Wisp of memory, friendship and a mark sheet


A lifetime may not be sufficient to add zing to existence as we revisit old papers, certificates, and postcards spanning over more than a decade. The memories carved and wreathed in our soul makes it feel like a dream that never happened and burst like a colorful balloon the moment we are up in the morning. Friendships, silly pranks and silent wishes or wisp of happiness, fun, and bonding billowed like smoke disappearing in the sky and dust.

One often wonder where have all those years smacking of goodness or jelly moments disappeared in the flit of seconds. It feels so unreal when one harks back to the past that empowers and continue to define our present. Maybe our future, too. I just feel like blowing colorful balloons with tiny messages in paper chits and let them flow and soar higher in the sky. I never thought that after 11 years or more, I will laminate mark sheet, revisiting the first dash of Mumbai Monsoon in 2007.  It was in those days when I received the TYBA results and landed in Mumbai just after the train blast to speed up procedures for past grads. I just graduated in Pune. I remember calling friends to tell that I am fine and not to worry post the terror attack. It started raining in the morning when I woke up and crossed the road towards the Xerox shop that was opposite the hotel to get the fresh mark sheet laminated in Mumbai Central.

But, this time it was the best friend’s FYBA’s mark sheet that I laminated and sent to him by post two weeks back. It’s intriguing how his first year mark sheet staying with me for more than a decade. In the earlier posts, I told you that he got married in Mumbai but yours truly missed it. So, I decided to send him a wedding card. Yeah! I still prefer hand-made cards to this whole online wishes in the form of a card. I am old-fashioned that way for I doggedly believe that a proper card with ink poured over paper and writing a postal address brings so much warmth. The surprise gift was the mark sheet and last week, he whatsapped and so happy that he got the same. We tried to remember how his first year result stayed with me. There are two possibilities, one when he travelled with his ex and gave me some documents since I was the one who collected his results and secondly post our final, I had to get him some paper from college. But, I ain’t sure how the document conspired to land in my personal file. In the hum-drum, I hastily moved to Mumbai since our results came late and one year later, he hopped to the Kangaroo land, Australia.

The man was happy to get back his mark sheet which is intriguing to both of us since he told me that he always keeps handy first year Xerox.  It’s what you call friendship and the deep bond we shared that always binds us.  The past can do wonder to hearts and souls where a simple thing as a document can weave the strings of hearts strummed like the sound of music to touch us in places. Of course, I did make a Xerox as a reminder of those carefree days of friendship, leg pulling, smoking in the pot and alcohol flowing in the veins.

Time flits so easily that it knocks us in such a way that we don’t stop for a while to think about the moments that elapsed in front of us. I really wonder, where have all those days gone when we made the most of life and it was calling living, unlike now. We were not much into social media during that time and warm conversation plus laughter were shared over a cup of chai or coffee. Time is karmic. The worse with Karma is that it doesn’t give you the time to take a breath and hold the memories like pearls flowing inside the palm of your hands. Collecting memories can boost our mind. The dream of the impossible to thrust time backwards to relive those moments is the delusional thing that we humans may not be willing to do. Will time let itself not to flicker with speed? Often, I am plagued with such questions in skeltering with time.

The month of June was also Dad’s birthday where he would have turned 75 years old. It been 11 from now that he suddenly sunk into a coma before passing away. I was in Mumbai and had to rush home in no less than two days. Luckily, I saw him still alive on the hospital bed and one week later he breathed his last at home in front of me. The childhood moments that play in the mind and Dad’s voice whispering in the ear during my sleep is a sign of presence. I shall leave before this whole post becomes emotional and be back in a brand new post next week, speaking about Dad and the signs our loved ones send from heaven.

Love

V

Smokey morning


https://i1.wp.com/m.rgbimg.com/cache1qeHk3/users/t/ta/tacluda/600/mXb4GDY.jpg

Image sourced from Google/http://m.rgbimg.com/cache1qeHk3/users/t/ta/tacluda/600/mXb4GDY.jpg

Haze of the early winter

Opening the eyes to the swan song of

cooing birds, barking dogs, and honking

Not just another day

Smokey morning

Mooring of the ships

Tea brewed and served hot in glasses

Fritters served on the road stall

Fresh air percolates through the nostrils

Cute kids incarnate marshmallow in school uniforms

The blue symphony blows in the mind

The trumpet of life blasts to full volume

Shivering sensation

Life is like the power steam engine,

revving up to fly high and touching the sky

Rolling into one,

steamy tea,

morning mist,

capturing the dark glory of life,

remaining buried forever in the mind

Love

V

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mumbai Musing: Bun Maska at midnight


Mumbai Musing:

The night owl flew past the Queen’s necklace and gaped in wonder at the Arabian sea as the tranquil water at Marine Drive buried the secrets, serenaded by train whistles and sky rises in the city. The night was our lover, embracing passion and intensity in our eyes, that rose like the vast sea.

