Happy Birthday !

Whose? Well... it was mine. Wish me ! *chuckle*
I had not so bad a day. The friends i had been staying with, forgot it was my birthday, and since I wasn't expecting that, I did not care to remind them. It was half an hour to 28th jan (the day) when i got a call for an advance wish and then they remembered. For the next five minutes they lamented about the fact that they forgot and did not have a cake for the midnight cake cutting process. Later they made a cake of "suji ka halwa" with pieces of almonds saying "happy b'day mou". I loved every bit of it.
We stayed up late, listened to some party songs, though did not actually have a party since i had to prepare for an interview the coming afternoon (my b'day afternoon). *sad face*

So I slept late, woke up early, mugged up basics of Java and appeared for the interview. I didn't even get time to bathe due to lack of time for the mugging up process. But I assure you, I wasn't smelling. And I wasn't looking bad either. I reached 5 minutes late for the interview (thanks to the mugging up process again).

Three people interviewed. two technical and a HR. ( As an extra information, well... I had a crush on one of them *wink* ).

Done with the interview, I came back home at about 8.00 pm. Chatted a while, ate a bit, and birthday was over. I had always wanted my birthdays to be extra special, i love it that way. and this time I wudn't say I had a wonderful day, but I wudn't complain.

Most of my good friends had called. a few hadn't. Some forgot and then remembered. Some totally forgot. Some mailed, and messaged. No complains there too.

And at the end of the day I realized, I was missing my mom terribly.

The walk.

I walk the streets...
To escape
the voices in my head.
I walk miles,
to rest
my tired feet.
I walk alone...
To put aside
untamed loneliness.

As I walk through exhaust fumes,
As thoughts rain on me,
A lump chokes me up.
The eye brims.

I walk until its dark.
And then turn back.
I know I need to get back...
Under a roof.

That night,
When I go to bed, I make a wish.
A wish...
That I didn't have to return.
That i could lie down,
and watch the stars...
for just a night.

For one night,
if I could get lost,
Without you asking me "Where?"




I know poems are not supposed to be on the blog, but a few now n then seems just fine. *wink*

From the Diary of a Daily Passenger : Chapter 12

She answered, “Balia. At my in-laws.”
“You traveling alone?”
“No, No. My husband is sleeping up there.” And she bent down a little and then twisted herself to face upwards and pointed at the upper berth.
Anindita had noticed the man snoring there. She said, “Oh.”
It was quiet for sometime. Then the woman said again, “He is my husband.”
Anindita smiled and nodded. The woman continued, “I have one son. Only eight years old. I was married twenty-two years ago. But I was not having children. We went to the doctors. They could not do anything. They said nothing was wrong with me. They wanted to examine my husband. So, we went to a Babaji. He is a great man. He still lives in Rishikesh. We go there every year. He did a Puja and then after years of regular fast and Puja I conceived. Everyone at home was relieved. My husband had become so upset with me.”
There was nothing for Anindita to say. She smiled. And during the complete journey, the woman took the job of talking and left the smiling part to Anindita.
She kept quiet for sometime and continued again, “My son’s name is Rahul. My husband named him, after Shahrukh’s name is Kuchh Kuchh Hota hai. You have seen the movie, haven’t you?”
Anindita nodded. She continued again, “It is a good movie. I wanted to name him Mahesh. He was actually born on Shivratri. But Rahul is good. It is a better name. Are you married?”
That was a shocker. Anindita smiled and said, “No, I am not.”
“You work?”
“Yes.”
“Good. It is very important that girls should work. We are illiterate. We can’t even name our children properly. Mahesh is such an old fashioned name. Is it not?” And she laughed.
Anindita said, “No why would it be old fashioned? It is good.”
“No, it is not. Everybody laughed when I said that name.”
Anindita kept quiet. Sometime later, the woman started again, “He is in class four now. He is very naughty. He never listens to me. He doesn’t treat me like his mother. Not at all afraid of me. Whenever I try to scold him, he would always beat me and run away. He is so restless. Never comes and sits with me. He sits with his dad though. Actually his dad brings him gifts and chocolates. I remain busy with my kitchen work all day. When I get some time in the afternoon, he sleeps with his grandmother. At night also he sleeps with his grandmother. In the morning he goes to school with his dad. I rarely get him close to me. He is so restless. How could I?”
A pause again.
“I work all day. Early morning, Rahul goes to school. Then two of my sisters-in-law go to college. Then my husband goes to work. I prepare breakfast and Tiffin for all of them. Then my Mother-in-law needs a massage. Then I have to get things ready for her bath. Then I go for cooking. After everybody eats, I clean up, take a bath and then finally get time to eat for myself. Its usually 4 o’clock when I eat. What time do you eat at home?”
Okay! That was a question. Anindita replied with a smile, “Usually 2 o’clock.”
”Hmm.”
She kept quiet for a moment, and then started off again. “Do you know to cook?”
“Yes. I am not a great cook. But I can manage well.”
“Arey, you all study. You can cook. That is all. My sisters-in-law do not cook at all. They always go to college and come home with friends. I know all of them. Actually I prepare the snacks for them. I meet them. So, I know them. They are all good girls. The only problem is they cannot cook. You cannot tell your husbands that you cannot cook. Can you?”
Anindita agreed.

