The Day The Earth Stood Still (The first time, anyway)

Everyone goes through events that change their life. I have had a fair share of mine. Moving to a new city, getting a new job, failed relationships, broken friendships - you name it. Nothing quite comes close to the death of someone from the innermost circle.

I lost my uncle yesterday. But he was not just an uncle to me - he was a second father, the grandfather I never had, the friend who was always there for me, the teacher that schools could never offer. To my father, he was all of that and much more. A gem of a person, loved and cherished by everyone who ever knew him. Yesterday was the first time I ever felt grief in its truest and deepest sense.

When I was told about what happened, I was shocked, in disbelief, unable to process what I'd just heard. I was not ready. Nobody is ever truly ready. But I came to terms with it - not like I had any choice, anyway. We left home in the dead of night, wide awake but lost in thought. The journey was ten hours long, dominated by deafening silence, broken only when memories of my uncle were rekindled by something on the way. I was still calm and composed, not yet emotionally invested in it.

The mood at my uncle's place was not something I was used to - it was melancholic. I have been emotionally challenged for over 10 years, not really reacting appropriately or reading the room right. Yesterday was different. Entering the room to see my aunt, a total wreck, staring at my uncle's lifeless body was not something I was ready for. I was overcome by a deep sadness and longing, and as I hugged my aunt, felt my first tears in over a decade roll down my face. My father, ever so stable, broke down and wept uncontrollably. He was a rock even when his own father and, much later, his brother died. Such was the impact my uncle had in our lives.

As I stood there, I was slowly losing my grip on science and reason. I looked at his arms, his feet, his chest, searching for the slightest movement, a breath, a twitch. Hoping for a miracle so I can scream to the world that he's still alive. Hoping that this was all just an elaborate ruse. It was not. I was not ready.

Grief takes you by surprise, twists your insides, turns your life upside down and makes you question your beliefs. Grief can be suffocating. It will crush you and make your heart heavy. But it will pass. It always does. It also teaches you valuable life lessons as it parts.

Today, once again, I have come to terms with it. Life goes on. A certain hole no one can ever fill takes its place in my innermost circle as my life enters an uncharted territory. Mama, you will be missed. I take forward with me everything you have taught me. I think I will be okay.

Heroes always get remembered but you know legends never die.

 

Life in a Metro - Kolkata

"... if you want a city with a soul, come to Kolkata."

- Vir Sanghvi

But of course, what better icon than the Howrah Bridge?

Twenty months ago, something I never imagined would happen, happened. Of all the places, they had to send me to Kolkata. Kolkata, where people flood the streets, where the roads and pavements and walls are all dirty, where the air is stale and polluted and where safety is a major concern, right? WRONG. I was fed with mental images of what people thought was the City of Joy; I don't even know where to begin debunking their claims.

The whole mind set I had about the city went for a toss the moment I stepped out of the airport. Clean roads, breathable air and a generally serene environment waited to greet me. And so, with an open mind, I stepped in; that has to be one of the best decisions I've ever made. I began to explore Kolkata without any prejudice or preconceived notions.

The recently developed areas in Kolkata were planned and executed so well, you'd be shocked that so much modern planning can go into a city so ancient. Enter the older areas. Calcutta, if I may, is a vast expanse of organized chaos, lined with the traditional and the modern. From Park Street to Alipore to Ballygunge to Tollygunge, each place is an artwork in its own right. You can catch glimpses of architecture from every decade dating back probably all the way to the 1700s, possibly more. The fact that these structures have survived the silent destroyer that is time is testament to the quality of craftsmanship back in the day. The infamous tram is still functioning just the same. On the whole, it's a delicate mix of the old and the new, captivating anyone and everyone.

Not interested in admiring abstract magnificence? Need quantifiable, branded/named locations or “sight-seeing spots”? Fret not, for the city has a good many places to visit. Off the top of my head, these include, but are definitely not limited to, the royal Victoria Memorial, the Alipore Zoo, Eden Gardens for the cricket crazy, Salt Lake Stadium for the football fanatics, IIM Calcutta for the studious and of course, the magnificent Howrah Bridge, running over the Hooghly. One can also find Kali/Durga temples of varying size and grandeur across the city.

One place though deserves special mention. Once Rabindranath Tagore's abode, Shantiniketan is now home to some of the greatest artistic talents in the country. It is one of the few remaining institutions to use the traditional ways of teaching. A walk through the campus, watching students paint, sing, dance or play music can enlighten one's soul. A simple, humble place with immeasurable cultural value, Shantiniketan is one of a kind and has to be experienced first-hand.

