Friday, April 27, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
A wonderful article on Bengalees and Kolkata
I got this mavelous piece of witing in one of the forwared mails that flood my inbox. It says that it is written by Vir Sanghvi, who is the editor of The Hindustan Times.
Here it goes...
Most modern Indian cities strive to rise above ethnicity. Tell anybody who lives in Bombay that he lives in a Maharashtrian city and (unless of course, you are speaking to Bal Thackeray) he will take immediate offence. We are cosmopolitan, he will say indigenously.
Here it goes...
Most modern Indian cities strive to rise above ethnicity. Tell anybody who lives in Bombay that he lives in a Maharashtrian city and (unless of course, you are speaking to Bal Thackeray) he will take immediate offence. We are cosmopolitan, he will say indigenously.
Tell a Delhiwalla that his is a Punjabi city (which, in many ways, it is) and he will respond with much self-righteous nonsense about being the nation's capital, about the international composition of the city's elite etc. And tell a Bangalorean that he lives in a Kannadiga city and you'll get lots of techno-gaff about the internet revolution and about how Bangalore is even more cosmopolitan than Bombay .
But, the only way to understand what Calcutta is all about is to recognize that the city is essentially Bengali. What's more! no Bengali minds you saying that. Rather, he is proud of the fact. Calcutta's strengths and weaknesses mirror those of the Bengali character.
But, the only way to understand what Calcutta is all about is to recognize that the city is essentially Bengali. What's more! no Bengali minds you saying that. Rather, he is proud of the fact. Calcutta's strengths and weaknesses mirror those of the Bengali character.
It has the drawbacks: the sudden passions, the cheerful chaos, the utter contempt for mere commerce, the fiery response to the smallest provocation. And it has the strengths (actually, I think of the drawbacks as strengths in their own way). Calcutta embodies the Bengali love of culture; the triumph of intellectualism over greed; the complete transparency of all emotions, the disdain with which hypocrisy and insincerity are treated; the warmth of genuine humanity; and the supremacy of emotion over all other aspects of human existence.
That's why Calcutta is not for everyone. You want your cities clean and green; stick to Delhi . You want your cities, rich and impersonal; go to Bombay. You want them high-tech and full of draught beer; Bangalore 's your place. But if you want a city with a soul: come to Calcutta .
When I look back on the years I've spent in Calcutta - and I come back so many times each year that I often feel I've never been away - I don't remember the things that people remember about cities. When I think of London, I think of the vast open spaces of Hyde Park . When I think of New York, I think of the frenzy of Times Square . When I think of Tokyo, I think of the bright lights of Shinjiku. And when I think of Paris, I think of the Champs Elysee. But when I think of Calcutta , I never think of any one place. I don't focus on the greenery of the maidan, the beauty of the Victoria Memorial, the bustle of Burra Bazar or the splendour of the new Howrah 'Bridge'. I think of people. Because, finally, a city is more than bricks and mortars, street lights and tarred roads. A city is the sum of its people. And who can ever forget - or replicate - the people of Calcutta ?
When I first came to live here, I was told that the city would grow on me. What nobody told me was that the city would change my life. It was in Calcutta that I learnt about true warmth; about simple human decency; about love and friendship; about emotions and caring; about truth and honesty. I learnt other things too. Coming from Bombay as I did, it was a revelation to live in a city where people judged each other on the things that really mattered; where they recognized that being rich did not make you a better person - in fact, it might have the opposite effect. I learnt also that if life is about more than just money, it is about the things that other cities ignore; about culture, about ideas, about art, and about passion.
That's why Calcutta is not for everyone. You want your cities clean and green; stick to Delhi . You want your cities, rich and impersonal; go to Bombay. You want them high-tech and full of draught beer; Bangalore 's your place. But if you want a city with a soul: come to Calcutta .
