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Showing posts from November, 2005

A story without an end

Clouds play chiaroscuro with the hills, kids play hop scotch. Mist covers the valleys beneath, a thick white wall erases all. That was Darjeeling, a decade back. Daaju gets me a steaming hot cup of tea. Cha, shaab. I am huddling myself into a ball, hood tight on the head. The tea warms my insides. I light a cigarette. Dark clouds force the mall into frenetic activity. Quick last minute deals and ponies trotting back to their shelters. A girl, shivering in the cold, emerges from the mist and hurriedly enters the tea shack. She is in a red pullover and jeans. And asks for a cup of tea. I can see her companions across the road, buying woolens. Quite cold, I say. Yeah, and it’s going to rain, she says, looking at the ashen sky. You’re from Calcutta? Yes, and you? Calcutta. An uneasy pause follows. I think hard what to say next. I remember rainy days in Calcutta. Moss green walls. The Lake, full to its brim. And I remember my days in Ranchi. The small black hills and the lolling heath-like

Se7en

I don’t know what a tag means. But here I am, tagged by Marauder’s Map . I have to do what my tagger has asked me to. So, here goes: Seven things I plan to do: 1) Grow hair on my scalp. SOS Dr Sarkar of the Arnica-trioffer fame. 2) Be more articulate. 3) Have a proper English breakfast on a sunny Saturday morning 4) Play cricket with gay abandon, like I used to do many, many years back, and bowl toe-crushing inswinging yorkers. 5) A road trip down the Malabar coast, preferably from the northern tip of Goa to Trivandrum. 6) Time travel to the sixties and tour with The Beatles. 7) Flush and pee, and finish before the flush whirl ends. Seven things I can't do : 1) Grow hair on my scalp.. alas 2) Deal with things financial like investments and filing returns. 3) Put an end to the compulsive habit of zapping mercilessly, and then getting stuck at Fashion TV. (I really like the fine cut and the fall of the outfits) 4) Understand the Eric Segal phenomenon. 5) And the brouhaha over graphic

Chele dhora

It all started one day when Rituparno Ghosh asked Mrs Moon Moon Sen, the mother of all bong boudies, in that coy tone of his: “Moon Moon Di, toke shobai naeka keno bole re?” The goddess of voluptuous said: "Achha, Ritu, tui naeka’r definition ta bol to…" A snapshot from the Antarmahal floor: Act I Sc I: Love-making scene between Jackie Shroff and Soha Ali Khan Rituparno Ghosh (RG): Ei Jaaggu, shon! Tui na, laav-making’er scene ta ektu Rangeela’r moto kore dichis. Amra janish, oto overt hobo na! Eita art house cinema, toder Bollywood bioscope na. JS (Jackie Shroff): R se Ritu Da. Ch se cho**n dekhalei shudhu hobe? Ektu..Ch se chulkuni na hole ke hobe? (Aside: Na se Naeka ch**a, saala. Bombay te role pachhina bole ei Pa se panpenani sojhho korte hoche) RG: Ki shob je bolish. (blushes ruddy). Chhhi. (Bites his fingers) Jaai hok. RG: [Picks up the megaphone and simpers into it] Soha, tui shuye por. Jaaggu, tui or opor chor. Soha: Ritu Da, maa je bole pathiye chilo dummy diye kora