Showing posts with label khopri ki jindagi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label khopri ki jindagi. Show all posts

Sunday, August 7, 2011

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!

Thursday, June 9, 2011

My Encounters With The Third Kind

So I met a snake today.

No not the fake snake from ‘Anaconda eats Hippo WATCH THIS Vedio Lulzz’ on Facebook, but a real goddamn snake. And of all places I had to meet it in the lane that leads to my house, on the corner of my street.

Now the thing with the lane is that it is so well-lit that you can mistake an elephant chilling out in the lane for Baba Ramdev and ask him about the discount offers on sarees and salwars at Pantaloons. I don’t think Baba Ramdev would particularly like that. I am certain the elephant wouldn’t like that either.

Anyway, so that’s that. My lane is the poor man’s 'Cabinet of Dr. Caligari'.

But the snake was totally cool and mistook my horrified pause in the midst of my iPod-induced dance-walk as a cue for a hi-five. And it waited and stood there in its nonchalant poise like a North-east guy.

That got me thinking (and sweating, but fear is the heart of love) – What if the snake was from the North-East? Why I could totally ask him to come home with me and checkout my wardrobe. And help me be cool, like him. And go out with him to the Tantra and then get laughed at by my friends, courtesy the tilted hat and the low-waist jeans that lets Raju peep out of the closet. That would probably make me mad and I would beat the shit out of the chinki snake and you would all call me a racist bitch.

So yeah, no can do – the snake wasn’t from the North-East.

But, but it was blocking my way. Like a fucking Bong on ‘path oborodh’. Whazza? What if the snake was a Bong? Why then I could totally invite him home for a cup of Darjeeling tea and a debate over why the Communists got their ass whooped in the Elections. And then things would get all heated up and the snake would probably bite me in the face and I would die panting, all Red. That would be ironic, yeah, dying with a stupid Commie color on your face.

No can do boss! The snake can’t be a Bong.

The snake was Black! Oh yeah, as black as 50 Cent would be. I thought of inviting it to a pub, but his Nigerian friends had spammed me long enough to make me think twice about getting drunk in front of Black snakes. Or winning a lottery. Whatever comes first.       

And then the snake spoke. Oh yeah bitchezz…he spoke.

Snake: Hey Pal! What up?!
Me: Why, how do you do Naagger? (What? What? That’s wordplay raa, not racism!)
Snake: Heard chicks were checking you out? I came to verify.
Me (elated): Yeah man! I mean that fair one was go…..
Snake: Imma letchu finish, but yeah rumors were right. You are ugly as fuck. KThnxBai!

And the snake slid away into the grass. Probably to mate till kingdom come. I went home to sleep. Alone.

Right! That snake is one lucky animal!

[Addendum: The snake just said Hi from the window. It insists that it is a reptile, and not a fucking animal! Wokay, boss. Added this. Be at peace.]

You are still reading this shit?!   

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Small Change, Big Fish

A middle-class suburb.

7:30 a.m.

77 degrees and cloudy.


A young lad was waiting out on the grass. Waiting for change. Adjusting his glasses, fidgeting on his cellphone, hoping for the sun to not break out of the clouds soon & wishing that the clouds did not get too happy pwning the sun and over-did the favor by raining down on him – and, waiting for change.

People were slowly trickling into the center, as the morning slowly sobered up from the frigid one-eyed yawn into a mumbling Pearl Jam song.

The lad was oblivious to all this. His mind had wandered off. This was his second opportunity at letting the wheel of democracy creak and set in motion prospects of a better future. And he was feeling like a speck of dust on the wheel of change. More alone than ever.

But was he alone, really? Could he, but for those fleeting moments before the act, not feel a thousand voices coaxing him on? Could he, but for his Gears of War & NFS skills, not isolate every single voice in that melee? Yes, he could. And all of them were with him – wishing for change.

Vote an Idea, Sirjee!

The man who lost his job because he did not support Hu Jintao as his Chairman was with him. 

The guy who had been kicked out of his house because ‘The Party’ needed it for a local office was with him.

The mother whose kid had been devoured alive by dogs in the outdoor ward of a government hospital was with him. 

The young lad who had lost his right to a job, because of being deprived of English as a language in school till Class VI, was with him.

The labourers and clerks who lost their jobs because they refused to go on hartal with the CITU against the 'capitalist' American owners  were with him.

The lady whose B.Tech degree went a-begging because ‘The Party’ didn’t allow computers to be used in offices in the state was with him.

The farmers at Nandigram who were butchered by the State police because they “did not get with the program, bitchezz”, were with him.

The journalist caned out of Singur for portraying the establishment in a frank light was with him.

