That One Day...

With Independence Day 2015 fast approaching, my independent mind keeps trespassing into dangerous territories in an infinite loop. I am quite confident my mind-ventures will find many other claimants although a significant number might find in this post food for laughter. Either way, I intend to give a direct description of one particular day in 2014. As they say, life is all about memories.

A year back, I was scheduled to leave for an Engineering college in New Delhi (No! not the IIT :P ). With confirmed tickets and a legitimate admission letter in my possession, only luggage-packing and a night’s sleep separated me from Delhi. I will be quite honest here. I broke down at 8 pm on the previous evening. Not only did I tear up the admission letter, empty suitcases glistened with my tear droplets. And when I cry, I transform from a human being into a lifeless entity, an open tap.

While a handful of my classmates in St. Xavier’s from the batch of 2014 still reside in the comfort of their home-sweet-home, having enrolled in one of the city colleges, most are out of station. I have friends in almost all major Indian cities-Delhi, Mumbai, Chennai, Guwahati and Kanpur to name a few. It would not be wrong to assume that they are enjoying their hostel life. Sure enough, conversations with them have become infrequent over the past year but whenever I converse with my 12^th standard best friends (none of whom are in Kolkata anymore), they tell me they are happy. Either they are “chilling out” with their hostel mates, or else playing Counterstrike over the LAN. In the worst case scenario, they are collectively cursing the water Dal they are being forced to consume as food. Either way, the new found independence has given them a fresh outlook towards life, after twelve years of school.

I have not experienced the independence of hostel life, but strange though it might seem, I do not regret it one bit. If I had been a part of it, I might have rated it very highly just like my schoolmates but since I don’t, I am afraid of it. Yes, I am “afraid” of it. That particular evening is one of those events which will be engraved in the interior of my mind for a long, long time. I was having a nice little conversation with some seniors from the college I thought I was going to join in a day’s time. A few hours later, I had made a decision which I rate as one of the best decisions I have ever taken independently. It was my own decision, known only to me at that point of time. If nothing else, it has allowed me to stay at home with my parents for four more years, out of which one wicket has fallen, which is exactly why my mind finds it hard to stay in one piece.

So, this is July 2015. A year later, it will be July 2016. Two years hence, it will be July 2017. Unexpected happenings notwithstanding, I will have started my final year in Jadavpur University by then. Time flies, and flies quite fast. So within the blink of half an eyelid, I will have graduated (again, unexpected events notwithstanding!). And howsoever I might wish to stay in Kolkata, I fail to see that wish being fulfilled. But I will never regret not leaving Kolkata. It has given me 4 years of bonus bliss. I wish time stayed still. I do not want to grow older. Probably, growing older is a necessary sub-part of growing older. Adieu!

Car race or Money race?

With the euphoria over the Formula One Grand Prix held at the Buddh International Circuit on an October Sunday having settled down in order to give way to Sachin Tendulkar’s hundredth international cricket century and yet another milestone having been sculpted in India’s blue book of shame in the form of a century scored by Manipur and Nagaland with respect to their economic blockade, I can safely write about something or the other.

I must confess that I have never been particularly enthralled by motor cars bedazzling my eyes by racing along at fifteen score kilometers per hour again and again. Those cars are like the toy trains that you buy for your children—they run in a loop as many times you want them to but at least the trains are of some constructive utility. In that children gain enjoyment. But just spare a moment for these cars and their poor engines. What function do they perform except for pleasuring certain heavyweight nuclear-fuelled business barons and some certain ninety-five thousand odd money machines? (I am talking about my own country here and television viewers are not to be considered)

I don’t have anything against those whom I titled ‘money machines’ for going to watch it. After all, why shouldn’t they? With the money and the time and the will and everything else required (except reason that is), they have every right to enjoy it. Had I been in their place, I would have done the same.

A politically snubbed politician

Now let us start from the prize distribution ceremony of the race. Ms. Mayawati, the chief minister of Uttar Pradesh, was duly called upon to hand over the winner’s trophy but it strikes me as a commoner—shouldn’t the father of either Karun Chandhok or Narain Karthikeyan have done it? Mr. Vicky Chandhok graced the podium in one of the runner up positions, nevertheless. According to me, this itself proves the underlying politics behind this entertaining car race.

And then, there are the variety of taxes some of which were waived, some weren’t. The entertainment tax was waived but the hundred crore rupees tax was not. The result? The Indian Sports Minister not being invited to the event. And did that affect the organizers in any way? No, it did not. While Vettel and Massa raced for three hundred kilometers, the sports minister kept himself busy in inaugurating a five crore rupees synthetic track for the legendary P.T. Usha who incidentally is the only sportsperson in the country to have questioned the need for such a spectacular extravaganza in a country like India.