Among all the things people told me before coming here, if they were right about one thing, it's the sweets. Sure, I’ve had rasgullas and milk sweets before, and they do not come close to the real deal. Thousands of flavours of Sandesh. Jalebi. Rasmalai. Rasgulla. Mishti doi. The list is endless. Twenty months later you would think I have tried them all; I barely scraped the surface. There is so much to explore, each with its own new taste, a new experience with every bite.

What's a city without its people? “The City of Joy” should paint a fair picture. Always lively, usually polite and fiercely protective of their culture, the people of Kolkata are a proud folk and are not afraid to show it. Always ready for a good conversation. They always try to make outsiders like myself feel at home. They are passionate about what they love and will defend their passion with fire and blood.

The grandest of all the things Kolkata throws at you is the 10-day Durga Puja festival climaxing with Dusshera. The city is rejuvenated, alive and hyperactive round the clock. Some mind-blowing artwork and architecture go into the preparations for the puja, attracting huge crowds even as late as 3AM in the night. The effort that goes into the stalls go up is unmatched. The biggest ones have their own stories to tell, narrating through masterful artwork. Once again, this is one experience that has to be gained first hand.

One must sympathize with the bus drivers and conductors though, they work day in and day out during this period while the rest of the city is out and about, enjoying the fervour that is Durga Puja. Massive respect.

For all its glory, Kolkata does have its own shortcomings. The city is massively overpopulated, and while it's not apparent in the outer regions, a Saturday morning ride around town is enough to give you nightmares about crowded buses, trains and platforms for days.

Being an introvert, I'm not the most social person you’d find. I did not make many friends and I was happy with the little circle I had. However, there is ample opportunity to flaunt your social skills if you’re up to it. I had trouble with the language at first but I'm not complaining. I realized this is how anybody from outside my state would feel when they come there.

As my rather short stay at the City of Joy comes to a close, I can safely say that Kolkata has to be the best city I've lived in, barring my own hometown because, well, hometown bias! It has everything, from art and culture to adventure and glamour, and will leave no one disappointed. Throw away your fears and apprehensions, as Kolkata is one city you cannot afford to skip.

Out of the Birthday Box

It's my birthday today. I'm 23 and I'm already not excited about birthdays any more. A point where even my near and dear ones forgetting my birthday doesn’t bother me. Four birthdays in four years in four different cities with four different friend circles and I've seen enough. It's time to look beyond myself on this day. I’m not the only one with reason to celebrate this day, am I? I know that whoever forgets, two people will always remember.

There is one person excited about it year in, year out even when I'm not even interested in it. And why not? It's a big day for her too. Today is the day she was reborn as a mother and with her, a father. Today is the day they took up the greatest, the most difficult and the best responsibility that life throws at you – they became parents. They have risen up to the challenge and made sacrifices that I'll never fathom until I get there myself. Maybe not even then. They did it, and how! Whatever I am today, I owe it to my parents in no small part. They have stood by me through my highs and lows and encouraged me to reach higher. Nothing I ever do will make up for everything they've done for me but for what it's worth, I would like to say thank you for making me who I am today, as I don't say it everyday. I love you both very much.

A birthday is not just a celebration of someone's birth, but also the beginning of someone's parenthood, which is definitely a bigger cause for celebration. For lack of a better phrase, HAPPY PARENTING DAY, mom and dad! Keep up the good work. And to all the parents of grateful sons and daughters, you've done an amazing job, keep calm and carry on, advanced happy parenting day.

This needs to be an actual thing.

Where Words Fail

"The only thing better than singing is more singing." - Ella Fitzgerald.

Ever wanted to sing so loud you felt like your head would explode if you didn’t? Ever sang so loud you thought your head would explode if you got any louder? Welcome to the club. I’ve read a lot of articles and blogs on underrated pleasures, but all of them failed to mentioned one of the best (if not THE best) pleasures in life: singing.

One does not need to be an expert at anything to sing. All one needs is a voice. It doesn’t matter if they sound good or bad, sweet or gruff. A tune inside the head is all it takes. I personally feel that singing gives unrivaled pleasure, especially when you’re feeling down or lonely.

I love music. I love singing. I suck at it though. But that doesn’t stop me from singing at the top of my lungs in a not-so-busy road at 7 PM. I receive death stares from men and dogs alike but hey, it’s going to take a lot more than that to stop me. I sound so good in my head that I never want to stop. Then I recorded myself and listened. Well, let’s just say I stopped singing in public… just kidding, to hell with the public!

