Sunday, November 1, 2009

Yel yem yo...that's right. The yen's missing.

Spent almost an hour at church today. Very amusing. There was some singing. Mr.Beans trysts with church singing leapt to mind. 'Hallelujah! Hallelujah!'
There was a priest all in white with a shining black baldness and a crown of white hair. He looked like he had not had a good night's sleep and moved in a fashion similar to that of a snail tired after a day's work.
Then,another man took centrestage and started speaking. Maybe if I knew Tamil,I would have said the rise and fall in voice, the expansive hand movements were all impressive. But Tamil,like whistling, is one thing I have never been able to learn. Therefore his speech also brought memories of Mr.Bean...trying to get money from an airport lady by sobbing in Russian.
Then suddenly I noticed the black priest in white sitting in a corner,with his head bowed in shame. I saw light. The frenzied speaker was of course telling the assembled crowd what a bad boy the priest had been,and was getting carried all mothers are on these occasions.
Then I turned and saw Kolkata Mithai Bhawan had lifted shutters. My destination for my breakfast of Radha Bollobhi.
In the middle of my 2nd radha bollobhi, I heard the voice of the frenzied speaker again,carrying over even inside the shelter of Kolkata Mithai Bhawan. This time I caught a whole sentence of English "You are the chosen generation". I wondered which generation he was talking to-the one with flowers in their heads and bibles in their hands sitting as if they wanted to occuppy the least possible space, or the generation that had got bored and were playing outside shouting unintelligible things.
Also, I learnt something. Reading newspapers in churches is banned. They wouldn't let me read the sports pages. So I covertly read the front page of the Deccan Times instead. Gay sex decriminalized. I wonder if that frenzied apeaker was in fact saying something on that. God knows. Or does he? Does God know Tamil?

Wrote this sometime in Chennai. On stray piece of paper. Stray piece of paper resurfaced from bag today. Interesting. This was me in Loyola Church.

Things I learn everyday

Obheejeet Dotto says bloggers like me who make one new post in a year are the ones with the best blogs. I love him for saying such a thing. I also love him for sending texts like 'Shala tora shob sfi er leaflet gulo amar bag e dhukiechish kano be?'
A lot of water has flown under the 'kushonshkar er jonne bondho bridge' after my last post. I am poorer by a lot of things. Let's see...a wallet,a notebook with all english and film studies class notes,a bcl book,a phone. I am sure I am forgetting something but then if I could remember every little bally thing that I lose everyday I would not have to write such a tragic sentence anyway. I am richer by one teeny weeny thing as well,(all people alert enough to check my networking sites updates will know),and this richness makes up and more for all that I have lost and continue to lose everyday.
I am also awake now to the hardships one has to undertake to turn the page from 69 to 70 of certain extremely long novels.
I am also awake to the fact that 29 can be played with Uno cards. It lends a lot of complications to the game and gives the game an intellectual scent. Of course, when the settings of this intellectual pastime is the maidan a lot of other scents come into the equation as well. A smell which has been christened by tridipto 'the smell of haga' is a rather prominent one. Incidentally, might I warn all innocent readers not to fall into the muri trap in maidan. The muri there is erratic with a capital E. Some people will be served things that taste of wildfire and those people will then run around screaming for water. Others will be served sweet muri. All this under the jhalmuri banner.