When I look back on the years I've spent in Calcutta - and I come back so many times each year that I often feel I've never been away - I don't remember the things that people remember about cities. When I think of London, I think of the vast open spaces of Hyde Park . When I think of New York, I think of the frenzy of Times Square . When I think of Tokyo, I think of the bright lights of Shinjiku. And when I think of Paris, I think of the Champs Elysee. But when I think of Calcutta , I never think of any one place. I don't focus on the greenery of the maidan, the beauty of the Victoria Memorial, the bustle of Burra Bazar or the splendour of the new Howrah 'Bridge'. I think of people. Because, finally, a city is more than bricks and mortars, street lights and tarred roads. A city is the sum of its people. And who can ever forget - or replicate - the people of Calcutta ?
When I first came to live here, I was told that the city would grow on me. What nobody told me was that the city would change my life. It was in Calcutta that I learnt about true warmth; about simple human decency; about love and friendship; about emotions and caring; about truth and honesty. I learnt other things too. Coming from Bombay as I did, it was a revelation to live in a city where people judged each other on the things that really mattered; where they recognized that being rich did not make you a better person - in fact, it might have the opposite effect. I learnt also that if life is about more than just money, it is about the things that other cities ignore; about culture, about ideas, about art, and about passion.
In Bombay , a man with a relatively low income will salt some of it away for the day when he gets a stock market tip. In Calcutta, a man with exactly the same income will not know the difference between a debenture and a dividend. But he will spend his money on the things that matter. Each morning, he will read at least two newspapers and develop sharply etched views on the state of the world. Each evening, there will be fresh (ideally, fresh-water or river) fish on his table. His children will be encouraged to learn to dance or sing. His family will appreciate the power of poetry. And for him, religion and culture will be in inextricably bound together.
Ah religion! Tell outsiders about the importance of Puja in Calcutta and they'll scoff. Don't be silly, they'll say. Puja is a religious festival. And Bengal has voted for the CPM since 1977. How can godless Bengal be so hung up on a religions festival? I never know how to explain them that to a Bengali, religion consists of much more than shouting Jai Shri Ram or pulling down somebody's mosque. It has little to do with meaningless ritual or sinister political activity.
Ah religion! Tell outsiders about the importance of Puja in Calcutta and they'll scoff. Don't be silly, they'll say. Puja is a religious festival. And Bengal has voted for the CPM since 1977. How can godless Bengal be so hung up on a religions festival? I never know how to explain them that to a Bengali, religion consists of much more than shouting Jai Shri Ram or pulling down somebody's mosque. It has little to do with meaningless ritual or sinister political activity.
The essence of Puja is that all the passions of Bengal converge: emotion, culture, the love of life, the warmth of being together, the joy of celebration, the pride in artistic ex-pression and yes, the cult of the goddess.
It may be about religion. But is about much more than just worship. In which other part of India would small, not particularly well-off localities, vie with each other to produce the best pandals? Where else could puja pandals go beyond religion to draw inspiration from everything else? In the years I lived in Calcutta , the pandals featured Amitabh Bachchan, Princes Diana and even Saddam Hussain! Where else would children cry with the sheer emotional power of Dashimi, upset that the Goddess had left their homes? Where else would the whole city gooseflesh when the dhakis first begin to beat their drums? Which other Indian festival - in any part of the country - is so much about food, about going from one roadside stall to another, following your nose as it trails the smells of cooking?
To understand Puja, you must understand Calcutta . And to understand Calcutta, you must understand the Bengali. It's not easy.
Certainly, you can't do it till you come and live here, till you letCalcutta suffuse your being, invade your bloodstream and steal your soul. But once you have, you'll love Calcutta forever. Wherever you go, a bit of Calcutta will go with you. I know, because it's happened to me.
And every Puja, I am overcome by the magic of Bengal . It's a feeling that’ll never go away.
It may be about religion. But is about much more than just worship. In which other part of India would small, not particularly well-off localities, vie with each other to produce the best pandals? Where else could puja pandals go beyond religion to draw inspiration from everything else? In the years I lived in Calcutta , the pandals featured Amitabh Bachchan, Princes Diana and even Saddam Hussain! Where else would children cry with the sheer emotional power of Dashimi, upset that the Goddess had left their homes? Where else would the whole city gooseflesh when the dhakis first begin to beat their drums? Which other Indian festival - in any part of the country - is so much about food, about going from one roadside stall to another, following your nose as it trails the smells of cooking?
