‘Mother’ of all happiness

You do have many names – Mom, Amma, Ma. But all of them get equated to the same level of dignified poise that you continue to epitomise throughout our lives. We were born, we grew up, we told you we love you and we hate you, we still grew up, we finished school and college, got a job, got married.. the saga of plutonized evolution continued and still continues. But over the years, you have not changed. We have always taken you for granted but your sacrifices never went un-granted. Thank you isn’t the word you deserve because we can never thank you enough. Amma, we just don’t love you, we adore you. You are the powerhouse of our lives.

And, ironically, it will always be an icing on the cake for you – Happy Birthday Mom.

the wait, and see through

Cut throat empty roads, solitary me in the street adjacent. Suddenly, I look around and find able companions. The long standing sun saying goodbye through the most convenient rays, white clouds emerging out from their daylight nemesis, the beam which is a result of their occupant collaboration.

Amidst them, I ain’t alone. 

the 2015 that was..

Technically, we are still there. So hold on, but then, for how long?

Its been a while since we keep talking about what went wrong, what didn’t go well, how people deceived you, how nature’s wrath upon you was so unwarranted, why your employer doesn’t pay you well, why the world has turned so cruel.. the bandwagon is long and lengthy, painful to patronise

But then, I have a question – doesn’t life always cease to dwell upon our inefficiencies and gets the best out of the inner ego of ours that so unwillingly is sandwiched between our sub conscious state of insatiable back packs and that part of our testimonials that is so desperate to succeed in a life where society is beset with maverick congenialities?

Ah, the answer isn’t that simple, hence take your time.

So, this time, my flashbacks would be more of a dismantled poetry that we usually don’t want to venture through our naked eyes. Calligraphic bludgeons of a gorgeous bystander, a naive observation of an amateur, the inspiring words of a CEO on the growing potential of technology and its takers – depends on what appeals to you the most but one decimal of it is attributed to your affinity towards the jingles of the sound that each of them produce to change your lives. Could be a proportionate one or a mere acquaintance of rich standards. Both ways, we stand vindicated.

The days gone by are sometimes difficult to recollect for couple of reasons – too good to talk about or the opposite. Yes, you can argue that good times are always nice to talk about. True, but sometimes its good to leave the good ones behind and look forward to the greater delights of the world cuisine. After all, basking in glory is seldom an attribute of a champion goose (you can treat that as an adventive of my muse), quite so.

Coming to my usual human endeavours that occupies me during most of the year, 2015 was damn good one, at least, to begin with. I wasn’t in the country for most of the ethereal days in the Indian shores, and English waters treated me well with the sarcasm of a Brit and the flamboyance of a spirited youngster. Work kept me busy but then, I had my own moments that helped to gain the rightful brownie points one usually thrives for memorable indulgence. Exploring the north western corners of England was a breathtaking memoir and the highlands of Scotland left me famished. Well, I will go on and on till you ask me to put my foot down. Yes, am almost there to hang up.

Later this year, families, people, queer acquaintances, lots of travel, perceived jolts, the ‘coming-back’ syndrome and ceiling high aspirations leaves me with just one thing – am asking for more.

Am beginning to feel selfish, so lets move away from the indomitable me and talk about how the world changed while I was working around towards renaissance – ah well, a lot of stuff that I wouldn’t like to. Honestly, hate to open the pandoras box in front of this incubating, arousing set of people.

Sporting events are always a highlight of a year thats demanding a couture from its juggling legacy – the Cricket WC (though not the best in recent memory) unfolded with a one sided flak. ISL took centre stage, especially for the sub continent when its best advertisement doesn’t come football. Wimbledon saw some staggering Indian menace and was a candy to our dry eyes. The victory for Indian women in Kabaddi WC was flourishing news but not widely celebrated in the plated circles (not surprising though).
Amidst such fine climate, disturbances did spoil the world affairs. Paris attacks were black days for the history makers and no one feels the anguish more than India, pity we burnt our fingers on numerous occasions despite the UN intervention and extending the precarious principle of solidarity. Thats probably termed as ‘suicidal dilemma’, for us. For rest, its global disaster that we have so easily got used to.
We rounded off with the ‘Baap’ of all time rain-hit calamities, and Chennai city came to a screeching halt. Took weeks to stand on its feet, and recuperating to retain normalcy. (Also read – )

I hate to but will stop, else I get this furious feeling that the year might not end on the pretext of my vivacious account of its famous and infamous exploits. Sighs!

