A Second Quest

>> Friday, October 10, 2008

My memory is not one of my many strengths, as most friends would fervently agree. In fact, if I died and people were looking for a favourite one-liner of mine to engrave on my tombstone, they might as well engrave "I have forgotten" and go home with the satisfaction of a duty well done.

Why do I mention this?

For the past few days, a scene has been tormenting me. It is about a woman bursting balloons with cigarettes in the backseat of a car. She was accompanied by a male. The only other information I can provide is that it as not a movie. I am definite I was reading it. It could be in a blog, a novel, a play, a short story, a newspaper, even a cerealbox.

A little help?

Please and thank you.

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My Ramble Scramble Pujo Post-3

>> Wednesday, October 08, 2008

As I serve food, arrange the pandal, rehearse, make friends, celebrate, have deep discussions and silly conversations, I realize how transient it all is. That, if all goes well, next year, I may not come back. Next year, there may not be a puja for me. That, next year, I will not wonder about why pandals are dressed with skulls and crossbones. Next year, I will not be goading elderly people into dancing on the streets. Next year, there will not be giddy women singing, "Chacha ki chae pila du" to surprised cab drivers. There will be no mass bawling sessions when sisters and friends come back for fleeting visits. There will not be any more foolish haircuts which make one look like a pirate, no more rush of new clothes, no more coming to pandals dressed up in college T shirt because one can not bother about looking presentable. No more minor jealousies and major heartbreaks, no more friends coming in to surprise and delight, no more scuffles behind banners, no more conversations under stars, no more just lying down on the grass and ordering guys about for cold drinks. No more fasting, no more anjali, no more shantirjol. A world devoid of long walks through slushy roads to see uninspiring and often mystifying pandals. A world devoid of comparison of hours spent at Maddox Square to prove how popular one is. No more squealing babies and their squalling parents squeezing through crowds for a better look at an idol who looks the same everywhere. No more horrified sights of a dancing Father. No more obsessed purchases of shoes. No more ramble scramble puja posts. No more home.

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