The Formula One drivers were themselves surprised at Indian poverty the levels of which they were completely alien to. Although they didn’t comment publicly, it is only obvious that their conscience questioned the need for Formula One in India as well.

Even more spectacular than the actual race was the scenes before and after it. Only GOD knows the logic behind a Sachin Tendulkar interview before a motor racing competition and the same goes for Bollywood stars who make it a point to show the world their face wherever they spot a profitable camera. The irony of Lady Gaga at the party after the race added to the comedy show.

In conclusion, the formula one cars raced along the Buddh International Circuit in Greater Noida even as the poorest of paupers slept on the pavement just outside the circuit. That the race was held in Uttar Pradesh and even so in Noida adds to the contrasting imagery, does it not? At least, there were no crorepati parks or statues on the circuit.

With full respect to Michael Schumacher‘s achievements, grace, personality and nonetheless his name (which I use here as a connection to Formula One), I must declare that the one formula which is used all over the world is money and India should be awarded the Nobel prize for constructive research and practical work on it. After all, our Prime Minister is a leading economist, isn’t he?

But Schumacher or shoe-maker, what is the difference? All people are same in this race for money. The only difference is that the Schumacher is used for earning the money and the shoe-maker is not even cared about. This is all too ironical anyway.

The Wheel of Fortune

I am an Indian and a proud Bengali at that. West Bengal is a state intertwined with a variety of Indian cultures. From being a once capital of India to have earned the rarest of the rare distinction of being the only state in India to be partitioned and recombined, we in West Bengal have witnessed it all, through our forefathers.

The tourism industry is quite developed in West Bengal(let us not talk about the impending confusion regarding her name, recently I have heard of an initiative being taken by one of the most popular English news corporations of India which is trying to gather support for West Bengal’s name to be changed to Bengal), mainly due to the ecologically rich areas in North Bengal. Not to be forgotten are the two main coastal strips, Digha and Bakkhali. While Bakkhali is, in common tongue, unattractive, Digha is exactly the opposite. Here, I am not going to describe the place. It is about a dream I had on the night after returning from my second trip to Digha.

The first time I went to Digha was in 2009. I had planned to take my grandparents somewhere or the other after my seventh standard terminal exams even before it meant going next door(for the simple reason that they had visited Vishakhapatnam with my brother and his family).

We stayed at Sea Hawk, arguably the best budget hotel in the whole of Digha at present. The rooms were nice, the corridors enabled us to move freely while enjoying the breeze all the time, the hotel-owned beach was more than just up to the mark. The sole problem with the hotel lay in its restaurant. Besides being illogically overpriced, the quality of the food was not up to the mark.

It was then that we found out the doings of most Sea Hawk tourist residents. They used to purchase highly attractive king prawns from the local market and have them cooked at any of the significant roadside food stalls on the opposite side of the hotel. With a thriving business of these stalls, Sea Hawk’s restaurant’s business gradually started to phase out.

We followed suit and thoroughly enjoyed our last three meals in Digha.

A few months ago, just before the semi-final match of the cricket world cup, we went to Digha once again. Naturally we stayed at Sea Hawk.

It was then that I came to know that the food stalls were not allowed any more to conduct their business in the vicinity of the hotel. The reason was obvious to me to be honest..after all why will a big hotel bow down to a small open-roofed portable food stall? The sad can cope with sadness better than the happy therefore it is better to sadden the sad more than they currently are.

In spite of the reason being obvious, I was deeply moved at this but was helpless, just like my poor foodie friends. We returned home a few evenings later and that night I had a dream.

In my dream, I saw huge harbour waves—like the ones which I saw from the 2004 tsunami footage. The waves were approaching the Indian coasts(Digha included) at a tremendous speed. Within no time whatsoever, the entire Sea Hawk was washed away. The waves receded in a short time after which the food stall owners who had been deprived their right to live by the now dead Sea Hawkers, appeared and began their business on that Sea Hawk road once again, this time without their interference. I woke up just then and realized that I had only been dreaming.

This is exactly the scenario in today’s materialistic world. The hurt continue to be hurt whereas the rich continue to store wealth which is on its way to topping the list of all time greatest hobbies.

But there is someone called GOD/DESTINY/someone of similar stature who takes care of all mortals, especially the more deprived ones. So each and every person should remember about Mother Fortune's Wheel.