To understand Puja, you must understand Calcutta . And to understand Calcutta, you must understand the Bengali. It's not easy.
Certainly, you can't do it till you come and live here, till you letCalcutta suffuse your being, invade your bloodstream and steal your soul. But once you have, you'll love Calcutta forever. Wherever you go, a bit of Calcutta will go with you. I know, because it's happened to me.
And every Puja, I am overcome by the magic of Bengal . It's a feeling that’ll never go away.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Is this how Indian parampara treats women?
I read the following article in Rediff...thought of adding it to my blog...One old saying is coming to my mind..."Whenver you see smoke, there must have been a fire"...Why is the media so mum on this issue?
How should one treat Jhanvi Kapoor or Hayna Rizvi (whatever her name is)?
The poor girl tried to commit suicide, claiming Abhishek had already married her.
She was called a 'drug addict', 'mentally unstable', etcetera etcetera.
She also lost her apartment after the housing society threw her out -- apparently for creating a ruckus at the wedding! (as if it was any of their business, for heaven's sake!) and, as some reports claim, for not paying rent for four months.
The least someone in the apartment complex -- or for that matter some women's organisation (where were they? watching the wedding on telly?) -- could have done is get the lady admitted to hospital or contact her family.
"She deserved it," declared one colleague.
I wonder where our world is heading to.
How should one treat Jhanvi Kapoor or Hayna Rizvi (whatever her name is)?
The poor girl tried to commit suicide, claiming Abhishek had already married her.
She was called a 'drug addict', 'mentally unstable', etcetera etcetera.
She also lost her apartment after the housing society threw her out -- apparently for creating a ruckus at the wedding! (as if it was any of their business, for heaven's sake!) and, as some reports claim, for not paying rent for four months.
The least someone in the apartment complex -- or for that matter some women's organisation (where were they? watching the wedding on telly?) -- could have done is get the lady admitted to hospital or contact her family.
"She deserved it," declared one colleague.
I wonder where our world is heading to.
I am still living!!!
This is one bengali poem written by me during my college days!!!
It portrays the very basic theme of today's world...that, Life must go on.
Ami Benche Achi
Oke bole dis "Ami paltaini"
Roj ghum theke otha, abar shute jawa, thik ager motoi,
Bole dis "Ami ager motoi achi"
Kaaj kori, tai shomoy kete jai!
Tobu jakhon ekla sudhu amar songe ami,
Apon mone shuye thaki ghumer opekkhay
Keno janina, balish bhije jai!!!
Oke bole dis "Ami ajo hashi"
Megh shorle roder jhiliker moto
Bole dis "Ami ajo themey nei"
Otit tai dure shore jai!
Tobu jakhon mone pore sei jhorer raat,
Osojjho bethai bhora amar e jibon
Keno janina, stobdho hoya jai!!!
Oke bole dis "Ami besh bhalo bhabei achi"
Ami ar amar jibon, ar kake chai?
Bole dis "Ami ajo obhabi noi"
Jol, batash, shob kichui to pai!
Tobu jakhon, khuje berai, chotto sishur moto,
Karo buker majhe amar bhalobashar ashroi
Keno janina, Prithibita samshan hoye jai!!!
This is the English translation of this poem. It's done by Shaapla, a very talented friend of mine.
I am Still alive
Tell him "i havent changed."
I wake up everyday, and go to sleep, just like before,
Tell him "i am just like i was"
Time passes simply cause i work.
But,even then, when its just I with me,
By myself,i wait for sleep
I find my pillow wet with tears.
Tell him "i still laugh now"
Like the glittering sunlight when the clouds part
Tell him "even today im not stuck"
Thats why my past i have left behind.
Yet when i remember that torrential night,
My life,so filled with pain.
For reasons unknown,seems immobile.
Tell him "im doing well"
Its me and my life.who needs anyone else?
Tell him "today im not devoid"
Water,air,i get everything!
Yet,when i wander like a small child,
looking,The sanctity of my love on someones chest
For reasons unknown,the world suddenly seems empty.
Thank you Shaaple for your tremendous effort!!!
It portrays the very basic theme of today's world...that, Life must go on.
