Jurassic City

As the bus danced like an angry Obelix through the cacophonic roads, a lonely guard caught my eye. As nondescript as a lonely guard can be, I saw that he was manning a massive gate – that added to his non-existent existence – which welcomed nobody to a place that used to be a dreamland for kids once. Science City.

If you have ever been to Kolkata, and have ever asked anyone about the places to visit, I will be surprised if you didn’t get a mention of ‘Science City’.

When it had been set up in 1997, every single soul in West Bengal descended on it. And if you would had the audacity to say that you didn’t get the time to visit, the rickshaw-wallahs in your neighborhood would waive your fare and would ask you to take science tuition instead!

Yours truly was not one of them. And thankfully so, as one of the fondest memories, etched most vividly in my head, is that of me and Typo going to Science City with Ma, Baba & Chotomashi. What had initiated this trip from the languid, laidback town of Kalyani (almost 60km away from the capital), was a Steven Spielberg film – back in the days when he was the source for directorial-cliches rather than being the one emulating them. Jurassic Park! 

Now the thing is, with path-breaking CGI and a compact out-of-this-world narrative, the film had already blown collective minds. Science City, with a magical swipe of the government hand, pulled off an advertising coup of the decade unlike any other public sector initiatives of the kind before or after – by incorporating the Jurassic Park concept of ‘dinosaurs in theme parks’ in the City itself!

Okay, okay, Enough with the background.

As we entered the huge campus with two fantastic grass Tyrannosaurus Rex-es doffing their hats and ushering us in, I almost had an intelligence-quest-orgasm in anticipation of what lay inside those walled gardens.

There was a bamboozling collection of dinosaurs – right from the massive Diplodocus to the eerily confrontational Stegosaurus – all mechanized yet almost life-size models of the pre-historic beasts. Me and Typo ran from one to the other, taking in all the information from the plaques, displays and the volunteers. There were books, maps, AV displays – it seemed like a poor man’s Jurassic Park itself. We even tried to smuggle out a Dino egg but the genius that my brother is, he decided to smuggle it hiding it in his pants, freaking the elderly guard out as he had never thought that a kid aged five can have such bad man problems.      

There were other super stuff inside too, one of the highlights being the temporarily set-up Room of Mirrors. But we didn’t stay long there, as you really can’t digest 24 versions of an ugly kid with his brother digging his nose in tow. So we left in a hurry. (Did I forget to tell you that Chotomashi passed out inside the room, because she thought from the reflections that the small pimple on her forehead had assumed such gigantic proportions overnight? No? Okay.)

There was also a 3D Dynamotion thing, which let me experience how Harry Potter feels when he is on a crazy broom with shit controls zooming inside a pyramid. I barfed inside the purse of the lady beside me, but she said that it was okay because she had thrown up on Typo’s head too. People used to be so nice and understanding back then. Sigh! After we got out, Typo asked me if I had seen any sign that said free hair gel was being offered with the 3D trip, but I ignored him.

And as a final part of the dream we were living, there was a Ropeway too! There is nothing like being an eye in the sky and checking out every babe in the vicinity of the whole campus. I would have jumped out like a paratrooper if there was a chute in the cable-car, but there was none and so I didn’t. Typo insisted that a real paratrooper needed no chute and asked me to be a man, but I ignored him like always.

As I left the gates and the dinosaurs behind, fully content with the trip and actually looking forward to the 3-hour trip back home, I had already hatched plans to come back here again next weekend.  

That was never to be.

After our entrepreneurial adventures failed, we moved away from Kolkata, and came back only to find myself buried deep in adulthood and cynicism to revisit this place.

I travel every weekday by this giant scientific dream-turned-daydream, and can only see that its grounds now host romancing couples instead of inquisitive kids. Probably they have planned it right – to romance in the gardens of science itself, so that their kids are born Einsteins, Teslas and Edisons.

Science City, for me at least, symbolizes the happy and carefree curiosity I have left behind in time. It symbolizes the Paper Maps and the little World Globes I have left behind on my desk in my search for success in the real orbs of life. It symbolizes the pre-historic times when I used to have weekends that did not reek of work and evenings were unadulterated fun. Maybe, I never visited again because I was too scared to burst those little bubbles of joy, trapped in a head that has turned arid with time.

Science City, as I pass by you in a purple haze, racing to lynch deadlines and back, I find your charm is still the same. The only thing that’s changed is me. But that is the perfect way to be.

I want to go back there, and yet I don’t. In times when every key on every Smartphone is a Science City in itself, in times when you can't read up old books while searching for another one because Google is so accurate, I have kept my dinosaurs safely tucked away in my memories. 

For you are no plain “Science City – Phase I” to me, No.

You are my very own Jurassic City!