Our lives resembled the chirping of birds and owls, silent, singing happily and boisterous at the same time at the International Students House nestled at Churchgate where we admired the sea and breeze that flew.  The girls at Telang were quite a distraction as the window would stay wide open, giving a view of the mermaids singing and laughing as if a riot took place.

Days and nights ushered into the exam period. A race against time after frolicking for a year in Maximum city where we indulged into the extremities of life. In Mumbai, nothing is kept at a bare essential for it’s not called Maximum City for no reason. The warden’s floor is a silent spectator to our books and the open balcony inviting fresh  sea breeze wafting to make studying in the wee hours of the night a date we couldn’t afford to miss. After all, studying on the vast and sprawling balcony makes it a memory that will be cherished over the years, bonding with hostel mates by sharing the modest table where our notebooks, pens and textbooks were scattered.

The rattling of trains looming at a not-so-far-away distance from our Churchgate abode and Marine Drive remained our eternally endearing neighbor. Of course, the preening eyes of girls cushioned in their rooms wondering what those guys were doing at this odd hour. The mermaids took it upon themselves to distract us and pulling our necks away from the books like the new age Menkas. Of course, a study break meant walking on the balcony to share a smoke as the girls would whistle at the other end and stuttering in towels to grab our attention. We could hear whisper and laughs, “Are they watching?” The Telangites and Ish-ites were neighbors, separated by the white coated wall. Our discreet eyes caught them inside their room where they fiddled with light.  A tale of darkness and light switched on and off at their own fancy.  We were quite uninterested and ignored them. They only became louder trying every trick in the book to grab our attention, calling us and giggling. The lights went off. It brought a smile to our faces.

Image credit: Google

Image credit: Google

Our hungry stomachs were never at rest. After all, when luxury was a walking distance and minutes away from our comfort, how can we resist South Mumbai? It was time to wake up the security Mama caught in deep slumber to open the door, slipping ten rupee notes to grease his palm or the warden sons would make us sneak out. Once, we hustled past the door, there was no qualm jumping the gate and walking our way to Churchgate station.

The coaches were sleeping silently as we waded past the station. There was no roar of engine and whittling which we were so familiar with during the bustling day. After all, it was past the 1.40 a.m ki last local. We walked inside the station and hazily got out at the other end where hawkers were selling tea, Vada Pav and of course, our sweet luxury Bun Maska with jam. A banquet of savouries spread on the table at Churchgate Station entrance on the main road where we faced our much frequented Eros Theatre and an oblique view of the iconic Rajabhai Tower, standing on the vast road.

The fellow expertly sliced the bun and spread butter and jam. The bun maska is prepared in the flick of seconds and our voracious mouths ready to devour them.  The tongue gently swirled the jam that frothed the lip to find its way inside the mouth. The hands almost burnt holding the smoking hot cutting chai in the glass to quench the thirst and the steam blowing on the face. The tongue is rolled and twisted to taste the drop of hot tea as the glass is cupped to the lip and inch of the mouth. What an aha feeling! A cup of freshly brewed cutting chai and bun maska made the mind went wild with imagination on what makes happiness so priceless. It can never be traded.

It was the days of bliss. The perfect cocktail of happiness…Mumbai, Bun Maska and cutting chai in the silent morning at Churchgate station. A tale of joy and memories that lingered but only to be relished in our imagination during those nights.

Love

V

 

Friends forever


Friendship carved and made during our immature days are always special for they are a game changer and define us for a lifetime.  Remember the days of innocence when we longed and tender our hands to be held tightly to proudly exclaim about having a best friend, special one, 4 a.m friend who would listen to our rants. It felt like winning gold at Olympics. It’s true friendship when we laughed, cried and fought together.