Ami Benche Achi
Oke bole dis "Ami paltaini"
Roj ghum theke otha, abar shute jawa, thik ager motoi,
Bole dis "Ami ager motoi achi"
Kaaj kori, tai shomoy kete jai!
Tobu jakhon ekla sudhu amar songe ami,
Apon mone shuye thaki ghumer opekkhay
Keno janina, balish bhije jai!!!
Oke bole dis "Ami ajo hashi"
Megh shorle roder jhiliker moto
Bole dis "Ami ajo themey nei"
Otit tai dure shore jai!
Tobu jakhon mone pore sei jhorer raat,
Osojjho bethai bhora amar e jibon
Keno janina, stobdho hoya jai!!!
Oke bole dis "Ami besh bhalo bhabei achi"
Ami ar amar jibon, ar kake chai?
Bole dis "Ami ajo obhabi noi"
Jol, batash, shob kichui to pai!
Tobu jakhon, khuje berai, chotto sishur moto,
Karo buker majhe amar bhalobashar ashroi
Keno janina, Prithibita samshan hoye jai!!!
This is the English translation of this poem. It's done by Shaapla, a very talented friend of mine.
I am Still alive
Tell him "i havent changed."
I wake up everyday, and go to sleep, just like before,
Tell him "i am just like i was"
Time passes simply cause i work.
But,even then, when its just I with me,
By myself,i wait for sleep
I find my pillow wet with tears.
Tell him "i still laugh now"
Like the glittering sunlight when the clouds part
Tell him "even today im not stuck"
Thats why my past i have left behind.
Yet when i remember that torrential night,
My life,so filled with pain.
For reasons unknown,seems immobile.
Tell him "im doing well"
Its me and my life.who needs anyone else?
Tell him "today im not devoid"
Water,air,i get everything!
Yet,when i wander like a small child,
looking,The sanctity of my love on someones chest
For reasons unknown,the world suddenly seems empty.
Thank you Shaaple for your tremendous effort!!!
Monday, April 23, 2007
As time seperates us!!!
Don't know why...but I am missing the past...the past, when I came to this alien city all alone to struggle for existence...And then...there were friends!!!
We met each other...came to know each other...stayed together.
There were moments which got engraved deep inside my heart...there were moments which still flash in my mind...when today...I lonely lie on my bed, thinking of how to survive tomorrow!!!
"Dil Chahta Hai...Kabhi na bite chamkile din"
Friday, April 20, 2007
Love Story!!! Truely Inspirational!!!
I read this in a mail that was forwarded to me...I loved reading it...So I thought to make my blog more valueable by posting it here.
The Salty Coffee
He met her at a party.
She was so outstanding that many guys were chasing after her, while he was so normal that nobody paid attention to him. However, at the end of the party, he invited her to have coffee with him. She was surprised, but due to being polite, she promised.
They sat in a nice coffee shop. He was too nervous to say anything. She also felt uncomfortable.
She thought, Please, let me go home....
Suddenly he asked the waiter. "Would you please give me some salt? I'd like to put it in my coffee."
Everybody stared at him. It sounded so strange!
His face turned red, but still, he put the salt in his coffee and drank it.
She asked him curiously, "Why do you have this strange taste?"
He replied, When I was a little boy, I was living near the sea, I liked playing in the sea, I could feel the taste of the sea, just like the taste of the salty coffee. Now every time I have the salty coffee, I always think of my childhood, I think of my hometown, I miss my hometown very much and I miss my parents who are still living there".
While saying that tears filled his eyes. She was deeply touched.
That's his true feeling, from the bottom of his heart.
She thought...A man who can tell out his homesickness must be a man who loves home, cares about home, has responsibility of home.
Then she started to speak too.
She spoke about her faraway hometown, her childhood, her family. That was a really nice talk, also a beautiful beginning of their story.
They continued to date. She found that he was actually the man who meets all her demands. He had tolerance, was kind hearted, warm, careful.
He was such a good person but she almost missed him!
Thanks to his salty coffee!
Then the story was just like every beautiful love story , the princess married the prince. Then they were living a happy life... And, every time she made coffee for him, she put some salt in the coffee, as she knew that's the way he liked it.
