identity. Big words and big ideas that make quite an impression and the first book that made me really think. Set in an incredible time and populated with a wonderful cast.

3. Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay - Srikanta - the eponymous character is hardly the most interesting part of the novel - its the women in his life which actually give it direction and structure and ultimately make the novel.

4. Saradindu Bandopadhyay - the Byomkesh series (and if asked to pick a favorite, I'd pick two - Chorabali and Chiriyakhana and beg you to let me include Satyanbeshi). The thing is I know of the inspiration it takes from Sherlock Holmes and I have enjoyed the author's historical novels more probably - but Byomkesh for me remains the best portrayal of a detective.

(a little too many Bengali books probably, but I read the collected works of the authors in that wonderful 3 month period after the 10th board exams that we all get and that influence has remained - we'll move onto English now)

5. O'Henry - The collected short stories - The gift of the Magi and The Last Leaf are probably the only stories that have made me cry (I was young, so don't be judging). And A Retrieved Reformation and The Buyer from Cactus City are my favorites - if you need a picker-upper and are in no mood to self-medicate - may I suggest these two.

6. Agatha Christie - The murder of Roger Ackroyd, And then there were none - easily the author whose books I have read the most. Anytime somebody needed to gift me something or I had saved up some money, I would head to the one bookstore in the township and pick up a new Christie. Not the greatest fan of either Poirot or Miss Marple, I have liked the standalone ones more. But Murder of Roger Ackroyd is a masterpiece honestly, the twist is something that you don't see coming (don't lie to yourself now) and both the books have formats that differ from the one-camera format (to borrow from movie-making) that most books follow.

7. P. G. Wodehouse - You are expecting the Jeeves and Wooster books or the Blandings Castle series. But I'll put forth the Wrynkyn series as my pick here - the language is incomparable (but that is true of all Wodehouse), there's usually an underdog and it introduced me to Mike and Psmith (probably my favorite amongst all of Wodehouse's characters). Favorite book though - The White Feather.

Now we are doing genres, cause there has to be some structure to this and I really don't want to miss out on something obvious.

8. Alistair MacLean - The Last Frontier / Frederick Forsyth - The Day of the Jackal / Robert Ludlum - The Bourne Identity. If I am picking thrillers, then it has to be one of these three. I read the Alistair MacLean novels by borrowing them from the school library - enormous fun and easy reads. If I had to pick just one though, it would be the Ludlum - I was quite furious after they changed the basic storyline in the 2nd film. I think the Bourne Identity is pretty much perfect.

9. Gabriel Ba and Fabio Moon - Daytripper - Unique and perfect. The graphic novel that would likely be on any favorite books list I make. Gorgeous and moving, without being manipulative, I have probably read too much into it - but this makes you question the ultimate value of your life. A book that I have loved everything about from the very first time I held it.

10. Neil Gaiman - American Gods / Roger Zelazny - Lord of Light / Jonathan Stroud - The Amulet of Samarkand - I don't think I can choose between these three. Shadow is that most inscrutable of anti-heroes in a world that's both mythical and modern, nowhere else is Hinduism more mysterious (and the hero prefers to call himself Sam - a little bit of conceit here, yes, permit me that) and Bartimeus and Nathaniel have the most interesting of relationships. So, I won't be choosing here - some leeway must be allowed in the last entry anyway.

So that's the list. As I am typing this, I am starting to question certain omissions. But this is the list for today and this it shall remain.

P.S. Found this picture - it is quite perfect ain't it?

A few well hidden speakers and we're set

Thoughts on the future

In a not quite so perfect mood today, so maybe the post won't turn out to be very optimistic. I don't think much these days, there's work and then you are home and then you want to sleep. Ain't that the dreariest thing? And the sad part is that I am sure that I am not unique in my experiences. Every person I meet, I go to work with - and since 'every' doesn't allow for exceptions, I'll use 'most' - most people live this way.

And I was thinking. Shouldn't there be some mandatory thinking time? Time that you have to think and reflect and plan and resolve. What could I do? Think about it and then do it. Something that makes me happy and makes me feel good about myself. Trivial and selfish, like a pencil scrawled self portrait. Its a disconnect. There has to be a way, a way to be happy and not starve, be useful and productive, yet selfish and conceited. Make something beautiful, make something worthy, make something that lasts, that makes someone happy. Could be one (though that shouldn't just be me) or could be many. But what remains essential and necessary is that I should be happy doing it.

I can't change the future of the country (the sheer ego of it all!), I can't invent something that will make everyones' life easier (though a fruit slicer that makes juice does sound like something an enterprising Chinese gentleman will make a fortune out of), so I should really find out what I should be doing that will be relevant and important to one more person. But it is a must that I do that one thing. I don't want to be no one. I believe that I can't be no one. Not being egotistic here, honestly. There's a miracle to life and there is an endless chain of permutations and possibilities and chances that has led to this moment and therefore this moment and the next and the one after that should mean something. I would like to teach and for that I would have to learn. So I guess I will be studying some.

I am just worried. I don't care about politics when my options are a dithering novice and a disciplinarian dogma-led scare-mongerer. I can't bring myself to care about a job which needs me to follow arbitrary ugly formats blindly, where the choice that I have is between following up with treasury or compliance. I don't care much about cricket (sacrilege! blasphemy!) and the football teams I support do a darn good job of crushing any early season hopes. I want to find the time to find myself, find what I am good at, what I have an eye for. And then do it, even if only for a while.

That's pretty much it.

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Two musical bits here for the discerning audience -

1. This one is an instrumental piece (I am going classical with a monocle and all here) - Divenire by Ludovico Einaudi - a performance at Royal Albert Hall, London. Gets me a little weepy and heavy hearted. The payoff moment comes at around the 1:50 mark. Watch it first and then listen to it with your eyes closed - I promise you that there is a tear waiting to sneak out. Listen to it on the loop if possible.

2. The 2nd one is a complete concert film - Burning by Mogwai. I have written before that I am fan. This should tell you why. Its a beautifully shot film - all black and white and ambient noise filtering in (on the screen and in the music). A very spare set, the musicians don't make jokes or say how glad they are there to perform. They make extremely beautiful music and you are supposed to just lose yourself in the sound. Try to listen to 'Mogwai fears Satan' at around the 27 and a half minute mark. No words again. Apparently their sound is not in fashion at the moment. Well, I am just the least fashionable guy I know.

A book as well - 'Bhima - The Lone Warrior' (translated from the Malayalam original 'Randamoozham' of M. T. Vasudevan Nair by Gita Krishnankutty). The Mahabharata from Bhima's perspective. Can't praise it enough. I had loved Bhimsen which Prem Panicker had put up way back when. And this is the book that inspired it.

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Is there anything special about the 15th of February? Maybe.