The world when I sing.

As a 90’s Madras kid, I grew up to AR Rahman. Pampered. I grew into Yuvan Shankar Raja and Santhosh Narayanan. Pampered again. English songs, so-so. It was much later that I decided to go old school. Enter Illayaraja. Oh. My. God. So many songs to sing! I almost felt guilty for ruining those songs with my singing. Just listening to them took me to paradise and back. The energy in Madai Thiranthu, the happiness in Sorgame Endraalum, the anger in Thakita Thadhimi, the love in Sundari… stuff we live for. Singing along brings a smile to my face.

Thank God for this man _/\_

Some songs are easy to sing. Some are hard. And then there are some which are almost impossible. Be it the pace or the incomprehensible lyrics, singing them is not for the weak. However, nailing those lines gives a feeling that cannot be explained in words.

More recently, I was introduced to singing inebriated (that was when I was introduced to inebriated too but that’s a story for another time). Singing no holds barred, all guns blazing was a different level of excitement. I should do it more often.

 

Singing is intoxicating. Singing makes you feel good. It doesn’t matter if you’re bad, this is not a competition. This is life. What is life without music? Sing and let the world know you’re happy.

Mind Your Language

"Words are potent weapons for all causes, good or bad."

-Manly Hall, author.

I still remember the first time I was on the receiving end of a curse, a “bad word”. I cried, and I told on him (now my best friend) to our English teacher. Fifteen years to the day I was called the B-word, I live in a society where my professor asked us to – and I quote – “get the f**k out”. Hardly two decades in, have curses gone from shenanigans to household commons?

It had taken me four more years before I uttered my first curse. Yes, four years to muster up my courage to go all unholy on someone. Bad words are named so for a reason, simply because they are bad (duh). We have all been told not to use them, ever. They are never encouraged by elders, least of all by our parents. Yet, we have all caught our old men go berserk and use words we never knew even existed. This might sound hypocritical but to be fair, curses are - as bad as they are - a necessity. How else can we vent out our anger without breaking someone’s bones? Peeing on them seems a legit solution, but who knows when they would flow? Cursing is thus a reliable mode of rage.

Curse once, there’s no turning back. Of course, we knew our limits, tried our best never to cross them. It was like a privilege; we cursed rarely, and we used it gallantly, if I may call it that. Never around elders, never at friends, only during fights and bitter quarrels.

Enter Hollywood. During the late 1990’s and early 2000’s, the film industry became bolder and gave away PG-13’s to movies dealing in curses. Everyone now got to see a world whose tongue was let loose. People from 6 to 106 got to know them. Curses weren't special anymore, not after films ruined their reputation. The music industry wanted to contribute too, of course. One did not simply write a song without a thorough dosage of language. As if “Baby Got Back” wasn't bad enough, we got explicit versions whose names were explicit. Enough said.

Now, 7-year-olds can use them more fluently than they can speak English. Somewhere down the road, the concept of curses took a turn for the worse. This hit us, and it hit us hard. Not only did we use curses to demoralize the enemy, but it also had an added benefit of boosting our self-confidence. Now, all we get for an unparliamentary comment is a smirk or, more commonly, indifference. They do not have the superiority factor they gave the user any more.

Every Tom, Dick (no pun intended) and Harry now knows what cousins of cats and better halves of hens mean. Bad words have become so common that they are even used to greet people. It is now time to treat bad words with the respect they deserve. We need to preserve them, increase their value and restrict their usage again. This world needs a better class of curses, period.

The Feminine Mystique

I’m sitting in a train and I look beside me. What do I see? A family of five. The three kids are fighting, shouting, anything any normal kid their age would be doing, oblivious to what is going on in their parents’ minds. A second glance at the mother’s eyes is enough to understand that she isn't happy. What could it be? I’m in India. What choices are there? It’s the husband. A well-built man with a slightly handlebar-ish mustache (koduva meesai as some of you might know it) gives you the impression of a strict man of the house. His stern expression was only emphasizing the fact. Clearly, she is not happy with him. He only sees her as a sex slave of sorts, making him food, washing dishes, taking care of kids and sleeping with him in the night. He fails to understand that she is more than just that.