A longer pause.
“Rahul is very intelligent. My husband says, he would one day become a doctor. His father brings him so many toys. The toys do not last even a day. He breaks them off. I tell my husband to scold him sometimes, but my husband says that a child breaking toys is a good sign. It means your child is very intelligent. And my husband says that with all the money he earns, why I should worry about my boy breaking toys. So, I have stopped worrying. But you know what, this will spoil his habits. So, I worry sometimes. But most of the time I do not worry. After all, my husband knows better than me. When he is saying everything would be alright, I am sure about that. I am uneducated. How would I know anything. So, I always……..”

She was stopped by her snoring husband, “Bahot bol rahi hai tu. Thoda kam bola kar. Shuru ho jati hai bas. (You are talking too much. Talk a little less. Once you start, you never stop)”

The woman shut up completely. For a long time, she did not utter a word. Then she moved closer to Anindita and said softly, “I talk too much. But I don’t talk this much when I am at home. At home, everybody is so busy. Nobody has time to talk. I, myself am so busy all day. My husband is a very strict man. He tries to make me presentable. But I am illiterate, so I don’t know his ways. So, I never go out in front his friends. He has very good friends. They come home. I never talked to them. Both men and women. But those women are not like me. They are educated and smart. Like you. He has enough trouble with me. Poor man. So I stay out his way. I try not to trouble him much. I don’t mingle with people much… neighbors I mean. What would they think of my husband if they find out that he has an uneducated wife? So I stay all by myself and pretend to be very busy. So, I don’t have many friends.”
And she continued.


That evening, as the auto-rickshaw sped through the darkness, from the station towards her home, Anindita thought about the women. The unnamed women she saw that day. The two unnamed women, she would most probably never see again. The woman who spoke irritatingly until you would feel like shouting at her, asking her to shut up. But surprisingly, Anindita did not shout at her. Surprisingly, though irritating, there was somewhere a vast loneliness build up inside a heart that could have been wonderfully sweet. Loneliness, from where Anindita knew, she would never come out. She would never know what it meant to be special, or be loved and respected. She felt that flow of words trapped inside a woman, who was forbidden to bring up her own child her own way, to love him or lull him to sleep at night. Anindita thought of all those unspoken feelings that lay behind each word the woman had said to her, which on a first impression would have been sounded like empty and useless chatter.

That night, after dinner when Anindita got into bed, she opened her diary after years. She read a few pages. The last entry was 6 years and few months ago. Once done reading, she scribbled until sleep closed her eyes, the pen still between her fingers and her head on the scribbled ink soaked up by the lined paper.