Har ek friend Zaroori hota hai, be it a phone call or whatsapp messages on Friendship Day where digital or social media has filled the void of human emotions. A time when we would meet each other, longing to be together and triumphing with silly pranks. The first friends we made in college and running together for classes, gossiping over silly little things and of course the dark little secrets that shouldn’t be out in the open. In life, we do become an emotional wreck but we know that there is a shoulder to lean on. It’s our true friends, the power booster. No trouble can be big enough to tear us apart for we know our friends are always here for us. Cigarette and alcohol brought us together.

It feels like yesterday only when we remember the first friend made in childhood and, of course, college who made us discover ourselves, the strengths that lie dormant within us or the truth told on our face that led to tussle. The parties we had and where we got drunk, throwing each other into the cold pool of water and pulling each other’s legs, calling funny names was pure madness. The cherished moments in life where only a true friend who shouts at us for being laid back and doing things wrongly or flunking exams. Sometimes, I wonder where have all those days gone! Every day was special where we woke up to meet friends, forgetting to comb our disheveled hair and spending time on sms, busy making plans. It was pure bliss.

Intoxicated with the joy of friendship was pure bliss when we grew together to chase dreams, spending years that seems like a lifetime in college where we burned the midnight candle, getting notes Xeroxed. Our friends were the partners in crime and nothing could be done without the other. It was the golden rule of rebel and consuming happiness, loitering throughout the night, getting stoned and heart batting for each other.

Reveling in our joys and passion,we took our friends for granted till it slipped our minds that those days almost came to an end when we parted and drifted in different parts of the world.  The near perfect days would never come back and no amount of tears would make us taste this juice of friendship like we did for the first time. Some friends have drifted over small and petty squabbles. Yet! The moments spent together were truly priceless and showers of blessing from the sky. Like siblings, we don’t choose our friends but an invisible force that brings us together to experience unlimited happiness in life to make the sweetest memories to trace ways into our hearts.

Image source: Google

Missing those eternal friends who keep defining me and made friendship sacred. Friends forever! Friendship that goes beyond the physical realm of attachment for the strings of the souls are weaved together and the ones who left us early to their abode.

Smokey days of friendship;

Pot of friendship;

Fags and ashes;

Last drop of alcohol;

Money we borrowed from chums,

never gave back.

accounted for memories and times of friendship.

Heavenly trip.

Emotions keep us alive;

Naughty us.

Sharing morsel of food, thumps-up, candies or fags.

First crushes,

you were the first one to know, friends.

Stoned to death.

Saturday night frills.

Crush and girls,

Our friends were the first to know.

Where have those days gone?

Only memories remain.

We smile, laugh and cry.

Happy Friendship Day

Friendship Day is celebrated in India on the first Sunday in August.

V

 

 

 

 

 

Book Review: ‘The Heart listens to No One..’ a magical lush of words


 

Book Review: The Heart Listens to No One..It hums its own song…

By      

Purba Chakraborty

Published: February 2016

Rating: Four stars

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Credit: Goodreads

A bouquet of poem collections, author Purba Chakraborty brings 38 of them to you, split into themes of Unconditional love, Longing, Romance, Fond Reminisces and Separation. As the book title frames it, ‘The Heart Listens to No One..It hums its own song…’, words come easily to Purba in its gentle form and breezy showing the various facets of falling in love, making lifetime memories and igniting the flame of togetherness inside die-hard romantics.

The language is simple but yet evocative that touches every stroke in your soul and vein. It’s about love, the often unrequited emotion that bears the mark of human complexity. The best thing about the poems compilation is that the author doesn’t try too hard in unveiling the language of the heart to depict human emotions. Love is flawed, one is tempted to think when we read the words poured by the author. Passionate, soulful, divine and philosophical, the poems are like moving lyrics churned in the mind, body and soul.

One feels rejuvenated, calm and soothing reading such magical lush of words and lullaby that touches the inner chord. The ‘Soul tale’ is all about surreal imageries felt like a bullet piercing the heart. Don’t we all build a description of love, no matter how over rated and non-existential in our heart?! In Musical Silence, Purba deciphers the beauty of nature and hearts beating to the tune of silence. Powerful yet divinely silent. That’s what true love is all about.

The book is all about poetry and ‘You are my poetry’ is a tribute to the muse, often resorting to writing as a means to depict love, pain and perhaps unrequited expectations. The prose is simple, evocative and complex. Well, an ode to life in every shape and form, dear poet, I am tempted to say.