#BongRage

I had ideally wanted to put a byline on that Title -- such as #BongRage - 'The Fire Within' or #BongRage - 'Real Anger Has NO Management', but didn't really feel right.

Anyway, enjoy the comic guys! My Phroots of Creatibhity - A brief chronicle of my sweet tooth Anna Hazare'd for Mishti Doi and what happens next.   

Adios..

P.S.: More to Come Soon!

Story of a Budding Entrepreneur

I was about 9 then. Or maybe 8. An ordinary boy living an ordinary life in an ordinary town. Along with Typo (my non-evil twin, in case you forgot), I was content with life unraveling at a languid pace – cornflakes in the morning, school in the day, cricket with 3 other guys and a dog in the evening and homework at night.

Now, all of these activities seemed real hard when you were at that age. I mean how can any kid put up with Math and an agonizing wait to relieve himself simultaneously in school? And playing cricket with 3 guys, using the dog as the wicket, is not very easy. Try proving that you bowled the batsman out, with your wicket running, screaming in an odd voice, like a dog hit in the rear by a heavy rubber ball. Very hard, I tell you. And pretending to finish homework while slyly catching up on the latest fashion on FTV at night is even tougher.

Anyway, point is, life was hard. At least for me and Typo.   

However, like all Bong kids, it was mandatory for us to take tuitions. Now in 21st century, it is easy to say hah, big deal! But back then, what made taking tuitions, & life in general, hard for Bong kids was the tuition teacher – who was not exactly the online voice-over, giving lessons like serenading a monkey.

Ours was no exception. And after 3 months of being pummeled with formulas & equations, we gave in and scored a neat Jhiro on 30 in a Test de la Grande. Yes, me and Typo both did ‘Aryabhatta’ proud.

However, Mr. Tuition Teacher was not a fan of Aryabhata, but admired Sarah Palin instead. This was evident from his ‘red-eyed’ refudiating of everything good that Mr. & Mrs. Pal could have envisaged in their boys.

And so, we ran away from home. Into the wild. Or as Bongs call it, to the Math of the Tepantaur (can’t help if it sounds like a bad breed of the Minotaur). 

Almost-Gone-Missing Aryabhatta-Fanboy

Unlike what you’ve heard in stories, running away from home is easy. All you need to do is this – Sulk > Think of buying a gun & kill Mr. Tor-mentor > Realize it’s not possible > Suicide > WTF? > Talk to Typo > Run away from home at 12 pm post-lunch > Climb over barbed wire fence of Campus > This.Is.Freedom.!!

In our case, all went smoothly except the fact that Typo’s pants got caught in the barbed wire and he has been experiencing man-problems ever since. Rest was all good.

We made our way over mud dunes, paddy fields, passed by a Bata factory & also ogled at women bathing in a nearby pond (Typo insists he did not. What a liar!). We were also stared down as potential kidnap/extortion victims by 4 weird men playing teen-patti in a hutment. One of them was a Steve Jobs-look alike, smoking Dhania-chhaap beedi. Come to think of it, maybe he WAS Steve Jobs - considering the fact that he’s got pancreatic cancer now. Yeah, Dhania-chhaap beedis are not at very good terms with the pancreas, last I heard.

Whatever. We got traced down by the CBI (Chanchal Bhushan Ishmail, our gardener), who had been alerted by terrified ‘gaaowaalon’ about a bear bathing in their village pond. Turned out it was actually yours truly having some harmless topless fun in the sun. Blechh.

By now you must be outraging over the title of the post, and what the fuck am I trying to prove here – with a misleading Title et al. Well, there’s a twist in the tale here.

Yours truly, being a genius sans parallèle, had not run away from home on an impulse. After all, we had planned to set up camp in another city and build an empire ala AOE III. Hence, like a true-blood, nifty entrepreneur, we had made plans for a business first.

We handpicked the choicest of ‘Hot Wheels’ from our collection, some of the rarest books and some easily saleable stuff like pens, chocolate and Femina Miss India posters (wink wink nudge nudge). We were planning to sell off these and make a living till Google or Stevie hired us for one of their sweatshops in Bangkok.

And like a quintessential entrepreneurial partner, Typo chickened out, almost jeopardizing the venture. However, telling him that chickening out may ruin the chances of radio silence on his barbed-wire-man-problems helped sort it out amicably.

And like a quintessential entrepreneurial venture, we lost all of the investment; lock stock and barrel.

There. Explanation complete.

However, the upside of the whole story is that we learnt 2 valuable lessons that day.

Lesson #1 - Running away from home is overrated.
Lesson #2 - Nothing can beat gorging on home-cooked food, especially after learning lesson #1 the practical way.

As I said, life was hard back then. But it was also great, in parts!

P.S.: You really thought this was another ‘Steve-Jobs-is-so-awesome’ story, didn’t you, you bloody Apple fanboys?!