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 away...as 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.

A Failed Poet Confesses!

All the poetry I've read written by classmates over the past few days has made me reach 2 conclusions. 1. Not all classroom poets have their topics of pathetic verses limited to body parts of their girlfriends. 2. I am not a poet.
Yes, indeed, I did try my hand at those bally things, but all I ended up with was something Cacofonix would have gladly made a rock ballad out of and would have hung from the nearest tree in the process...again!
Asking me to write poetry is akin to asking the bones of Lady Di to rise up and do the tango. Would you ask the bones of Lady Di to rise up and do the tango? No, of course not. It's just too cruel(the bones would of course very much like to prance about in the said comical fashion, but they cannot). That, and the fact that if somebody catches you talking to bones, you might be sent over to the wrong side of the walls of 'Wycombe Mental Asylum' and be marked a bone-whisperer the rest of your life.
The March Hare had asked Alice to have some wine when there wasn't any. That was cruell! Asking me to be a practitioner of iambic tetrameter is an act no less criminal!

Crash! Boom! and other such sounds

Okay...let's begin by saying that I am in the horridest mood. A mood so positively stinking of horridness that any God-fearing individual will be able to smell it from a mile. I drove my father's brand new car into another car today, thus creating dents in 2 cars and 1 ego. Events that followed the 'Ayrton Senna' moment are best skipped over. It sufficeth to say that these are moments splitting at the seams with gory details.
Memories of my first trysts with friends' motorbikes come to mind. That first day when I had zoomed through the whole of Barrackpore without knowing where the brakes were. Finally, had come to a stop, the stop being accompanied by a very angry sound being produced by the irked engine. Asked a rickshaw-wallah how to 'turn the bloody thing off'. That other sunny afternoon when I had forgotten the gear thing and turned the headlights on instead of 'giving' 2nd gear.
Now let me tell you I rode a bike from Chennai to Pondicherry not even a month ago. And I didn't hit a thing...nor did I turn the headlights on. So there!
Wonder when I'll get a chance to snitch that car key again.

Just to prove I am not one of those good for nothings who can only win love and subsequently lose it just as easily...here I am again to dwell on much more worldly and interesting things. The Lok Sabha elections. No seriously...
Till the results are out tomorrow...its a tense few hours for all of India. This time, what makes the elections a mouth watering prospect for any analytical mind is the slew of possibilities the 16th can throw up. Allies have turned foes, only to rub their bald heads and console..."nothing can be ruled out".
PRE-poll alliance with a stress on the 'pre' has suddenly become a very unreliable term.For the first time in the worlds largest democracy, is there a serious 3rd froont...with a 'not that trivial either' 4th front joining in the 'party' too. Regional players will decide who takes over Delhi. Is that good? Now thats a good question.
Maybe, I'll stick to lovelorn prose from now on.