2015, please go. I will not miss you but will occasionally flash through to beat the best of it.


why have we made such a fuss about a mere cricket player who is just about 5 feet above the ground level, has endorsements to his name just like any other superstar celebrity world over would and tweet our heart out on his every morning siesta lasting till end of night?

well, if the cricketer in question is Sachin, then he is a far cry from our usual cricketers that hog the limelight and get swayed off it. Sheer tenacity to last and bat since 1989, plunder runs in every cricket ground of the world, carrying monumental aspirations of a nation that goes insane over cricketing overhauls and a career that has always been under the scanner for every move he makes (on and off the field), he remains our legend of a fairy tale.

for a while, lets not talk about his on field aura, for now that is. he makes news if he tows, sneezes and gulps. his personal preferences become national gimmicks. his stature provokes a coaxial movement that forces the constitution to enhance a mandate and a rival cricketing continent endows their most coveted prize upon him.

well, the story has just begun. almost re-written every batting milestone, 70% of Indian victories during 1995-2010 had his proverbial knocks of extreme bliss, his ton would hand over an Indian victory 6 out of 10 times. 55% of his tons have come on foreign soil and has given us a win-lose ratio of 4:6. we don’t keep a count of his MOMs any more and he has scored more world cup runs than anyone else who has played Cricket in this planet. comparisons with ‘The Don’ and his failure to become the most wanted leader that India kept searching in him ran in tandem veins. yet, he remains a symbol of solidarity. for the ‘Country’ and ‘Cricket’.

phew, yet his career remains scrutinized. now we ask for his head, demand him to hang up his boots as few of his shots in the (in)ceremonious IPL can give any youngster a run for his moolah!

As someone rightly stated – “legends are not born, they come screeching out of the womb with a stick in hand to rule the world and hit themselves when they are down, a-la phoenix act.”

Glad, you are 40! you deem to become wiser and one step ahead in embracing immortality.

second coming..

“life isn’t your bane, you are!”

This isn’t a typical comeback, but then with plausible child monotony, this could be a turnaround. Or, may be, it does act as a litmus test. Nevertheless, does with darned fortunes.

I am in joy with the city that possibly, and inevitably, made me. I am a believer in roots, and I have great inclination towards mighty legacies that have today’s larger blokes at bay. But I don’t think I care! Not for the old warhorses, but for the ones like me who live and eat passion.

10 years is a long time, almost! The core hasn’t changed, the people have probably become intrinsically lavish, the govenrments have rendered with ply-mouths and bandhs remain a cakewalk (tomorrow is one!!). But the charm is back, the vibes are alive and I come back to relive the days of evolution. Primitive but prerogative!

As I commute between 2 arms of Calcutta (‘Kolkata’ never really got in), I see altered landscapes with a flair of famished plunder. The ‘Calcutta’ I knew is still buzzing but what paves the way is the ‘Greater’ one. As a resident, I love to be admonished with a sense of newness. And with a wife, my days will be a feast. For her, and for my insanity towards this city of marque collage.

Welcome me 🙂

romantics unleashed – an amateur classic!

a new arrival terms the beginning of an evolution,
budding flowers blossom meandering fragrance amidst vane,
fewer mortals discreet farther feathers,
yet, I love to fall and emerge unravelled.

tinsel town connotes me at a level of subjugation,
a celebrity of self invokes within..
gallops like highwayman when confronted ballistically,
quiver, shiver and smell the fervour of faint, frantically.

an isolation that was felt for minutes that compounded of ages,
ultimate gift of love came in with waves of profound glee,
met with ventilations of pestering values and desires..
squadron that ceased to exist and conquer with patents.

nation dances to tunes that is felt and is the beat that misleads..
new leader at the helm procures emotions and fallacies on a spectrum,
an artist stops weaving his brushes over a 21 yard strip..
baked at the future pokes as a legend withdraws from the realms of the empire.

premier consumer giants provoke and tantalise with oomph..
yet, embraced with goosebumps that yore and yell..
as governments play with inflow and outflow of booty,
big and small battle as the game crouches over the survival of the gamers.

Erodes, as always, and comes in till the following perched unknown.