The gentleman who had been clobbered beyond reckoning because the cadres were not paid their due ‘chanda & pujo maalkori’ was with him.

The autowallahs, bus drivers, rickshaw pullers and truck drivers who had been unofficially taxed to the last penny by ‘sympatheticComrades were with him.  

The ‘budhhijibis’ and ‘biddojons’, who had been slandered, abused and taken potshots at because they protested against the ‘socialist, pro-people’ agenda, were with him. 

The young 'Catering' entrepreneur who had been given the boot in subsidies for not entertaining the 10,000+ Brigade-goers was with him.

The son who lost his father because no ambulance reached his doorstep as a ‘bandh’/‘(strike)’ had been called for the larger good, was with him.  

No he was not alone. 22 million people were with him. Wishing for change.

Admitted, the change might be small.
After all, power only changes hands – and more often than not, the hands retain the hunger for it, along with a wry, disdainful disregard for any moral or ethical accountability to the electorate. But even a small change can unsettle the big fish.

And the lad has had a good premonition that the Bong electorate might fry a lot of fish this time. Big, small and the others. 

A middle-class suburb.

7:45 a.m.

77 degrees and cloudy.


A young lad is walking out on the grass. Waiting for change.

He knows it is not long now…..

Sunday, April 3, 2011

THE DAY WE DANCED TO BLUES!!

I CANNOT DESCRIBE WHAT I AM FEELING RIGHT NOW! 

A DAY LIKE THIS TAKES A LIFETIME TO ARRIVE UPON, OR PERHAPS EVEN MORE. I HAVE BEEN LUCKY, ALONG WITH 1.21 BILLION INDIANS TO WATCH THIS DAY HAPPEN! 


THE DAY 1.21 BILLION INDIANS CAME TOGETHER! THE DAY 1.21 BILLION INDIANS CRIED, LAUGHED, JUMPED, SHRUGGED, BELLOWED, ABUSED, MEXICAN-WAVED, GRUNTED, HOWLED, WHOOPED & FINALLY WENT INSANE TOGETHER! THE DAY WE DANCED TO THE BLUES! 



THE DAY WE WON THE WORLD CUP!! 1.21 BILLION INDIANS & THEIR 15 MEN IN BLUE! FUCKYEAAAAHHH!! WE WON THE FUCKING WORLD CUP!!

EVERYONE IS CELEBRATING! THE COBBLERS, THE RICKSHAW-WALLAHS, THE DUKAANDARS, MY COLLEAGUES FROM THE IT-SECTOR, THE UNEMPLOYED TAPORIS, THE UNTOUCHABLE BABES, THE KIDS, THE 1983-ERS -- EVERY-FUCKING-ONE IS CELEBRATING!!  TOGETHER!!

CRICKET - IF ONLY YOU WERE A POLITICIAN! 

LOVE YOU!! :-)

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Chivalry Is Dead. And They Are Loving It!

This is no news to most folks. But it was news to me, especially as I came to know of the dear friend’s death only a couple of days back.


Now what transpired was this.

I was scraping money off the bottom of the ATM from my Bank account with my card. Now the thing is, I fall in the almost-homeless category of ATM debit card holders, and hence I do not feel the need to check, re-check and recheck the check of the account balance while in an ATM.

I go, type in the amount, take the money and scoot.

And that is probably why I am often looked down upon scores of ATM-goers who have a serious day job of standing in queue in front of an ATM, and checking, re-checking and re-Rambo-checking the balance in their accounts, withdrawal or no withdrawal.

So when I was getting out after my swift poke-in-the eye of the ATM, I found that a lady, with two mammoth-sized bags by her side, was trying to push the door and find a way in.  

So I stopped, flung open the door and with a smile and a slight nod of the head pre-accepted her appreciation of the act.

Lady glared back in such a manner, my left part of the brain almost assumed that the right part had tricked it and made me utter something as heinous as asking her to sleep with me.

And that too with the money I had just cashed out at the ATM.

I mean, what gives man?
Here I am trying to act chivalrous by the book – and the beneficiary just gives me a cold stare and possible “silent gali-galauj”. Is it because she has had many a leering ass trying to be chivalrous and courteous just to be hideous later? Or have only almost-homeless hideous guys been chivalrous to her, which made her label me as the same?

Whatever. But from my perspective, I won’t stop offering my seat to an old lady in a crowded bus just because the last woman I offered my seat to turned out to be a man. A weird man at that.

So I will hope that you women would start doing the same too. Though I don’t think it will help revive my old friend back to life. Chivalry, for all I know, is dead.

As they say, “The age of chivalry is past. Bores have succeeded to Dragons.”

FIN.