From the Diary of a Daily Passenger : Chapter 11

The woman replied, “Dunno ! But I don’t think so. I think it’s just their middle class mentality not to let the wife work.”
“Hmm. I will look for the tickets today and will let you know tomorrow. Fine with you?”
“Yes. You are not listening to me, but I think we must quit this job.”
“Arey, don’t worry about it right now. We will think about it later.

And then Anindita’s hearing system unable to filter loud noise, the words rang into her ears, “Your attention please, Train number 3105, Sealdah to Balia, Sealdah Balia Express is arriving shortly on platform number 3.”
It kept repeating in Bengali, Hindi and English.

The pair got up and walked away. Anindita got up slowly. She cursed the train for being on time, and then cursed the man who announced, then cursed the man who prepared the time table and then the driver and during the curing process walked down to the edge of the platform. She watched the pair walk away engrossed into their exclusive world.

The train arrived. As she got into the compartment, she lost sight of the pair, unaware of the fact that she had lost sight of them forever. That was the last time she ever saw them again.

Anindita walked into the compartment found a woman sitting all by herself on a big whole seat. She sat down at one corner. She had lots to think about that evening. She had her dose of humanity and did not need Balia express to provide her with anymore. She sat there quietly looking out of the window, thinking. As she sat there, she noticed the woman turned to look at her every now and then. She was a middle aged woman, wore a pink saree with green leafy border. She had her hair updone into a bun, very untidily. She must have been beautiful years back. She had big eyes, but yellowed. Her earlobes had a big hole resulted due to heavy ear rings. Every time the woman looked at her, she saw a curiosity and wondered if she was too shy to be able to initiate a conversation. Anindita smiled at her. Her lips parted into a smile displaying small, shapely, beautiful but yellow teeth. She looked good when smiling. Anindita asked, “Where are you going?”

From the Diary of a Daily Passenger : Chapter 10

Anindita arrived at the station early. Her seat was occupied. A big family was traveling. Lots of suitcases and bags lay about, children kept running around, mothers at their heels calling them back. She walked round to the next seat. It was empty. She sat down at one side of it and listened to the family chattering about hundreds of things. What she deciphered was that they were heading for a marriage in Patna and from there they would be going to Shimla for a vacation. It was fun listening to the chattering.

One of them shouted, “Neha, did u pack the eggs?”

A young married woman (must be Neha) replied, “Oh Shit ! I kept it on the table, but forgot to put it in. Now?”

The one who had initiated, replied, “I knew you would do it. You always miss on something every time.”

Neha smiled sweetly full of guilt and said, “I am so sorry Gauri didi. What will happen now?”

Gauri shouted at the top of her voice, “Did u hear Ma? Neha left the eggs at home.”

People around turned to look.

An old woman a little father away replied back louder than Gauri, “Again? What will happen now? How many eggs were there?”

Gauri said, still maintaining the volume “Twelve! All Boiled! I don’t think it would last two weeks.”

Anindita smiled. Forget about two weeks. Wouldn’t last two days. People around smiled.

The old woman looked worried. “Now what?”

Gauri said, volume still maintained at maximum, “What ! Nothing ! They will rot and when we come back, I wonder how we would step into that smelling house.”

The old woman got a bit irritated, and muttered, loud enough to be heard by every soul who were around, “Three daughter-in-laws and still you forget to pack the eggs. You are so lucky to have me. If it had been my mother-in-law, you would have been dead by now. Twelve eggs ! It is so costly.” Then she raised her volume to maximum again and asked, “ Haan Neha?? What will you feed Ketan now? That gentleman son of yours doesn’t take in a grain of rice without non-veg.”

Neha smiled guiltily and replied, “Don’t worry Ma, I will arrange something for him.”

Neha called, “Ketan come here.”

A little boy of about three years was squatting at the edge of the platform. He the upper half of his torso, still in the same position and looked at Neha. “Ma, come here. See here is a snake. It is dead.”

“No, you come here. Come fast.”