This is not a very uncommon sight. Indian women worship their husbands. They are their god in their eyes, and what they do is right, be it good or bad. They are expected to appreciate what they do and go along with it. Movies are no help either. They brag about all the societal changes and awareness they bring about, but forget to change the oldest and most basic stereotype – male dominance, female submission. I’m not talking about BDSM, but the way a couple lives in the modern (is it?) Indian society. Tamil cinema, at least, has been portraying women as very outgoing and brave girls until the day before the marriage. Once they tie the knot, it’s like the character sketch is changed. Everything about them, from what they wear to how they behave, changes. What kind of a stupid stereotype is this?

IT'S EITHER BOTH OR NONE: When HE can, why can't a SHE?

To be honest, I think it’s in the blood. Indians have subjected women to male dominance and chauvinism since the age of time itself. They don’t stand up for their rights, and we are happy with that. I’m not saying I’m the golden child born to resuscitate women from what they’re in. I’m trying to make a point that it’s in the hands of women and women alone in bringing themselves up in the society.

Not that they aren't already on top, I mean, the president was a woman! That, though, is not enough. The idea that women are to be subdued has been planted in the deepest part of our minds, and to pull it out is a herculean task. I try to do that. Yet, involuntarily, I do utter chauvinistic stuff. The other day, “feminine” came out from my mouth as “negative”. I felt really bad for that, and I still do. I try to correct myself, and I believe it’s only those dumb moments that have to be corrected.

We all watch American sitcoms. Be it Friends, How I Met Your Mother or The Big Bang Theory or whatever else you watch, women are always treated as equal. They make sex jokes too and we laugh. They have multiple boyfriends, sleep with all of them and it’s still a joke. But when a girl we know says some joke or has many boyfriends, she’s a... well, you know what they call them. Hypocrites will be hypocrites.

Men may say a hundred things about changing India; easier said than done. Anybody reading this would ask me – ‘Are you gonna do something about it?’ No. Frankly, I have no idea what to do, or how to do it. But if someone with some idea needs my help, I’m all yours. There aren't many things I would rather like to see changed in India than this – women treated as equals. Yes, women are given many amenities and quotas. That doesn't change the fact that men are superior in the current scenario.

It’s about time women are respected and treated the same way a man is treated. Love them for who they are. Recruit them for their brains. Pay them what they deserve. Watch the nation rise above the rest.

THE ODD MAN

    His name was Peter. Born in the latter half of the 20^th Century, he was raised in England by his mother and father. He was an ordinary boy, living an ordinary life. Although never regarded as a brave or intelligent boy, he was taken in by the most courageous and smartest students in his peer group. Peter worshiped his friends as a fan would his hero, and though he was treated well, was always a sidekick or tag-along. But he never complained. He liked it that way, or so he made his heart believe.

    Ever since he joined them, Peter and his friends always picked on one particular boy. This boy, Prince, did not have any friends, save for one – Evans. Evans was liked by one and all; she did not hold grudges against anyone. One boy in particular regarded her to be more than just a friend, and he was among Peter’s friends. So when the boys picked on Prince, she always came to his rescue. Not once, not twice, but for several years, she helped him. Naturally, he was attracted to her.

    Many years passed, and they all passed out. Led by loneliness and lust for power, Prince chose the dark path, joined hands with evil and spread terror across the world. Peter and his friends chose to oppose his cause and fought him and his master several times. It went on for a long time, and suddenly, something unexpected happened.

    Peter’s loyalty was tested, and he failed. To die for his friends seemed too farfetched to him; he also realized that he was fighting for a lost cause. He chose to take sides with the enemy, leaving his friends out in the open. What choice did he have? He valued his life more than anything. He was, after all, human. His action directly resulted in Evans’ death, but that was not all.

    Over the years, Prince’s love for Evans grew, and the knowledge that she had married his nemesis killed him slowly, day by day. News of her death struck Prince so suddenly, it was too much for him to take. Consumed by grief and wrath, Prince swore to avenge her death, but he was too late. Peter went into hiding, and was not to be found for 15 years thence.

    Prince changed his ways, regretted his mistakes, and joined Brian the Wise in fighting crime. It was almost as if Peter and Prince switched places. Many events later, the ultimate battle took place. Prince never fought Peter; he never had the chance. He was killed in battle before he came face to face with him. Peter died too, by his own hands. One small hesitation was all it took for his hand to turn against him, for he was bound physically, mentally and magically to his master, for he did belong to the world of magic. His master’s greatest enemy was just a tighter grip away from death, when his heart held him against it, and resulted in strangling himself instead. Thus ended the life of Peter, better known, ironically, by his “secret” name – Wormtail.