After 40 years, he passed away, left her a letter which said:
"My dearest,
Please forgive me, forgive my whole life lie.
This was the only lie I said to you---the salty coffee.
Remember the first time we dated? I was so nervous at that time. Actually I wanted some sugar, but I said salt. It was hard for me to change so I just went ahead. I never thought that could be the start of our communication. I tried to tell you the truth many times in my life, but I was too afraid to do that, as I have promised not to lie to you for anything.
Now when I know I'm dying, I'm afraid of nothing. So I'm telling you the truth. I don't like the salty coffee, what a strange bad taste it has. But I have had the salty coffee for my whole life!
Since I love you, I never feel sorry for anything I do for you.
Having you with me is my biggest happiness for my whole life.
If I can live for the second time, I'd still want to know you and have you for my whole life, even if I have to drink the salty coffee again".
Her tears made the letter totally wet.
Someday, someone asked her: what's the taste of salty coffee?
It's sweet. She replied.
Love is not to forget but to forgive, not to see but to understand, not to hear but to listen, not to let go but to HOLD ON !!!!
The Salty Coffee
He met her at a party.
She was so outstanding that many guys were chasing after her, while he was so normal that nobody paid attention to him. However, at the end of the party, he invited her to have coffee with him. She was surprised, but due to being polite, she promised.
They sat in a nice coffee shop. He was too nervous to say anything. She also felt uncomfortable.
She thought, Please, let me go home....
Suddenly he asked the waiter. "Would you please give me some salt? I'd like to put it in my coffee."
Everybody stared at him. It sounded so strange!
His face turned red, but still, he put the salt in his coffee and drank it.
She asked him curiously, "Why do you have this strange taste?"
He replied, When I was a little boy, I was living near the sea, I liked playing in the sea, I could feel the taste of the sea, just like the taste of the salty coffee. Now every time I have the salty coffee, I always think of my childhood, I think of my hometown, I miss my hometown very much and I miss my parents who are still living there".
While saying that tears filled his eyes. She was deeply touched.
That's his true feeling, from the bottom of his heart.
She thought...A man who can tell out his homesickness must be a man who loves home, cares about home, has responsibility of home.
Then she started to speak too.
She spoke about her faraway hometown, her childhood, her family. That was a really nice talk, also a beautiful beginning of their story.
They continued to date. She found that he was actually the man who meets all her demands. He had tolerance, was kind hearted, warm, careful.
He was such a good person but she almost missed him!
Thanks to his salty coffee!
Then the story was just like every beautiful love story , the princess married the prince. Then they were living a happy life... And, every time she made coffee for him, she put some salt in the coffee, as she knew that's the way he liked it.
After 40 years, he passed away, left her a letter which said:
"My dearest,
Please forgive me, forgive my whole life lie.
This was the only lie I said to you---the salty coffee.
Remember the first time we dated? I was so nervous at that time. Actually I wanted some sugar, but I said salt. It was hard for me to change so I just went ahead. I never thought that could be the start of our communication. I tried to tell you the truth many times in my life, but I was too afraid to do that, as I have promised not to lie to you for anything.
Now when I know I'm dying, I'm afraid of nothing. So I'm telling you the truth. I don't like the salty coffee, what a strange bad taste it has. But I have had the salty coffee for my whole life!
Since I love you, I never feel sorry for anything I do for you.
Having you with me is my biggest happiness for my whole life.
If I can live for the second time, I'd still want to know you and have you for my whole life, even if I have to drink the salty coffee again".
Her tears made the letter totally wet.
Someday, someone asked her: what's the taste of salty coffee?
It's sweet. She replied.
Love is not to forget but to forgive, not to see but to understand, not to hear but to listen, not to let go but to HOLD ON !!!!
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Picture that tells a story!!!
"So Much To Say"...This is what I named this photograph. I met this lady when I was visiting Shivasamudram Waterfalls, which is a few kilometers away from Bangalore. On this trip, I experienced a very disheartening aspect of modern society. While bangalore has all the facilities of a modern city, the rural areas of Karnataka are still searching for light.I think, this old lady, who has seen lot of things changing or lot of things not changing, is asking some questions to this world...
"Will our condition ever change?"
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