Ketan did not budge. Neha got up, walked upto him and pulled him to the bench where Anindita was sitting and sat down.

Quietly she said, “Ketan, I forgot to pack the eggs. You wouldn’t make a fuss while eating tonight, right?”

Ketan made a face. Neha explained, “If you make such a face, grandmother will get angry with me. She loves you so much, she will scold me that I did not bring the eggs for you. And if she becomes very angry, she might leave me in some unknown station and then what will happen to me?”

Ketan thought for a moment and then smiled, “No, she won’t do that.”

Neha said, “What if she does?”

Ketan replied, “She won’t. I know. But okay, if you are afraid, I will eat without the eggs. But get me some fish tomorrow. Now come and see the snake.”

Neha and Ketan got up. Neha glanced at Anindita as Ketan tugged at her arm. Anindita and Neha smiled at each other.

And with that, the egg-fuss was over. The old woman kept muttering. Gauri and Neha and others talked and Anindita was the silent unnoticed audience.

The woman (who traveled on board Balia Express with Anindita, the one Anindita did not like much) and her husband arrived and walked to the seat where Anindita sat. That was their usual seat. They sat down. Anindita saw the woman after a long time. More than a week. The husband was traveling alone all those days.

The man asked extra softly making it almost a whisper, “Now tell me where you were these days? Something wrong at home?”

Anindita heard it though she wasn’t meant to hear it. Anindita realized she was wrong all these days. He wasn’t the husband. He must be just a colleague.

The woman said, “They want me to quit working. I told you about this earlier. Did I not? How long do we have to wait?”

“It is getting tougher for you. Isn’t it? Let me check when I can get tickets. Anybody suspicious at home?”

Right that moment, Anindita was. She was a normal human being. Normal people are allowed to be suspicious about things going on around them. She adjusted her hearing system to filter every other sound except the two beside her.

From Tears to Smile : A Guest Post authored by Neha Sharma

The Introduction:
Neha, One of my most wonderful friends! One person, I know I can turn up to whenever I feel like the whole world is crashing down and I have no where to go. One fine evening, she was upset. We had a little chat. And then as goodbyes were said, Neha promised me a post for my blog. Thank you Neha for the honour. About her: She is a wonderful poet, singer and above all a beautiful lady at heart. Click here to read her poems.


From tears to smile
A couple of days ago I met one of my friends online. She was quite tensed about the market. Her joining has been delayed and as a result she’s sitting idle at home with absolutely nothing to do. I guess sitting idle is a very bad situation. I’m also waiting for my joining but thankfully I know how to keep myself busy. This friend about whom we are talking here lacks in this art. So as a result she was badly frustrated and negative about life and other things, so much that she was weeping!

I wonder how people can make simple things sound much complicated. And then they might see a tree as a monster, or a beautiful rainy evening as a disaster. Now, this girl has been blessed with a lot of talents. And she loves all of them. She loves painting, writing poetry, singing, listening to songs, cooking, gardening, observing, and the list is long. But during all this free time what she has been doing? Weeping over her circumstances, over things that she cannot control. What she is not doing is utilizing this immense free time by doing all or any of the things she loves, all the things she always wanted to do but never had enough free time for. At some later stage in life when she’ll become busy as a bee, will she not regret this beautiful time that she wasted in weeping? Of course she will.

But she’s not realizing this at this moment.

It is natural I think. It’s not only her. People always desire and long for what they do not have. I know you have read it a thousand times but then I know this too that only a few of you have pondered upon this. Other’s have only read it for the sake of reading or heard it for the sake of hearing. We often spend our free time by thinking about what we do not have rather than utilizing it to cherish and enhance what we have. Later when we’ve lost our precious moments we again waste our present thinking about how we spoiled out our past moments. So when do we enjoy? I’m not saying that I’m a sage or something. I too have my ups and downs. But at least I know how to spend and utilize my free time. And this is what I wanted her to understand.