‘The Heart Listens to No One..It hums its own song…’, is not just about poem and the magical hues of words finding an echo with love, romance and language of the heart. Rather, it beautifully explores the crimson clear cloud, osmosis of winter, joy of monsoon and Memories. Purba’s poetry about memories struck my heart and mind when we have experienced the moments that married our soul and we wish such cherished moments to comeback and remain eternally present inside us. A tale of ‘Watering the memories’ and painting the ‘Colors of Love’ makes us experience the defining moment that only the author is attuned to but is refreshing to our mind that magic is not something one can see faraway in the sky but is present in every second in our lives.

One of my favorite poem penned by Purba is ‘Cup of Nostalgia’ where every word is meant to be consumed like a sweet meat and hold to the palate of senses, like the morning coffee. Describing the words as beautiful would be an understatement but as an emotion to be felt like fragrance of beans, up to the nostrils and travelling to every inch of our senses.

Author Purba Chakraborty/credit @https://www.goodreads.com/photo/author/7203589.Purba_Chakraborty

‘She sits by the window

With an old letter

And a cup of nostalgia;

And she savors them..

Every smell, sound and touch is vivid and pronounced..

His esoteric presence in his absence..

Time stays, people go

Soul mates are never apart..’

The only thing that I hold against this small divine collection is that one could and should ask for more prose falling from the cloud and the book could and should have been longer to delight readers. Words garnished with emotions true to the core, ‘The Heart Listens to No One..It hums its own song…’ is a must have in your collection. Go and grab it on Amazon.

You can connect with the author on Facebook,Twitter and Goodreads. The author blogs at ‘Laugh, Laugh and reflect!

V Day special: Love and romance memory


It was the season for calf love, the yore days of hand written letters to express our feelings to the stranger we stumbled at the bus stop or traffic signal. Valentine Day, after all, is the celebration of love and romance. After all, what better time to reveal what lies inside our hearts?!

Image credit: Google

It was the teenage days when I saw her at the bus stop and after admiring her for days, I had a plan in mind. It was the 90s where Facebook or whatsapp was still in the embryo. There was no way I could add her on my list. Probably, in my heart. Bought a not-so-cheap perfumed wrapped and slink inside the bag. I waited for her. My heart grew dhak dhak with excitement. Finally, she stepped out of the school bus and waited..The time was Now to hit. After all, the iron is hot. I muttered her name with wobbled emotions and fright after all someone might see us on the busy street. I proposed. It was lame. I offered her the perfume. She refused with smile but a straight NO. The teenager in me got rejected. I was disappointed, swearing that I will never like someone for the fear of being rejected and the fact that she is the only one.

College days are the bestest of life. Trust me, we guys have a dilemna when we are spoilt with choice when it comes with so many beautiful girls swarming past the college gate. It was when I saw her. The first college crush. She was doing modelling and quite a hit among guys in the first year. I would wait at the main circle or what was referred to as ‘College Katta,’ early morning before 7 for the first lecture started at that time. I waited and waited. She walked past me and whispered a Hi, displaying her sensuous smile and walked away. I couldn’t strike a conversation. The heart yelled, “Go and speak to her..Tera kuch Nahin Hoga.’ Now, I ain’t telling what happen. May be, she was too hot to handle! No! I didn’t gave her a rose.

Rose Day happened in December and bought a couple of roses for the love interests. She was missing in college but there was no dearth of opportunities in offering roses to prospective matches. Luckily, found one. The class mate. Something happened between us. It brewed for not too long. The flirting game, compliments and mushing on how beautiful she is. Her smile and face made me go dhak dhak. I longed for her and she came looking for me, upset that I didn’t watch her dance performance during Oorja, the biggest college festival. Then, one day she disappeared. So much for love. Nah!! I didn’t go the SRK way, in following her trail from Pune or Rajasthan or else we could be singing the duet, Tujhe Dekha to yeh Jaana Sanam. Life is too real to go reel.

Another day, another tale of love. I proposed in a rather stupid way on sms..1,4, 3. She responded with a well! It’s a stupid game we used to play in school. She was seeing someone but we became the best of friends. We hanged out together for a year, me with the hope that something will happen at some point in life. I adored her. It never happened. But, but! It was priceless memories spent with her in college, us taking pictures together and doing the dancing. Adorable moments and priceless memories. The joy of falling in love amidst hope, anticipations and kindling romance.

Then, a relationship happened when I shifted to Mumbai. It was love and it did happen like the magic like the old mushy romance in film tales. We were together, watching movies, eating pop corns before it fizzled for relationships do reach an expiry date. Never say no to love and romance. Keep the faith.

Belated Valentine Day and believe in love

V