I talked to her trying to give her the facts. One good thing is that she believes in me and tries to follow what I say. She opened up her heart in front of me and I saw the sad world that she had created within herself. She was talking as if her life was like an empty cup and that she was of no use. Yet somewhere deep inside she knew that all that was fake and very far from reality. She read this blog of mine and started talking big of me, talking small of her simultaneously. I know that she must have liked my work but when sad, people do this often either to make themselves feel worse or to make themselves feel better (by gaining sympathy). I advised her to enhance her writing skills and painting skills ignoring what all she said about my greatness.

I asked her whether she’s applying for other part time jobs and she denied it. Again, it is common with people, doing nothing and waiting for miracles to ensue to solve all their problems. I persuaded her to go out and search for some job.

Finally after a productive tête-à-tête both of us said our goodbyes. I was happy to know that she was smiling. She acknowledged my ‘superb’ ideas and then did engage herself into something.

This rakshabandhan her artworks that festooned her brothers’ wrists, earned her a lot of appreciation (and even money). She’s quite happy about all that now. Although she’s still sitting at home but she’s searching for a job seriously. She has even penned down something for me (I asked her to do so on the day of our long chat) and I’ve added it here in this blog. (I assured her I’d do that…).

So now when you have read (and are still reading) all what she has penned, I guess you are now aware that she’s not suffering anymore. She’s happy and I’m happy for her.

Written by Neha Sharma (the sad girl) for Mou. (The super supporter)

Thanks Mou!

From the diary of a daily passenger : Chapter 09

The man kept arguing. The only argument he had was that he was a railway employee and he worked hard for the passengers and the passengers must let him travel in comfort and actually, railway employees were allowed to get into sleeper class compartments and sit where ever they wanted to. Nobody was allowed to question them. One passenger demanded his I-card and he produced one. The I-card was handed to Anindita for checking if he was speaking the truth. Out of curiosity, she looked. His name was Giridhari Yadav. He was a "khalasi" or in better words a gatekeeper kind of staff. Anindita hadnt spoken after the passengers had taken over the argument. She was disgusted of the whole affair and of the whole day. Anindita handed it back to the man and produced her own I-card that had been provided to her as a trainee at the IT-department of CLW (Chittaranjan Locomotive Works). She handed it to Giridhari and said, "I work in the computer department of the same corporation you are in and I deal with the Accounts section. You can check. Do you know to read English?"
People went quieter. The man looked at Anindita and muttered something. Anindita looked at the man sternly and said, "It would take me two minutes to find out every minute detail about you. Not only that, I work on the payment cheques that you recieve every month as your salary. You want me to do that?"
The man stared at Anindita and Anindita continued, "Once I am done with all the things I mentioned, let me see how much interested you would be in serving your passengers?"

The man got up and without a single word walked out of the compartment. Aninidita smiled. Her first smile throughout the day. This was the best thing that happened to her since morning. She could surely find out every minute detail in a minute but she was in no position to alter anything regarding his salary cheque. After all, she was just a software developer. It was fun being somebody of such weight that people double your age are afraid of you. Other passengers stood there and a discussion followed for sometime. Slowly the croed dispersed from the door to their respective seats. One of them came up to Anindita and said, "Come and sit. There is space over here."
Anindita thanked and declined. She was loving the wind. The old man was back at his seat. Anindita asked him, "Where are you going?"
He replied, "Balia, beti."
"Dont you have a reservation? It is very far. You will have to sit the whole night?"
"I know, but tickets costs so much. I did not have enough money."
"Hmm. Who stays in Balia?"
"My folks. My relatives. From now on, I will live there itself."
"And in Kolkata?"
"Kolkata nahi, beti, I lived in Asansol. I used to be a Rickshaw-puller. And since the past few years, I gathered up plastics and sold them. It was enough for us. I do not have children. My wife died two months ago. What shall I live for in Bardhman, all alone?"
"Hmm."

Anindita looked outside into the dark and thought, "Funny life."